#which. fair. they do. but i'm here for myself more than for others | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nohoperadio · 2 days

Text

Here's a little breakdown of my personal relationship/non-relationship with various types of aesthetic self-modification (?, I feel like there might be a word or at least a more elegant phrase to denote this category). The point is not to offer my "take" on each thing but to express the different feelings/desires/inhibitions my psyche manifests around them. Some of these will approach awkwardly personal territory, fair warning! You may notice that basically none of them are especially positive; I'm going to leave off from analyzing that pattern for this post.

Tattoos -- I think tattoos as a concept are extremely cool, frequently they're cool in practice also and I like seeing other people's, but I don't think I've ever had even the smallest urge to get one for myself. I'm not totally sure why. The lack of an obvious thing to get is one factor, I feel like "band tattoo" would be the most likely thing for me to have but I don't like the idea of directly lifting a band logo or album art and I really don't like the idea of a lyric tattoo (I offer no justification for these prejudices), so I'd have to get clever with it if I'm doing that and I'm not very clever. More broadly, I predict that my enthusiasm for any artwork I put on my body would fade through overexposure in a matter of weeks if not days--other people describe "barely knowing it's there" after a short time--which on top of making the value of the project seem dubious, I feel like having a permanent image on my skin that I don't actively love would be something I'd feel bad about rather than neutral. Like "man, that thing's on my arm and I don't care about it at all, that sucks" rather than just not noticing it. Maybe I'm wrong about that.

(Tattoos are the one that got me thinking about this whole subject I think, it feels like they're reaching a ubiquity in the culture where it's almost like you're expected to have a reason not to have one rather than a reason to? Maybe that's just a people-I-know thing, anyway it got me thinking about why I don't want one.)

Piercings -- An interesting thing about me and piercings is that it's virtually impossible for me to notice when somebody has them unless I'm like, actively consciously scrutinizing their face (or whatever it is). When I was about ten months into my current job I asked my co-worker who I worked closely with almost every day "hey when did you get that septum ring" and she was like "well way before I met you". That is simply how it is with me and piercings and I make no apology.

If my inability to perceive piercings (perceirvings...) makes me indifferent to the idea of getting one, what makes me actively hostile is the total certainty that I would fiddle with it constantly if I did. I know these hands and their ways and there would simply be no dissuading them, it would be so bad you guys, oh my god. This is probably the hardest no on the list I think, although I haven't finished the post yet so idk maybe I'll think of a worse one.

Makeup -- There's undeniably a lot that's very beautiful in the universe of makeup and there's also the weird dark side, I have dabbled a little in this area and in my heart I feel more positively than not about it, but it's just never going to be a sustainable part of my life because (not unrelated to previous para) I am a perennial and unrepentant face-toucher. I will be itching and rubbing my face-skin and also inflicting other hard-to-characterize punishments upon it (is this "stimming"?) until the day I die and anything that wants to be on my face has just gotta deal. It would probably be better if this was not the case but I don't make the rules, sorry.

Haircuts -- When I was a child I haaaaaated getting my hair cut, like the physical sensation of it? Was so horrible and would usually make me cry and always ruin my day (is this "sensory overload"?), I didn't understand why I was being made to go through this ordeal and basically as soon as I reached an age when I realized my mom couldn't literally force me to do it if I just stubbornly refused hard enough--that age was 13 I think--I stopped. I haven't had a professional haircut since that time although I'm sure I could cope with the sensory aspect at this point, it's just not a habit I ever picked up again (I've had a couple of non-professional ones from my ex who just kind of wanted to try it, in a not particularly ambitious or dramatic fashion). Sometimes I feel like I should, but idk. My hair as it stands is not optimized for making me look hot but I don't think it looks especially horrible either, it's just kind of whatever I think.

Complicating factor here: I've had trichotillomania since I was 15/16, and it's hard to imagine it going away at this point but it's a lot more under control than it used to be, to the point where you can't really tell just from my appearance that something's up now. I say "under control", I have very little conscious control over it and usually no conscious awareness that I'm doing it, but over the years the compulsion seems to have unconsciously settled into a routine where it's just kind of... sculpting my hair into a more-or-less normal silhouette? Like I sort of have a fringe and stuff despite no haircuts. Oh I guess this doesn't make sense unless I clarify that I mostly break rather than pluck the hair nowadays, that's a big part of the gradual unconscious shift that's occurred.

A fun thing about trichotillomania is that it often makes people really uncomfortable when you talk about having it, which sucks for me because it makes me feel lonely, but I guess it sucks for the person feeling uncomfortable too in a smaller way. If you're one of the people who feel uncomfortable around this topic, sorry! Quite genuinely.

Gender transition in general -- I feel like I'm just, just on the boring side of cis-by-default. I think about transitioning shockingly often for someone who's never gonna do it, like it's not searing a hole in my heart or anything like it is for a lot of people but it occupies that "it would be cool to learn an instrument" kind of niche in my thoughts, if that makes sense? (Probably a bit stronger than that analogy makes it sound, it's on my mind frequently but not with a massive sense of urgency attached I guess is what I'm getting at.) I can see myself taking the plunge if the medical technology was like 10% better, or the social technology was like 20% better, or with some medium-sized changes in how my personality was configured, but this life being this life there's no way in heck the juice would be worth the squeeze. If I had one fifth of the executive function required to do all of that lying to doctors and learning how to clothes shop and having awkward conversations with people in my life and all the rest of it, well I can list like ten things I'd rather spend it on first. And I don't!

Glasses -- Love wearing glasses, 10/10 no notes. I knew since I was like 11 that my face should have a pair of glasses on it and I was very smug when the optician agreed (I did not cheat on the eye test in any way for what it's worth). The only times I'm not wearing glasses are sleeping and showering. I don't even carry a case because there's no point because I simply don't ever take them off. This is probably overkill, I think as a kid I was instructed to only put them on when I need to see something in the distance, ignoring that and just wearing them permanently has probably led to my vision weakening to the point where they're now pretty much mandatory in every situation, but I don't give a shit about that because just let me wear my goddamned glasses okay, fuck off. It's actually crazy how much I like wearing glasses, this is the only true thumbs up on the list.

I remembering trying to explain how I like my glasses to a then-close friend of mine many years ago when the subject of laser eye surgery came up in conversation, he said I should get the surgery and then just wear glasses with non-prescription lenses. When I tried to explain why that wouldn't be the same at all he was adamant that I was just being stubborn. That guy was a wonderful person in many ways and I loved him very deeply, but man what a dumbass thing to say.

Facial hair -- There are so many great beards and moustaches in this world, there are few more cheering sights than someone bearing some swish whiskers who's pleased about it, but personally I don't wish to be involved in that business at all.

I never learned how to ride a bike -- Obviously this one doesn't belong on the list, it doesn't fit with any of the other categories, and yet I feel compelled to include it here. And why should I resist that which compels me? This is my post. Yeah, I'm the oldest of four siblings, we were all given bikes at the appropriate kid-on-bike age, the others picked it up but not me. I liked it when I had stabilizers on my bike, then they took them off and I started falling off the bike, and after a very short amount of time I gave up. Like I didn't get mad injuries or anything, it just felt like I wasn't improving at it quickly enough and I didn't feel like keeping it up so I didn't. Early indication of my bad personality.

Fashion in general -- Clothes shopping has always been extremely aversive to me for whatever reason, it's gotten a little better in recent years, I have been able to exist inside clothes shops for long enough to purchase a small thing or two, but eh. Most of my tops are band t-shirts I bought at gigs, most of my bottoms are exactly identical pairs of jeans, there's just not much going on you know? But unlike with most of the items on this list I would really like to be doing this properly. I would like to wear cuter things with prettier colours and designs. This one's an actual goal. But so far I haven't really made progress. The aforementioned shopping sucks thing, plus a fear of being so aesthetically clueless that I just make myself look like a big idiot if I try anything risky, plus the fact that doing things that are not my established routine is tricky in general--these are barriers for me. I guess another barrier is that the things that would be most interesting to try out and therefore most potentially motivating fall into the wrong-gender-clothes category and therefore bring into play some of the barriers from that other category a few ones up. I did actually somehow get myself to dabble in that area some years ago to a modest but positive degree of satisfaction. It'll probably happen again. The patterns and causes that determine whether I can or cannot find motivation to engage in a thing--they are mysterious indeed.

Like horn implants or whatever other crazy miscellany -- I don't want anything in this category and don't have any non-trivial thoughts about it either. Including this section for completeness only.

---

Well, there you have it, that's the post. Now you know a bit more about some of my little weirdsies. If you actually made it through the whole thing, a) how interesting and b) why not tell me a little weirdsy of yours in return, whether it pertains to the above list or not? Why not get all antiphonal on my post, that way I'd get to know a thing about you as well, it might be a whole fun kind of deal. You don't have to though, I didn't make this post to try to snare people into letting themselves be known, I just kind of made it to be a post mostly. I make all sorts of kinds of posts you know? And so I thought I'd try one that's like this.

#selfposting #uninteresting #more uninteresting than average #and a bit too long #and yet putting it in a readmore didn't feel right for some reason; sorry all!#have you ever tried listicle oversharing? it's weirdly freeing

21 notes · View notes

darkkitty1208 · 7 months

Note

hi!! since you don't tag much have you ever considered just making like sideblogs for each fandom or something? i know you're multifandom but i followed for the ironstrange content, just a suggestion i don't mean to criticize or something ;;

There's quite a load to unpack here, but I know you mean no harm, anon. So let me just clear this up: first, I'm gonna assume you're new here. Not on my blog, but like, the entirety of tumblr. Because there are countless of blogs out there (multifandom ones) that tend not to tag their posts and post from different fandoms. And I'm not sure if you know, but you can easily filter out tags from fandoms you don't wanna see; I don't need to tag my reblogs for that, if OP already has those tags in the post it'll filter itself out. (There should be an option for tag filters in your settings.) In this case, here's some fandoms I've recently been fixating on that you may want to filter out if you only wanna see the ironstrange stuff: - BBC Sherlock (long-term hyperfixation) - Good Omens - Spiderverse (although this one's still marvel, but thought I'd include it anyway) - Dead Poets Society - Baldur's Gate 3

And I haven't finished watching Heartstopper, and courtesy of a friend I'm going to start watching the live action One Piece soon, so I may or may not go on a reblog spree soon for those two. Consider filtering those out as well.

Second, as you know, I've mentioned very clearly in my blog desc and intro post that I'm a multifandom blog and I tend to jump between one fixation to another. I even said I go on reblog sprees a lot of times. So you should already be warned before following me.

Third, this is my blog. I get to do whatever the hell I want with it. If I wanna make it my dumpster, I'll make it my dumpster. If I wanna make it neat and organised, I'll make it neat and organised. If I wanna spam shitposts in it, I'll spam shitposts in it. Followers are not entitled to think that me or my blog is a content peddler--like accounts in, say, TikTok--and if you think my *personal* blog that I made for *myself* and *my enjoyment* should be catered to your liking, then I'm afraid you're wrong. And besides, I like the way I'm running my blog right now. It's not neat in any way, or convenient for any other person, but I like the way it is.

Anyway, if you still feel like I'm running my blog wrong, the unfollow button is right there. :)

#the culture in other social media like tiktok and instagram have made people think that it goes one way #as in the follower gets content from the content creator and the content creator caters to their followers #it's more community-based here nonny #and recently there's been this idea in fandom where fans think fic authors & fanartists & other fanwork creators make 'content'#in the sense that they create for an audience #which. fair. they do. but i'm here for myself more than for others #i write fics for myself and others secondly #ask #anonymous

4 notes · View notes

transboykirito · 1 year

Text

1) a reminder that just bc someone cosplays a character doesn’t mean they condone that character’s actions

2) this cosplay gave me so much gender euphoria like i legitimately teared up lol

he’s still unfinished, but here’s an oberon cosplay lmao. i actually made the outfit for a high school sewing project 2 years ago, then i dropped out so. i just… never bothered to do the cosplay xD so he’s here now!! this is actually my lucy wig and i didn’t want to cut that and not be able to use it for her, i know it isn’t styled for him “-_- i’ll finish making his crown and wings soon and i’ll buy a wig for him once they’re finished, but for now i’m actually pretty satisfied with how it came out??

i still hate him as a character, obviously, but i always liked his design and he gives me a lot of gender envy. plus, this is kinda like another way for me to take away the power from my trauma, i guess? this and my titania cosplay mean a lot to me for that reason.

#i guess this is more of a costest than a cosplay to be fair #i just got super dysphoric tonight and my ggo kirito doesn’t fit anymore and he was my comfort cosplay #so i just… found the only other dude cosplay i have lmao #also nobody taught me how to do eyeshadow so i kinda just learnt myself and this is like the 4th time i’ve done my eyeshadow so like.#idk i’m happy with how my makeup looks and it doesn’t make me feel too feminine which is nice #i would have tried contour but i have no contour. *cries*#also if/when i cosplay him again i’ll swap out my jewellery for gold stuff i just have no gold lip rings lol #also also i'm holding my arm like that because i was trying to cover my chest okay skxvsksvx #also also also my nose is red because i got makeup in my piercings and theyre irritated #can you tell i'm rambling in these tags bc i'm nervous to post this #this isnt me condoning his actions okay i despise this character. i think he looks cool.#i posted this on instagram and i'm terrified to get any comments on it i have to post it here now oh god

14 notes · View notes

tardis--dreams · 1 year

Text

We've officially reached the 'too demotivated and drained to bother to go to class' part of the semester. Awesome

#if it wasn't for the strike I'd just go home on tuesday morning #because i don't want to miss too many korean sessions because we can't be absent more often than 4 times #but i don't plan on going to my monday and tuesday classes #and thursday is a holiday so that class is canceled and i am willing to miss wednesday's korean class if it means getting to #see my dog a day earlier #but alas i cannot #because no trains and shit #also my friend asked me if i wanted to join for drinks sometime this week(end) and i desperately need new friends #(i.e. i don't want to turn down invitations from people i don't hang out with often because i basically am getting #actively excluded from my other friends' activities (literally. if you don't want me around it's literally fine. just don't fucking act #like you do. i hate it here lmao)#no but that friend was like 'I'll always invite you' and damn i LOVE to hear it because the others apparently hate having me around #(again. fair enough. I'm not particularly outgoing or fun so i get it. i just don't want to make any effort there anymore so i kinda need #to make an effort with other people? because i really like her and all but i also don't feel like going out #and would much rather go home see my dogs- but if i turn down too many invitations she'll stop inviting me #which is only logical- idk i don't really want to have to have friends anymore #i just know life is better when i spend time with people sometimes and have someone to get through university hell with #anyway. i don't wanna go to class anymore and i really don't wanna do this degree anymore and i actually do not #want to go to korea but i have to because it's my only chance but it makes me want to kill myself but also not doing it would make me want #to kill myself so i don't really have anything going for me there #void screams

3 notes · View notes

piplupod · 1 year

Text

the urge to change my name and make a new account to have a fresh clean slate is so big off and on lately djfjkl idk why

i would miss friends and mutuals though and followers i see in my activity feed so i won't do that but like. i kind of wish i could like. not be held down so much by how i feel ppl perceive me, i want to say things or do things that would be considered "out of character" bc i have a lot of shifts going on in brain rn (like things are shuffling around and being re-organized almost?) and i just want to be able to let myself exist without feeling like i need to be consistent fdsfjkl

idk if that makes sense. i probably won't be posting anything to do with that here until its more concrete and i can slowly shift towards that instead of the current state of being, but also i really wish i could share the cool things i'm realizing or piecing together or thinking about, but i just feel like it would be weird or cringe or whatever. but god i feel like this might be really healthy finally and i might be able to like,,, not be literally constantly running shame and suicide in the background of my brain, those might be able to shut down for a bit which would be so nice

#idk fhsdgjkl this doesnt make sense probably but im just #things are changing in brain finally i think and im able to explore it a bit better and learn to work with it #this brain is definitely not anywhere near normal or average which. makes sense. traumatized child setting things up for life and-#-then add dissociative disorder on top of that and all the egostates or whatever not coming together like theyre supposed to and now #you've got scattered pieces all across the board #also i think there IS an inner world more than what i've realized but i've been unable to see it properly or access it bc of my-#frankly insane amounts of shame. like it would've been extremely distressing for me to realize i had that before now #it is still a little scary and distressing which is why i can't like. access it still but i have been feeling glimpses of it #maybe im making this all up idk but... it doesnt feel like when i make things up fdsjkl it feels like when theres smth true that-#-i dont want to acknowledge is true. like im trying to shove it away and pretend it doesnt exist bc im ashamed and feel cringe #but it isn't going away so. i would like to try to work with it #and just let myself be curious instead of ashamed #maybe i'll post on our system sideblog about things idk fsgjkl it feels too public here but i DO want to share bc its interesting-#-and god knows i can't journal for the life of me (there is... trauma around that) so dsgjkl maybe that would work best #okay cool i'll stop rambling about DID and brain stuff bc ppl will think im being weird probably fshdfjkl thats why i never talk about it-#-here bc i know its seen as ''cringe'' to have this disorder and its weird and strange and not normal #which yknow. it isn't normal. it is a bit strange. but thats trauma babeyyy lmao #but i just . dont want ppl to think badly of me. unfortunately the others in system dont think that way and dont care so they post here LOL #SO much more than i post about things which is totally fair and i'm not going to get upset at them bc i DO need to work thru this shame #its unhealthy for me and also it can be harmful for OTHER pwDID/systems if im being embarrassed about having this disorder #okay im done now for real HDHGJKL sorry abt the ramble #pippen needs 2nd breakfast #delete later probably

4 notes · View notes

greatooglymooglyyy · 7 days

Text

The Last Ride Chapter 8 (AU Cowboy!C.Sturniolo)

summary: when spoiled and sheltered city girl Y/N finds herself in running in the wrong crowd, her dad gives her an ultimatum. it's either spend the summer of her gap year on her uncle's ranch or face being cut off and finding a job. just when she thinks it can't get any worse, she meets Chris, the brooding farmhand who thinks he knows her type. but as the summer goes on, they both realize there may be more to the other than meets the eye.

requested and advised by @rootbeerworshiper

contains: verbal arguments, physical altercation, kissing, lots of emotions and insecurity, 3.9k words

a/n: sigh. i'm warning you... be nice to me or chapter nine gets it!! 🔪

series masterlist

“Whoa, girl.” I say gently as I tighten my thighs around Cinnamon’s body and tug gently on her reins. She comes to a stop with no issue and I rub her neck affectionately.

One of the trainers jogs up to her side and puts a cautious hand on her body to which she tenses up but doesn’t react negatively. We’ve been working on getting her more comfortable with other handlers and my girl has been making so much progress. But, it’s a slow process and I know she still gets nervous with faces she doesn’t trust.

I slide out of her saddle so the boy can take my place and step out of her line of vision. Almost immediately, Cinnamon starts to panic and my heart aches. I know I’m supposed to let them build the bond on their own but I can’t stop myself from comforting her.

“This is my friend Max, Cinnamon.” I coo as I step back in front of her and nuzzle her nose. “He’s just going to take a ride, okay?”

From across the field, I catch Chris throwing me a disapproving glare but he doesn’t say a word. Unsurprising since he hasn’t uttered more than a few my way for the last two weeks. But annoying nevertheless.

Ignoring him, I walk along beside them until I’m sure she doesn’t need me anymore and then step aside and watch them ride.

It feels nice to see her progress in action and my lips pull up in a small smile at the thought of her beating her monster allegations. If Cinnamon can fix her reputation, there’s hope for me yet. A tap on my shoulder pulls me out of my thoughts and I look back to see one of the younger stableboys.

“Chris said to tell you to help Mr. Buck shear the sheep.” He chirps, nervously biting his nails while he talks as if he expects me to bite his head off.

Irritation does rise in my chest, but not at the poor stable boy. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

The boy gives me a relieved smile but it morphs into a look of panic when he sees me marching toward Chris instead of the truck. I ignore his calls behind me, locking my focus on the pigheaded brunette in my scope.

“So we’ve moved past you mumbling orders at me and now you’re just sending messenger boys instead?”

He looks up slowly from where he’s crouched down fixing the enclosure fence and tosses me an uninterested glance. “Do you need somethin’ or you just bored again?”

I roll my eyes at the jab and continue on, determined to get my rant out. “How long are you going to ignore me, Chris? This is getting beyond childish.”

Standing with a sigh and taking a look around, he gestures at all the workers watching us. “Nothing round here’s childish except this scene you’re putting on. Come on.”

He leads the way to the stables, moving so quickly I basically have to run to keep up. As soon as we’re inside, he slams the door shut and glares at me. I glare back, refusing to back down and give him a ‘go ahead’ gesture.

“I’m not ignoring you.” He says calmly, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. “I have nothing to say to you.”

My eyebrows knit together as I step back and study his face, wondering if he’s bluffing or not. “Really? Because you had a lot of words for me at the fair. Now it’s radio silence and you didn’t even let me explain-”

“I don’t need you to explain. You don’t owe me a thing. And neither do I. There is nothin’ else to say because there’s nothin’ between us anymore.”

“So that’s it? After all that? We just go back to being strangers?” The disbelief in my voice is heavy but I feel a wall between us forming higher and higher.

There's a split second of hesitation but Chris shrugs, averting his eyes. “I dunno, Scotch. Maybe we always were.”

Wow. I nod quickly and turn away from him to compose myself, trying not to allow any hurt to show on my face. Behind me, I hear him exit quietly and it settles in that maybe he’s right. It’s not like I belong here anyway. This was always a temporary game. I just can’t believe it felt so real.

***********************

Like most Saturdays here, I wake up to the early morning sun beaming through my window and the smell of breakfast cooking. It’s crazy how different waking up here feels compared to when I first got here.

I used to spend my days here counting down until I could leave this humid ass state and hardly ever think about it again. But now? Lying here and listening to the calm quiet sounds of the country with my aunt’s quiet singing as the only disturbance? Somehow the idea of leaving makes me feel sick.

But it doesn’t matter. I try to remind myself that this life isn’t mine- no matter how safe it feels. And as for my Birdie, it’s not like I can never visit again. Right?

I shake it off and get up to get ready, taking a quick shower before heading into the kitchen. As soon as she sees me, my aunt grows a huge suspicious smile on her face and I raise my eyebrow. “Good morning?”

“Good morning, bunny! How’d you sleep? I made your favorite. Take a seat. Honestly, honey, I’ve been up since before the roosters in this kitchen-” She rambles on and on as I slide into my seat, continuing to stare at her with a bewildered expression.

I look around for my uncle, finally noticing he’s nowhere to be seen. But before I can ask, Birdie sits across from me and takes my hand. “Your uncle has a surprise for you, darlin’. A damn good one.”

As if on cue, I hear my uncle’s truck pull into the driveway, always recognizable by the loud rumbling and occasional backfiring. My aunt squeals in excitement and scrambles over to the door so I follow behind her, laughing lightly.

“This better not be another Duck Dynasty merch find. I told you I’ve never even seen that show-” I cut myself off as the door swings open and I lock eyes with my dad.

It feels for a second like time freezes as I take him in. His weary smile. The bags under his eyes from what must have been months of little sleep. His outfit being as casual as I’ve ever seen him; not a tie or a designer in sight.

“Hi, honey.” He says softly, his voice taking on the soothing tone of my childhood. The one he’d use when I was sick or hurt. When I needed him. And just like that it’s like a dam breaking as my anger crumbles and I throw myself into his arms.

“Dad.” is the only thing I manage to say into his chest as he rocks us back and forth, holding the back of my head like he did when I was young. But he seems to understand anyway, pulling back and smiling at me.

“I missed you too, kiddo.”

My uncle, the big softie, sniffles and we both cut our eyes to him. “ See now, that right there is just plumb beautiful.” He wails, leaning into Birdie who rolls her eyes in good humor. I laugh at his dramatics until someone clearing their throat grabs my attention and I look out to the porch.

“Can we get a little love next?”

Jace stands with a smug look on his face and his arms wide, my other two ‘best friends’ Brielle and Lydia standing awkwardly behind him. My eyes widen as I look between my dad and the boy I thought was the love of my life. What. The. Fuck.

“Surprise!” My dad says with genuine enthusiasm. “You’ve been doing so well, I thought you deserved to see your crew. How excited are you?”

I swallow hard, tearing my eyes away from Jace before I pass out. “Yeah, Dad. Ecstatic.”

***********************

The thing about Jace is he’s never known how to sit in silence. He’s spent our entire lives being the one who fills it while I hang on to every single word. It used to be one of my favorite things about him. But now as we walk quietly past the lake, his body fidgeting with discomfort at the silence, I’m not so sure.

Sighing, I take pity on him and finally speak. “So...you said you wanted to talk?”

“I do.” The relief in his voice is palpable and he stops me from walking with a hand on my arm before he continues. “Since you’ve been gone, I’ve done so much thinking about that night. And I’ve realized I really fucked up. Worse than that time I stole my dad’s Porsche. And you remember how bad that was.” He laughs but I don’t join, staring at him and waiting for the point.

He clears his throat. “Anyway, I should have never done drugs that night. And I shouldn’t have let the girls leave you. That was wrong. And it won’t happen again.”

My eyes narrow at his roundabout accountability but I let it go, knowing it's as close to an apology as I will ever get. “You’ve said that before.”

“But I mean it now. I flushed all my blow after that night. It was really messing with my sinuses anyway.” He sees the look on my face and quickly adds, “But obviously, it was mostly for you.”

I sigh and shake my head. “It’s fine, Jace. I’m not holding grudges anymore. We’re cool.”

And I’m surprised at how much I mean it. After all the work I’ve done this summer, holding on to all this anger has been the most exhausting part of it.

Jace brings a hand up to my face and it takes a conscious effort not to flinch away from him. “I don’t want us to just be cool. I want you to know how much I care about you.”

I give him a stern look and pull away. “We can’t start this again. I don’t want to be anyone’s secret.”

“Who said anything about a secret? I’m done with that. I mean, it’s not like everyone didn’t know we were fucking anyway.”

“Jace.”

“Sorry. I just mean, we might as well make it official. Everyone knows it was always going to be me and you.”

I try to keep my heart still at his words, but despite everything he’s done, there’s still a weak spot. When I study his face, I see our entire history. All the years I spent longing for him to touch me, all the nights I spent trying to figure him out once he did. My past and his are so interlocked, I can’t untangle them. The problem is I don’t know if I want our futures to be as well.

Plus, there’s Chris to think about...or is there? His words from the stable play in my head on repeat. According to him, there is no us for me to think about. If that’s really how he feels about me, then it’s time I try to get over it.

Realizing how long I’ve been zoned out of the conversation, I refocus on Jace, bringing a hand up to his perfectly tousled hair. “Okay. Let’s try.”

He grins before pressing his lips to mine and I lean into it, wrapping my arms around his neck. It’s a familiar feeling, this boy pressed close against me. Once I’d even have described it as home. But as he deepens the kiss so close to where a boy once taught me to fish, the only thing echoing in my head is “Well. at least this one wants me.”

***********************

“Bunny, would you stop fussin’? It looks fine.” My aunt Birdie explains. She’s been watching me string lights up for the past fifteen minutes and no matter what, according to her it looks ‘fine’.

Apparently, everyone had been waiting eagerly for my dad’s return because it seems like the entire town is here tonight for his ‘welcome home’ party. People are piling in left and right, quicker than we can even finish with the prep.

One thing about me is, if I’m going to throw a party it’s going to be one people don’t stop talking about. And that begins with something as simple as the setup. I wish I had known about it sooner.

“I just think we need a few more over there,” I reply, motioning over to a fence that’s left completely blank.

She thinks for a moment, knowing it’s useless to argue with me. “There might be a few more lights in the shed, should be with all the Christmas stuff.”

I smile, immediately turning to head over to the shed that resides on the side of the house. The walk is short, but by the time I make it there, I'm met with a familiar figure on the other side.

His gaze sends chills down my spine, for whatever reason I haven't gotten used to the mean stares. Maybe it’s because I know what his softness looks like, and now it’s gone.

I go to open the wooden shed door before looking at Chris once more. “What’s your problem, Chris?”

He chuckles under his breath as if my reaction was completely unwarranted. If this was the first time he sent his nasty looks at me, maybe it would be unwarranted, but now I’m sick of his shit.

“Just wondering what’s got you all happy.” He replies, leaning against the side fence with his hands crossed with one another.

No matter what, he always seems to believe he has the upper ground. His body language makes that more than apparent.

“I can’t just like parties?” I reply, more sheepishly than I meant to lead on. It’s stupid that I'm still defending myself against him, especially when I know a few weeks ago he liked me for all of me, now it’s as if I'm entertainment for him.

“So Prince Charming didn’t put that smile on your face? I heard he graced our poor humble digs.” He remarks with a tone dipping of sarcasm, simply earning a glare from me as I head into the shed.

When I step back out, he’s gone and it feels like the party has doubled. Looking around the yard at the crowds of people gathered, I can’t believe my aunt and uncle managed to keep this all a secret.

After finishing my final touches, I spot my dad and decide to stand with him and welcome guests for a bit, relishing how good it feels to spend time with him again.

He can’t walk more than a couple of feet without being stopped by a classmate or an old teacher so I fall back and let him enjoy catching up. It feels good to see him so relaxed here, blending in like he never left. I almost swear I catch his accent creeping back in before I walk away.

I’m surprised with how many people I recognize as well, waving to Abby and a few of Chris’ friends. Hank hugs me before spotting my dad and hustling over to him. I should have guessed they were friends.

Looking around for my city friends, I spot Brielle laughing in a corner with Jason and my eyebrows shoot up to the sky. Okay so new type for her then. I make a mental note to pry later. Continuing my search, I spot Lydia and Jace looking pretty bored and honestly a little scared so I make my way over.

But on my way, I hear my name being called from a high-pitched familiar voice and spin around. Evie runs as quick as her little feet can take her and wraps a hug around my legs. Laughing, I squat down and give her a proper hug, pushing her wild bangs out of her face. “Hi, sweetie.”

“I haven’t seen you in this long!” She says with adorably wide eyes, stretching her arms out in a big gesture and making my heart sink.

“I know. We’ve been busy, huh? I heard you learned to write your whole name.” I say, recalling the brag Chris shared over one of the last lunches we spent together.

She grins and nods excitedly. “I can! Do you have paper?”

A hand lands on her shoulder and we both look up to see Chris hovering above us. “I think she’s good, Evie.” He gives me a brief smile but his eyes are still cold and emotionless so I stand wordlessly.

“But-” She starts to complain but catches sight of Birdie at the chocolate fountain and her jaw drops. Before either of us can say another word, she takes off again in my aunt’s direction.

Chris kisses his teeth but we both can’t help but laugh. “Thank god these are good people, or I’d have to put her ass on a leash.” He says but he’s watching her hug Birdie with his usual loving gaze.

He notices me staring and raises an eyebrow, shooting me his cautious smile. “What’re you gawking at?”

“Honestly?” I ask, looking over his outfit with exaggerated horror. “Those damn jeans of yours. Put them out of their misery, I’m begging you.”

He chuckles, his eyes twinkling with humor. “Oh, so we’re back to the clothing roasts, huh?”

“See, I personally never left. It haunts me.”

“Yeah, okay, Ms. Socks and Sandals.” He says looking down at my feet pointedly.

I laugh and push his shoulder. “Shut up. My boots didn’t go with this fit. I’m limited here.”

“We’ll have to get you some more.” He says almost on a reflex before he seems to realize and flinches. But his reply is cut off when Jace swings an arm around my neck.

Immediately, it’s like a cloud comes over Chris’ face, hurt warping his features before he puts up a mask. At the same time, I freeze but do my best to recover. “Oh..uh..Hey Jace.”

He smiles at me and leans in, pressing a long kiss to my lips to my absolute horror, before turning to Chris and extending his hand. “What’s up, man? You must be the caterer. The food was great.”

Oh god. Chris’ eyes narrow but he slowly shakes Jace’s hand anyway without a word so I step in. “Actually, he works with my uncle. He’s been sort of a mentor this summer.”

Chris laughs humorlessly but if Jace catches on he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Oh, great. The food actually really sucks. Greasy as hell.” He laughs, sounding even more arrogant than normal.

I lock eyes with Chris, both of us knowing full well that Birdie spent the entire day cooking. He nods, gesturing coolly between the two of us. “I gotta say. You two? Perfect for each other.”

He turns and walks away as Jace throws an unsuspecting “thank you” at his back. But I stay frozen against my boyfriend’s side knowing it was anything but a compliment.

***********************

A couple of hours later, the party is still in full swing. People are doing line dances, tripping over their own feet due to the well-stocked bar. Someone has started a fire in the pit and the kids are enjoying their s’more while their parents catch up.

I lean against my chair, taking in the community, as Lydia whines to the left of me about being cold. Jace takes off his coat and throws it over her and I frown for a second before my dad catches my eye by the snack table.

“Do you guys want anything?” I ask as I stand, needing more than anything to speak to someone who might get how I’m feeling. They shake their heads so I mumble that I’ll be right back.

When I get to my dad’s side, he smiles warmly before grabbing a couple of my favorite pinrolls and handing them to me. Maybe he knows me better than I think. I return the smile and take the plate, whispering my thanks.

As he’s about to walk away, I stop him and he looks back in confusion. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He says, crossing his arms and leaning in to hear me better.

“How did you get this place out of your system when you left? How’d you move on?” As I ask, I glance around the ranch before looking up at the sky, mesmerized by the glow of the stars I’d never be able to see in the city.

His eyes soften as understanding floods his features. “What makes you think I was ever able to do that?”

I blink slowly at him, not understanding. “The city. You made a whole life there. We never come here to visit.”

“Because it’s hard.” He explains, looking past me to where his old friends laugh and talk amongst themselves. “You can’t hide here. Not when they know everything about you. But, this place is in my blood, in my heart. That’s the real reason I wanted you to come here. I was hoping it would somehow creep into yours.”

The smile that crosses his face is sad but I return it with a nod before turning and making my way back to my table. But to my surprise, Jace isn’t there. Lydia has fallen asleep with his jacket draped over her so I don’t bother waking her.

Wandering around to find him, I move closer to the house until I hear his voice coming from the side of it. Plastering a smile on my face, I walk toward it until his words make me halt.

“-I know she must have been useless with all that bullshit.”

My face scrunches up but I stay hidden when I realize the person he’s talking to must be Chris, recognizing his heavy sigh before his reply.

“I wouldn’t call her useless in no kinda way. But sure, man.”

I peer around the corner and get a glimpse of Chris’ face, his telltale flush of irritation fixed to his features. I debate coming around the corner since I don’t want to be caught snooping but something tells me to stay put.

“Either way. Thanks for looking out for my girl.”

I don’t miss the emphasis Jace puts on the 'my' and roll my eyes at the sudden possessiveness. Especially when a few months ago, I couldn’t even touch him in public.

“Uh-huh. Just...” Chris seems to hesitate, bringing a hand to the back of his neck and sighing. “Just deserve her, alright?”

My heart thuds against my chest but I don’t have long to process before Jace laughs riotously like that’s the best joke he’s ever heard. He places a hand on Chris’ shoulder and leans in.

“Come on, man. Have you met her? I’ve been on planes with less baggage than that bitch. It’s not like I’m going to marry her.” Jace is still laughing as he says it, his tone so matter-of-fact that I almost don’t realize what he just said.

That is until I see the expression on Chris’ face, the blankest I’ve ever seen him look. “Fuck.” He mutters as if being extremely inconvenienced before he takes a step back and throws a punch so quick I can’t even tell where it lands.

The party goes silent in an instant, the only noise coming from Jace’s body crumbling to the ground.

Oh. Shit.

🏷️/ @sttzee @tillies33ssss @miloisdone1 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @mrsmiagreer @asturniolos @teapartyprincess4two @whicked-hazlatwhore @sukiipjs @fratbrochrisgf @sturniolosmind @imfromthediningtable @st4rswrld @thvvluvr @sturnssmuts @littlenerdybee @sturniolossss @iloveneilperry @eclipzw @chrissloverrrrrrr16 @sstvrnioloo @clemlament @maryx2xx @fwskullz @luv4kozume @breeloveschris @xoxo4chrisss @ribread03 @sturnrc @h3arts4harry @chrissystur @pepsiboyy @wcnderwqll @watercolorskyy @sturnsmia @fake-sturniolos

216 notes · View notes

drabblesandimagines · 5 months

Text

Traditions

Leon Kennedy x reader Established relationship, fluff, one lil' swear

You look forlornly at the box of Christmas decorations you’d brought out of the top of the cupboard in anticipation of tomorrow, sat prominently in the middle of the living room, and back down at the text you’d received a few moments ago from Leon.

LSK, 3:28pm: Been held up, sweetheart. Trying to get this wrapped up ASAP but I’m not going to be back tonight. Forgive me? x

It’s silly to be upset, you know that, especially Leon’ll be frustrated enough as it is that they’re making him stay there longer. You flop back on the sofa, take a breath and type out a reply.

No forgiveness necessary, silly. I know it’s not your fault. Be safe x

It was going to be your first Christmas in the new, shared apartment that you’d picked out together for the next big stage of your relationship. Leon hadn’t come with a huge amount of personal effects – a shoebox of letters and photographs had been the sum of anything sentimental amongst the usual boxes of clothes, shoes, bedsheets and towels. You, on the other hand, had come in with a fair bit more, including one solely filled with Christmas decorations.

You'd been sat on the living room floor nearly ten months ago now, unpacking one of your several boxes, a few of them set aside to be deposited in different rooms to tackle, which Leon had graciously been working his way through.

“Where do you want this one, sweetheart?”

You looked up, deciphering the initials you’d hastily written in permanent marker in the corner. “Oh, can you put that one in the top of the hall cupboard, please?”

He nodded, bending with his back rather than lifting from his knees and grunted, not expecting it to be as heavy as it was.

“What’s in here – weights?”

You smiled, sheepishly, getting up to your feet. “Christmas decorations. We don’t have to use all of them, I thought we could combine, you know? Decorations and traditions.”

He looked down at the sealed box, seeming embarrassed as you walked over to him. “That’s okay. Never really did much for Christmas myself, so I'm happy with whatever you wanna do for both, sweetpea."

You stood up on your tip-toes, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Well, we can get some new ones too – together.”

That had been the plan for tomorrow on the rare, overlapping day off for the two of you in a busy December. You had a whole itinerary in mind, jam-packed with your favourite festive activities that you were excited to share with Leon, see which ones he was taken with so you could start making your own joint traditions going forward. You move the box to the place you’d cleared for the tree, before sitting down on the sofa. You check your phone – no response – and lean forward for the remote control instead, switching on a tacky Christmas movie as a distraction.

You didn’t hear from Leon again that night, which wasn’t unusual if he was in the thick of things, and there was no text or missed call when you awoke in the morning. You’d showered, dressed and were in the kitchen, making a coffee to warm you up on the chilly morning – a very picturesque dusting of snow had fell overnight - when you heard the jangle of keys in the front door. In walked Leon, his suit crinkled, looking tired but smiling immediately at the surprised look on your face.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Leon!” You walked over to him as he dropped his duffel bag on the floor with a thud, opening his arms wide to greet you, only for you to yank him forward by his jacket to kiss him.

He slips his arms around your waist, kissing you back in return, though there’s a smirk on his lips when you pull back, “That welcome home makes the red-eye I caught entirely worth it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way back?”

He shrugs, swallowing down a yawn. “Didn’t wanna wake you – knew you’d got the whole day planned." He knew you'd been itching to decorate for Christmas with him, letting it slip that you usually had everything up by the evening of December 1st. "Lemme grab a shower, change out of this suit and then you can tell me what’s first on the agenda, hm?”

“Oh. No,” you shake your head, feeling foolish. “You must be exhausted after everything, as well as travelling through the night. We can just relax today, don’t worry about that stuff – it was a silly idea, really.”

“Uh-uh, I’ve been looking forward to it. Hell, it’s the reason why I got the red-eye.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He presses a kiss against your forehead before picking his bag back up. “Save me some coffee?”

“Okay.” You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face as he heads through to the bedroom. “Oh, be sure to dress warm!”

“A Christmas tree farm, huh?” Leon reads the sign with a grin, pulling the Jeep into the parking lot. You’d wanted to drive but he was a little nervous of you behind the wheel on the snowy roads. He’d been a good sport though, following the directions you’d programmed into the sat nav dutifully and not questioned where you were going, as you were adamant it remained a surprise.

“Yeah.” You nod, enthusiastically. Leon swears you’ve been bouncing your leg in excitement the whole drive. “We walk through, choose our perfect tree, cut it down and then we take it home.”

“How do we know which one is our perfect tree?”

“We’ll just know when we see it.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and jump out the Jeep, ready to sprint right down to the entrance when Leon grabs hold of your arm, spinning you around to face him.

“Hold on, sweetpea.” He fussed, tugging your hat further down around your ears with gloved fingers. “There. Don’t want you getting sick for your favourite holiday.”

“Thank you.” You smile, lacing your fingers with his and pulling him down the slope towards the tree farm. There’s a wheelbarrow of saws as you enter which you leave Leon to choose his preference – you know he’ll want to do the grand honours – as you grab a sledge to aid with tree retrieval before heading out the forest itself.

“Okay, so as a total tree novice, what are we looking for in particular?”

“Something that’s not too small but not too big, nice shape to it, isn’t already half-dead, has a good smell to it…” You trail off, stopping in front of one that seemed a good size. This first area is a little sparse, only a handful of trees left in the ground but there’s a good acre to explore.

“Smell?”

“That’s half the fun of having a real one – the smell.” You give the tree a gentle shake to find it loses quite a few needles, and turn away to find Leon watching you, intently, resting the saw on his shoulder.

“Like the car air freshener?”

“Kinda, but ten times better when it’s not artificial.” You loop your arm through his. “Come on, plenty more trees to see.”

You enter the next area where it’s more of a thicket, trees of various heights and widths and Leon feels a little overwhelmed at the choice. He hangs back, watching you in your element – slowly walking past each tree to first check if it meets your height criteria and if it does, then looking at it from various angles, hands on your hips, tilt your head before giving a branch or two an experimental shake.

He begins to take note of ones you linger on, getting an idea of what you’re looking for in particular. It’s part of his job after all – observing targets, memorizing certain details. He walks on a little further, scrutinizing each tree in turn before, shaking the branch to see how many needles cast off. After a half a dozen, he stops in front of one, mimicking your head tilt from before, giving a few of the branches a shake and steps back.

“Sweetheart, whatcha think of this one?”

“Hm?” You turn in the direction of his voice, locating him amidst the green before trudging over, looking at the tree in question. He watches, silently, as you go through the motions before turning back to him with a smile so bright he swears it makes his heart skip a beat.

“It’s perfect! You’re a natural.”

“Had a good teacher.”

Tree secured safely to the top of the Jeep, you’d pushed Leon into the tree farm’s shop next, a treasure trove of Christmas decorations both classic and tacky and told him to pick up whatever he liked the look of. He’d been quite taken with the rustic wooden decorations – trees, sleighs, woodland animals – and a tin one of a motorcycle, and you’d chosen a standard box of baubles together in colours you’d liked. From there, it was back to the apartment, thankfully the two of you plus tree fit in the elevator, before Leon nipped back down to the Jeep for the new pot and bag of Christmas decorations.

You’d pulled him into the bedroom upon his return, presenting him with plaid pyjama bottoms, a black t-shirt and a Santa hat.

He’d held it between two fingers. “Seriously, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, pulling out a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband from behind your back. “Or this.”

He pulled the hat over his head without further complaint.

Between the two of you, now both donned in your pyjamas and festive headgear, and another made-for-TV Christmas film playing in the background on the widescreen, you managed to get the tree situated in its new home for the season before you dived into your box, pulling out a ball of tangled fairy lights and dropping it in his lap.

“Another Christmas tradition you need to experience is untangling the lights.”

He balances it in his palm, looking at you with an eyebrow raised. “How about just putting them away properly?”

“I do – always end up like that.” You shrug, getting to your feet.

“Right, and whilst I’m doing this, what will you be doing?”

You lean over the back of the sofa, press a kiss to his crown. “Making you a hot cocoa with all the trimmings. Good luck!”

You watch as Leon stretches up and places the star atop the tree – it’s a smidge crooked, but you love it all the same. You’d spent the last hour wrapping it in lights and tinsel, before nestling new and old decorations upon the branches.

You bend down and switch the lights on, illuminating the tree in all its glory. “Perfect,” you declare, before you close your eyes for a moment, bite your lip in thought as Leon watches on with interest.

“What was that about?” He pulls you into his side, wrapping an arm tight around your waist.

“What was what?”

“Closed your eyes there, looked like you were deep in thought.”

“Oh,” you laugh. “It’s silly – my grandfather said to make a wish after you put the star on top of the tree and switch on the lights and then, with some Christmas magic, it would come true.”

“Really?”

“Mm. Give it a go.” You elbow him in the side, teasingly.

“Nah, it won’t work.” He shakes his head.

“Well, not with that attitude.”

“No,” he twirls you round in front of him then, cups your cheek and kisses you, softly. “It won’t work because my Christmas wish has already come true.”

“Okay, I need to dial back on your exposure to Hallmark Christmas movies cos that was cheesy as heck.”

He shrugs, rubbing his thumb across your cheek with a smug look on his face. “You love it.”

“I love you.” You correct, placing your hands on his chest. “Thank you for indulging me all day.”

“Love you more, sweetheart. However, there is one tradition I do have for this time of year that I’d like to share with you.”

“Really? You said you didn’t have any.”

“Mm.” He pulls you back with him onto the sofa, nestling you into his lap and presses a button on the remote control – the DVD player whirring into action.

“Leon Scott Kennedy,” you start with fake indignation, “are you telling me you have a favourite Christmas movie?”

Leon presses a kiss to your temple before he moves his lips to your ear to whisper with a smirk.

“Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker.”

Silly, festive nonsense. Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you

395 notes · View notes

butch-reidentified · 2 months

Text

I've spoken before about psychopathy, particularly my own, and the importance of recent research and demolishing the stigma and absolutely absurd past conceptions and measures of psychopathy, which were exclusively based on studies of male prisoners convicted of violent crime.

Just to reiterate - psychopathy is not being deranged and uncontrollably violent. Villanelle from Killing Eve is actually an excellent and well-researched example of high-EQ female psychopathy, and the first fictional portrayal I can genuinely see myself in. Psychopaths with high EQ are entirely capable of cognitive empathy, and many (like myself) are actually very gifted in it, and can even make excellent counselors/therapists as a result of this combined with a lack of strong internal biases and the fact that we won't be emotionally impacted/drained by patients. This presentation of psychopathy is becoming more and more recognized and studied, and is distinctly more common in women. We retain the core defining traits, obviously - boldness, deviancy, disinhibition, very high fear threshold, a tendency toward meanness (self-control is a thing, though), reduced capacity for remorse and regret*, and of course lack of affective (emotional) empathy - but are much more able to moderate ourselves and prioritize social functioning, and tend to view the sadistic behavior of low-EQ psychopathic males as wasteful. My wife calls it "prosocial psychopathy."

Anyway, I just kind of wanted to touch on this again since it's been a while and there's a fair few new followers out here. I encourage you to read the above links and check the tag - it's a pretty interesting topic, to me at least.

Edit 4/25/2024: *Regarding the reduced capacity for remorse/regret: I firmly believe this sounds worse than it is. For people like me, at least, it's not that I'm going around doing terrible things and incapable of feeling bad about any of them. The truth is that remorse & regret most frequently occur as a result of intensely emotion-driven behaviors, which as a concept is largely foreign to me - I don't tend toward remorse/regret because the way I interact with the world, analyze situations, and choose to behave in response, is inherently from the very beginning done with the acceptance of potential consequences actively held in my mind. I'm not prone to regret/remorse because I know myself extremely well and make choices as consistent with my understanding of self as possible, having already prepared myself for the possibility that things could go wrong. It's more about being prepared for what might happen and able to cope when things do go wrong, rather than being a piece of shit and not feeling anything about it.

This doesn't make me better or worse than others; it's a neutral fact that male supremacy has made seem otherwise by constantly claiming that "logic" or whatever is superior to emotions. Fuck that. Loads of the best people I've ever known have been very emotion-driven (what non-shit people identify as a firm of being passionate) and some of the shittest people I've known would waste their dying breath insisting they're 100% logical creatures, as if that's even a real thing. To me it feels very simple: if I'm making the best (most internally consistent, most reflective of my personality and values, etc) decisions I possibly can with whatever information I have at the time, then I've done my best, acted with integrity, and don't need to regret my choices. This is very challenging to write/talk about bc of the stigma & connotations involved, but again, this is a completely neutral fact to me in the same way I describe being a woman as a completely neutral fact despite the stigma & connotations involved there. Does any of this make sense?

#mine #psychopathy #emotionality

237 notes · View notes

sunny44 · 11 months

Text

Surprise

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x mom!wife! Reader

Warnings: just fluff

Summary: Surprising Lewis with little Hamilton’s first time in the paddock.

Lewis and I met in Spain when we were on vacation.

I was on vacation from my job and he was on summer break and by some kind of miracle we met in a bar.

I was alone drinking while my friends were dancing, I was excited that we were going to go out until minutes before my ex-boyfriend had the courage to send me an invitation to his wedding with the woman he cheated on me with.

My mother had sent me a message warning me because the address he knew was the address of my parents' house.

So this let me down completely.

Not that I was still in love with that idiot, far from it, but the fact that he had the courage to invite me made me realize that I have spent three years of my life with that person who didn't even deserve one month of my time.

And that's when Lewis showed up, I guess the fact that he found a sad woman in a bar, drinking alone on a Friday night caught his attention.

That's when we started talking and I as a person completely uninterested in any kind of sport didn’t knew who he was, in fact I only found out months later that we were already talking.

He didn't hide who he was, in fact he told me both his name and what he did, but he didn't specify that he was a formula 1 driver and that he was one of the best ones that existed.

We exchanged numbers and talked for months until he was in England for a race and invited me to go, this was when I fell in love with the sport but also where I realized how much damage it would do to my life just to be seen with him.

People found my social medias which at the time were bombarded with horrible comments about me and my appearance and that it was impossible for him to be with a person like me.

It was then where I became terrified and distanced myself a bit from him because of this. After much insistence he managed to convince me to go out to dinner with him.

That same night he was honest with me, that if we decided to try to have a relationship unfortunately it would be like that, people hating me without even knowing me and telling lies about me.

In other circumstances I would have walked away because this life of being known was not for me, I liked being unknown to the public eye and that the amount of people who would judge me would be less than being the girlfriend of the most famous Formula One driver.

But I knew that if I didn't take the risk I would miss out on one of the best things that would happen in my life, and now I'm sure I would have regretted it.

Lewis and I have been together for 5 years now, and every day I realize how much in love with him I am.

The first years of our relationship were very hectic, the weeks away for races and events, the thousands of messages exchanged during the day and FaceTime calls at night, and those were also the most complicated years of the relationship.

It was like a test, a test to know if the relationship would survive the thousands of lies about betrayal from both parts, the manipulated photos to look like things that weren’t true, the nights of crying and tears for not knowing what to believe even though we were absolutely sure that everything was just a big lie.

I'm sure these years were essential for both of us to learn to trust each other.

——————

It was the weekend of the Silverstone GP and I had lied to Lewis that I couldn't go because I had a lot of work to do, but in fact here was Luke and I in the car heading to the track.

Lucas Hamilton was our 3 year old son. This would be his father's first race that he would be watching straight from the garage.

When we found out that I was pregnant, we agreed that above all, Luke would be preserved from the toxicity of the internet. His fans knew that he existed and also knew his name because when he was born we thought it was only fair that the fans knew about him from us and not from the paparazzi, but they had never seen more than a small body in the pictures we posted.

Lewis had already shown interest in taking the little one to watch him race but I still didn't feel comfortable about showing him to the world, but I knew how much he wanted me to go this weekend and I also knew how upset he was that I couldn't go.

So nothing better than to surprise him with our presence plus Luke's first time.

Toto had helped me with the plan, sent me the paddock passes and let the security guards know that I would be here.

I got out of the car, I put the paddock passes on mine and Luke’s neck and carefully pulled him out of the car.

"Where's daddy?" He asks as soon as I lock the car and we start walking towards the paddock.

"We're going to go see him now okay?" He agrees and takes my hand again as soon as we enter the paddock

As soon as they recognized me the cameras all turned to me and with Lewis Hamilton's faceless son along it was as if the photographers multiplied.

As we were getting close to the garage, Lewis was coming out of it with Roscoe along with him and as soon as Luke saw him he let go of my hand and came out screaming.

"Daddy." Lewis recognized that little voice on and he opened the most beautiful smile as soon as he saw his son running up to him, even Roscoe started barking.

"Hey buddy." He bent down and picked him up on his hip. "What are you doing here?"

"Me and mommy came to see you." He says excitedly and soon he sees me. "I missed you daddy."

"I missed you too buddy." Just then the three of them come toward me. "You said you were going to work."

"I lied, I wanted to surprise you."

"You sure surprised me." He gives me a kiss.

"It's bad to lie mommy."

"It really is, isn’t." Lewis says in a teasing tone. "We're going to have to ground Mommy."

"That's right."

"Are you taking your father's side?" He agrees.

Luke was definitely a daddy's boy, besides being an exact copy of Lewis, even more now that he’s bigger, the only thing that’s the same as me is the eyes, Lewis has dark eyes and mine’s are green.

"Daddy can I sit in your car?"

"Of course you can, let’s ask uncle Toto to give you some gloves too, come on."

We pulled into the garage where Lewis put Luke into the car, after we were together for a while Lewis had to go because the race was going to start and when he won we ran to the front of the podium where as soon as he jump out of the car he came running over to where we were.

And I could have sworn that this race was the most special one for him.

Bonus scene!

Y/nhamilton instagram post

Liked by @lewishamilton, @anthonyhamilton, @mercedesf1, @sebastianvettel and others 91939

Y/nhamilton The best Weekend we had in a long time. Me and Luke had the best time here in Silverstone and there’s nothing better than an F1 race, specially when daddy win the race.

Thanks to everyone that came to support my husband, Lewis and our family really appreciate the love.

Tagged: @lewishamilton

LewisHamilton thanks for everything, you are the best mama and I’m so lucky to have you. Thanks for bringing our baby boy to the race.

Y/nhamilton we love you so much

Sebastianvettel so nice to see the two of you this weekend, beautiful family

Y/nhamilton thank you Seb, we have to plan a meeting with the kids

Yourmom miss you guys so much, the three of you have to come visit. He also looks a lot like Lewis.

Liked by LewisHamilton and y/nhamilton

1K notes · View notes

thechekhov · 3 months

Note

Favorite Japanese dish?

Bonus question: have you ever tried to make those fluffy pancakes? I hear is easy to do in rice makers.

Mmmmmm that's hard.

I'll list several that come to mind, but they're by no means the end all be all.

Fair warning: If you're easily squicked out by non-western foods, then you may want to read with caution from here on out because I won't censor myself.

First of all, soba.

Specifically the cold stuff. I love it because it often comes with tempura, which is also great.

I love sashimi as well - I'm honestly a huge fan of raw fish in general and usually prefer to to cooked fish.

And speaking of raw meat in general - I also love something called basashi. It's kind of a famous local cuisine around where I live.

Though this type of meat CAN be cooked, I prefer it raw. It's horse! It's horsemeat.

I'm also a fan of nameko soup because I love mushrooms. Most Americans would probably hate this because of the runny texture, though.

As for the fluffy pancakes you mentioned....

I gotta admit, I'm not a huge fan of them. 😅

I've eaten them before in cafes and they're kinda overhyped in my opinion. They're just very airy pancakes. They're not especially different, they're just more fluff than substance in my opinion, and eating them was akin to eating plain white cake with a few strawberries on top.

Then again, I may be biased because when I make pancakes, I like to not cook them all the way through so they stay gooey in the center....

So maybe other people who really love fluffy cake would love them! Who knows. Make up your minds, I guess.

#chekhov answers #japanese foods #chekhov irl

181 notes · View notes

sameschmidtdiffname · 2 months

Note

hai i have a request for a mike fic, so i was thinking of a comfort/hurt type of thing and maybe like a “i didn’t know where else to go” kind of trope where reader shows up to his house in the middle of the night distressed and he comforts her

To All I Think is Safe

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: After a family dinner gone awry, something guides you somewhere where your mind can safely wander in better memories than the ones you're making right now.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific pronouns for Reader, mentions of arguments, heavy disassociation, heavy nosebleeding, flashbacks, first kiss, date, fear of heights, fair date, author is fucking trying, fluff.

Notes: I think my bosses want me dead. Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

I can handle family. Who can't handle family?

The part of me knocking on the green door illuminated only by the orange streetlight a few yards away, trying to peak through one of the three window slots on the door to see if there's any sign of life inside of the modest house, praying that there is out of selfish desperation. That's who.

I hadn't called. Hadn't given notice. I'd been too caught up in the emotions of myself to do so, worried I'd be turned away if I had. The thought makes me feel ill now, my mind chastising me for such a self interested act.

For a moment I almost turn to leave, sure that no one is awake and that I've simply wasted the gas in the trip over here. But at the loud clunk of the door unlocking, I feel my heart jump and sink simultaneously as Mike peaks his head through the crack in the door, bags under his eyes and hair tossled from sleep.

"Hey," he croaked, blinking away the sleep as his tired face managed a look of surprise.

"Hey," I said softly, trying not to let my voice crack. But it does. "Is this a bad time?"

I don't know what gives my state away. Maybe it's how swollen my face is, puffy and burning from the overexposure to salt water. I can already feel the skin on my eyes balloning in a disastrously unattractive manner. Maybe it's the snot that's still on my face even after trying desperately to wipe it away, my problem being I'd run out of napkins in my car some time ago and hadn't replaced them, so I'd been resorted to just trying my best to sniff back the snot or use the arm of my jacket, which is now soaked and covered by my hand to conceal it, to wipe it away. God, it's fucking sticky and I feel gross. I don't understand why the snot won't just stop fucking flowing.

"Shit, you're bleeding," Mike says. His eyes widen as he steps forward, instantly dragging me into the house, down the hall and into the bathroom.

Oh. That's why my head hurts.

The white light is blinding and overstimulating in the small, disorganized room. One glance in the mirror and I can see the bottom half of my face is grossly smeared in the snot-blood combo running from my nose, my eyes bloodshot and more dry than a British comedy from all of the tears. I stare at myself for a moment, hardly even realizing Mike is yanking my coat off of me, stroking my hair and trying to ask me questions about what happened. I can hear his voice but the words are muffled, and even though my eyes are staring at him now, I don't know when I turned to face him or what I'm really looking at. I'm just staring at anything. My mother used to call it 'staring off into space.' It's actually a disassociation episode. The kind that can make me lose myself in other thoughts, making me distant from reality where I assume the worst of things.

I'm rational enough to know not to lean into him. If I throw myself into his arms I'll smear my shit everywhere and then he'll be grossed out and will have to play nice after I interrupted his sleep to beg for comfort that should come easily enough from my aforementioned mother, but clearly I'm adult enough now that I don't need coddling and I shouldn't have driven here and-

Am I saying this out loud? Because my mouth is moving and I'm trying to say something but I'll be honest, my head is in disarray and Mike looks worried. Me too, buddy. Me too.

My hands try to help his find a wash cloth in his closet, trying to be useful, but they're covered in snot and blood too and it's dried and horrid looking and I just feel like some sticky toddler that's wailing over nothing because that's what I'm doing, and I'm trying not to dissolve into a new wave of tears because my eyes really, really hurt and I'm gonna end up hiccuping and sobbing and I shouldn't even be here right now.

Mike's hands wrap around mine and he's trying to pull me somewhere. But he won't get out of my way, tugging me forward and blocking me like it's some game. Then I realize it's him he's trying to drag me to, and I try to push away, not wanting to get him dirty or let him fulfill some duty of pity just because he feels obligated seeing me in such a state. He's touching my hair and there's snot in that too and this is all just entirely too much, making me burst out sobbing once more as I try to hide my face in my arm, feeling all too vulnerable and alone while in a house that's not mine in any way, shape or form. But his arms feel nice around me, and he's guiding me to the bathtub and helping me lay down inside of it. When he pulls away I'm paranoid for a second that he'll turn the shower head on and wash me like a drunk, especially when he reaches for the shower handles. He presses a clean, white cloth to the spout and let's just a little bit of water out to wet the washcloth before turning the water off and coming closer to me, dabbing and wiping gently at the drying mixture on my face.

There's a long while of silence. Him carefully washing me, his touch gentle and caring as I feel the wet glumps with dried crusts fade away. The pounding in my head begins to dull to an overwhelming ache, making me shut my eyes as I softly groan. When I think he's done I dare peaking at him from under my lashes, trying to read his mind. His brows are furrowed, probably in disgust. Lips pressed together as he sits on the balls of his heels,, watching me carefully. Most likely he'll let me sleep on the couch and then kick me out in the morning. I'll be lucky if I get the "We should see other people" speech. I wouldn't blame him if my calls just couldn't connect when I get home, leaving me to wonder what could've been if I hadn't been so selfish.

I don't even know the time for fucks sake.

"I'm not crazy," I say in this broken voice that only a crazy person would have.

I don't know what's funny, but he's laughing. His hand reaches out to stroke my cheek, and he feels so warm. His callouses have this smooth texture to them. Working hands. It's the first thing I noticed when we held hands the first time. It was at some carnival thing, and Abby was with us. It was sweet under those neon lights. The rides always look so cheap, but there's something enchanting in that. It's what I focus on now as my mind finally begins to relax, allowing me the guilty pleasure of mentally slipping away into an actual memory instead of just static filling my mind and drowning everything else out unpleasantly.

"I know," Mike says softly, his thumb stroking the raw skin under my eye as he watches me with a gentle smile, one probably meant to hide his contempt. "You're okay."

The rides had these giant speakers built into them. And the workers would play songs from them, loud enough it was blaring in your ear on the ride but it was a reasonable volume when you were just walking around on the wet, overgrown and matted grass that curls around the giant cables Mike and I both had to be irritating about reminding Abby not to trip on, both of us looking down to watch for them more than looking at anything else.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Mike asks gently. He's always so gentle. Well, not always.

"Ope, someone lost their drink," I said to Mike, pointing at a spilled lemonade on the dirt path that had been created by decades of the county fair foot-traffic.

"Five second rule," Mike said, his voice low and teasing in my ear, making me burst out laughing.

"That's fucking disgusting!" I exclaimed, looking at him incredulously. A mother passing by snapped 'hey!' At me, tugging her child harshly behind her as she glared. I blushed, covering my mouth with my hand at the outburst, which made Mike laugh just as hard as I just had.

I suppose I have to talk about it. I can't really just not show up at his doorstep in the middle of the night and not just explain myself. But my teeth feel cemented together, my throat full of glue that halts the words I could use to inform him of why I look like this. And my eyes are too tired to make contact with his. So I just melt into his hand, pressing it between my cheek and my shoulder. And he doesn't press any more.

"I always liked the rides that made me feel like I was flying," Mike said as we watched Abby spin round and round with some girl she often spent her days with. Lisa Something.

"Yeah?" I asked, turning to look at him, taking a drink from the giant lemonade that was not at all real lemonade and was instead some horrid sugar that's taking five years off of our lives mixed with whatever makes the color of the drink the same as construction workers glow-in-the-dark vests that I'm sure will have like, ten different studies on how it gives you some cardiovascular disorder from overexposure in twenty years. There's a waxy ring of chapstick around my straw, so it's easy to tell which one to drink from. Mike had gotten just the one giant drink and two straws, shoving them in with a smooth smile as he handed me the already sweaty, Pepsi branded cup to hold while we walked. I think he didn't know that I noticed the twelve year old boy who'd been five people ahead of us in line do the same thing with his date earlier, but it was a cute gesture nonetheless.

"Yeah. I don't know why, it just felt comforting. Wind fuckin' up my hair and shit," he said, hands shoved in his jean pockets as he watched the two girls, who are sticking their tongues out at us as they whirl by.

"What, like you were flying away from your problems?" I ask, genuinely guessing.

"Nah, I don't really think of it like that. Just felt like I was somewhere else for a bit. Could close my eyes and the only anxiety I felt was whether or not Genie there was gonna fucken drop me," he said, glancing at me and smirking as he points at the giant airbrushed painting of Genie from Aladdin on the side of the ride. That's definitely not licensed.

"Have you eaten?" Mike asks softly, coming a little closer to me as his other hand cups my opposite cheek. At that I shake my head, pressing my lips together.

"It was all just some giant fiasco," I said as I laughed while trying to aim my basketball for the hoop several feet in front of me. Mike's made like five goals in a row and is proudly holding a very cheap rainbow dolphin with lopsided eyes for me while he watches me struggle just to get one.

"What, your prom date?" He teased, leaning closer to my ear as I take a shot. And miss. Again. "Or this?"

I turned to him, glaring and trying to suppress my amused smile.

"The date was fine, my hair was horrid," I said, turning away from the man working the booth who was trying to convince me to try again.

"I always like your hair," Mike says softly, one hand stroking my hair as he presses his forehead against mine. God, why won't he just tear into me already? The anticipation is fucking killing me.

I open my mouth to respond, but I just hiccup instead. At that he gently helps me up, guiding me out of the bathroom and leading me into the kitchen where he promises a leftover bowl of chicken noodle soup has my name written all over it in the fridge.

There's a thousand insecure questions I want to ask right now. Does he hate me? Will he hate me? Is this just a prelude to an awful breakup? But instead I just cling to my thoughts quietly, not wanting an answer to anything. Reality fading in and out of focus.

The kitchen is quiet as he moves about, dishing out the leftovers and putting them in the cheap, stained microwave he'd had to buy when Abby blew up the last one with a pitiful attempt at making her own rice Krispy treats. He leans against the counter as we wait for the rattling machine to finish, neither of us really saying anything as my leg bounces wildly in anxiety.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks softly after a moment, tilting his head. His arms are crossed in front of him, which is normal for Mike but it still makes me on edge.

I try again to speak, but I can't. It feels like I'll just blow up again if I do. So I just shrug instead, not wanting to talk about the lengthy screaming match I'd managed to find myself in earlier that night.

The microwave beeps loudly, causing us both to start, Mike pulling the door open quickly to shut it up and take out the now hot bowl, hissing under his breath at himself for not grabbing a towel as he quickly moves to set it down in front of me. If I'd been in a better state I would've laughed at the admittedly comical sight, but I felt like I'd done enough at his expense for one night.

Once situated, there's long while of silence. No other noise except for my spoon clinking against my bowl as I eat quietly, Mike watching me across the glass table as he takes a few drinks from his clear glass of water, head on his large hand. A clock ticks in the other room, the hour later than I'd wanted to be when I showed up unannounced.

"I'm sorry," I finally say in a soft voice, my spoon scraping soundlessly against the maroon bowl. "I just didn't know where else to go."

He smiles softly at that, his hand reaching across the table for mine. The touch meant to be comforting instead sends me back into my thoughts, my body stiffening as my mind tries to distract me from my anxiety and doubt.

Our hands had been brushing against each other for hours as we'd walked. Both of us were too nervous to take the others, which is a bit silly since we were grown adults. But really we hadn't had any serious discussions yet. We were still in the dinners and texting phase, dancing around any serious 'what is this' talks until we felt like we would both have similar answers ready for any questions. The night had settled in solidly now, the fairgrounds only alive by the bright lights of the rides.

The grazing, however, had come to an end when the ferris wheel started clicking towards what felt like my untimely demise.

I fucking hate ferris wheels, fun fact.

I don't think Mike particularly likes them either, based off of how stiff his body was next to mine, his eyes trained dead ahead, his jaw clenched. I think he might break a tooth. Or maybe I'm projecting.

Abby and Lisa had been insistent on riding it, and had been even more insistent that Mike and I needed to ride something with them before the night was over. And even though we both looked at the thing with a pit in our stomach, neither of us felt ridiculous about being grown adults on that ride as opposed to all the others flooded with teens and kids dodging in and out, stomping in puddles of who knows what on their way to the next ride. So we gritted our teeth, handed over our tickets and got into the cart right behind Abby and Lisa, who wouldn't stop looking back at us with amused eyes, whispering into each other's each as they covered their mouths.

"My dad worked as a carnie," I blurted out as we hung mid air, halfway up the ride while they still loaded people in. "These things are fucken sturdy."

Mike didn't look at me. Or at least he didn't turn his head. I didn't either. His silence makes my anxiety a bit worse, wondering if my random fact had somehow irritated him, or if there was something I was supposed to do that I wasn't picking up on.

"... I'm gonna die to Creed," he finally said between his gritted teeth.

My brows furrow for a moment before I realize what song is playing, and then I'm laughing. Maybe a little too much, but that's the anxiety. Abby and Lisa are darting their heads around to look down at us, trying to see what's set me off, and Creed's taking One Last Breath on the blaring radio somewhere around us as they have been for the past however many months with the top song.

"I'm never gonna escape this, they play this way too much at work," I laughed. And he started laughing too, both of us white knuckled as we gripped the bar in front of us. Then we move up again, and the cart is slightly rocking, making me feel ill.

"That's okay," Mike says softly, his thumb trailing across my knuckles as I stare down at our hands. "I was missing you, anyways."

I look up at him, trying to read his expression, my head still trying to balance my focuses. There's concern in his eyes, obvious as he realizes how awful this particular episode is.

Abby is yelling something at us, but my head is buzzing with too much anxiety to hear her.

"Go away!" Mike yells back at her, waving his hand in irritation, then stopping as he realizes he's rocking the cart. He looked back at me anxiously, trying to smile. It just looked like he'd been shot instead. "Sisters," he said shyly.

"What's she saying?" I asked him, leaning closer to hear him better over the heavy guitar.

"Nothing," he insisted. "She's just being twelve."

I go to look up, only to feel his hand on top of mine, warm and strong as he grips it a little too hard for the first time, but I think that's out of anxiety too. No matter what, the first move makes me more dizzy.

"Your dad worked fairs?" He asked anxiously, obviously trying to change the subject.

"I should've called first," I say softly, leaning onto the table and pushing the empty bowl away from me as I lay on top of my arm.

"It's okay," he reminds me in a soft voice, rising from his chair while still holding my hand. "You're home now."

"Well, I'm at your home now," I hiccup into my arm. His arms wrap around me, guiding me up and into his warm embrace that I'd been longing for for what felt like hours.

"I thought you said you liked flying!" I laughed, terrified.

"Flying! This is sitting still while dangling above death!" Mike clarified. The carts began clicking again, and we now had an easier view of the two girls in front of us, making him gasp and yell out Abby's full name in scolding.

I see why he didn't want me to look up. Abby and Lisa are miming a make-out session while they giggle obnoxiously.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna fucking ground her," he groaned, covering his forehead with his other hand. His face is completely red, his body so stiff it feels like I could break off his arm with barely any pressure, and my own heart is slamming so hard against my chest I think it's visible.

One more click and we'll be at the top. Great.

He's looking down at me, I think he's trying to get me to refocus but I just can't. I've done my duties for the night, and now I'm stuck in this emotional pit of hatred and numbness as my mind tries to remind me of a better time that just makes me feel worse because Mike is speaking again and I just can't hear him.

"She's being a wingman. Really, she's just spotting a good opportunity," I rambled in Abby's defense. Mike glanced at me, then at the tweens in front of us.

"Yeah?" He asked, his voice nerve wracked.

"Oh yeah. Every little sister does it. I mean, it's partially based in torture, but overall she's trying to help," I said quickly, my breath shortening.

"Are you okay?" He asked, looking just as pale as me.

"I fucking hate heights, please distract me," I pleaded quickly, only to immediately feel his teeth click loudly against mine as he kissed me, his lips sweet with sugar and hands nearly breaking mine from his tight grip, Abby and Lisa whooping obnoxiously in front of us as we freeze in the moment. It's clumsy, certainly. And it's obvious on both ends how long it's been since either of us have done this. But it's an effective method, my mind beginning to refocus on the taste of the borderline awful lemonade fresh on his breath, his shaking hand moving from the bar to cup my cheek cold from the wind. My eyes widen in surprise, the music swelling around us and the lights somehow brighter as we rock above the rest of the fair in the squeaking booth.

When he pulls away, there's a soft smile on his face, his tongue quickly darting out to taste his own lips.

"... I like your chapstick," he said shyly, neither of us focused on the fact that we're now moving steadily in the ride, fully tuned in to the other.

"Thanks," I said softly, cheeks burning against his touch. "Strawberry."

There's a long second of nothing, and I'm vaguely aware of Abby and Lisa screaming "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" And someone is trying to shush them. I know it's not Mike because he's staring at me like an idiot. Completely satisfied and dramatically more calm as he leans in for another kiss, this time pulling me fully into his embrace.

"You're home," Mike repeats against my lips, then moving to trail along my cheeks, his hands carefully cupping my face once more as his touch grounds me back in reality. "I'll be here when your mind gets back."

As my own hands graze along his soft, cotton shirt, I feel my pulse begin to relax. Doubt beginning to creep away as his lips trail along my jaw, slowly working to my neck. It's not a demanding touch. It's just comfort. And he'll keep doing this until I return to him like I always do, and then he'll keep doing it until we both fall asleep in a tight embrace under a dozen blankets, half of which will be gone by morning as we wake in a pool of sweat across the bed from each other, only to seek the other out again in wakefulness. And there will be answers for his questions, and I'll be fine.

I'm home now.

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

I FINALLY FUCKING PUBLISHED SOMETHING. HOLY FUCK I'M OVERWORKED. (Fun fact, this was fucking hard because I was actively disassociating while writing the whole thing. Reader just like me frfr)

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool. Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

•▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

#josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson #jhutch #mike schmidt #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt fnaf #jhutch1992 #fnaf mike schmidt #fnaf mike #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x reader smut #mike schmidt x you

159 notes · View notes

sokkastyles · 1 month

Note

I have a question, I know we know that shipping does not equal morality. And I get that, and I really like that. However, on my other blog, that should have been my main blog (yes I am that dumb). I have talked about Aang's non-consensual and criticized how Kataang is written, however, if you ship Kataang I won't come for your throat because that's not my style. I know the few misogynists/antis on here and on Twitter, and I don't want to let a few bad apples be my impression of a fandom, that's not fair, So now I'm side-eyeing myself over my past remarks. Likewise, I know shipping is not equal to morality, but I also want to criticize Kataang because of how flawed it is and how wrong that kiss was (and other things). I have no idea what I'm saying because at this point I'm rambling. What do you think?

Well, there is a difference between criticizing a ship and criticizing canon. I don't honestly care what people ship. I use the antikataang tag because I don't want to argue with people who do ship it, but that doesn't mean I won't be critical of what is in the show. I think expecting people not to engage critically with media is absolute nonsense. But there is a difference between engaging critically with the actual media and criticizing people's fanon or headcanons, which is where you get away from critically engaging with canon and move into the area of criticizing other people's opinions, which is how arguments start.

Like, there isn't really any actual concrete argument you can make to criticize zutara, because zutara does not exist in canon. It's all fanon and headcanons and speculation. And criticizing other people's opinions just makes you look like a dick.

You also have to take into account the intention behind something. The thing about the way Katara's relationship with Aang is presented is that we're supposed to root for Aang to get Katara, and every obstacle towards that end is just there to create dramatic tension for the male point of audience identification. That's the real problem with the noncon kiss, and people who are critical of it are right to point it out.

In contrast, when I say shipping isn't morality, I'm talking about people who write, let's say, dubcon zutara fics. Fanfiction as a genre is largely female-centered fantasy. Yes, even those lurid fics you're thinking of. People write and read these fics for completely different reasons and have completely different expectations than when watching a series like ATLA. Trying to say that someone can't criticize the way the show presents Aang kissing Katara after she said she was confused as a mistake to be glossed over (that is forgotten as soon as it happens) because they also happen to like reading darkfic is nonsense. There's also a long history of women's interests being policed that informs my views here, vs the fact that consent has only fairly recently become a conversation in mainstream media. You have only to look at the way the show itself portrays Katara having interests (especially in boys) outside of Aang as dark and dangerous to see this happening in ATLA itself. Or the way the creators got away with saying that zutara shippers are doomed to end up in abusive relationships while painting Aang as a typical Nice Guy stereotype who expects Katara to magically become his girlfriend (and gets angry when she doesn't) and seeing nothing wrong with it.

The thing is that zutara, if we look at the way it's written in canon as a metaphor for a romantic relationship, follows the same tradition of how fanfiction has historically existed as an exploration of romantic and sexual dynamics. Those conversations about consent are actually happening and being explored in fanfiction, even the dark stuff, whereas relationships that are presented as "wholesome" often push us to NOT have those conversations. So when I say shipping isn't morality, what I actually mean is that noncanon shipping and darkfic actually has more of a moral leg to stand on than uncritically engaging with relationships on the grounds that Aang is the hero so his goodness and worthiness to get the girl should just be assumed. Zuko has to work for his right to be in a relationship with Katara because he didn't start out from a place of goodness, and that, on its own, is very female centered because instead of starting out from the perspective of the male hero deserving a relationship by virtue of being the hero, we see the idea that a man has to work to gain a woman's respect and affection.

So it's not so much that I hate KA, but I hate the idea that we should engage in it uncritically. And that would be true even if it really was the most wholesome relationship in the world. The same thing cannot be true of zutara because even the darkest of darkfic are about women centering themselves in the narrative and engaging with power dynamics in ways that are subverting patriarchal norms about relationships by definition.

#zutara #antikataang #the discourse

144 notes · View notes

groceryreceiptss · 5 months

Text

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | j.p.

james potter x reader | word count : 7.2k | requested

↳ part one / part two ───✧₊∘

summary : james always said that you were his best friend and you always said that he was yours. but you didn't realize that the meaning of the words had changed for you until it was a week before the yule ball and you two were walking through the snow covered streets of hogsmeade (reader's pov)

contains : my writing (warning lmao), pretty cheesy. (childhood) best friends to lovers!! flufff, herbal tea slander (sorry if you like it), lots of out-of-place references (like pjo and spiderman, i'm SORRY, i can't help it). i’m never sure on what to put in here to be honest so just let me know!

a/n : soo i might have gone a biiiiit overboard and make it a two part! this one takes place in hogsmeade (mostly), told from reader's point of view. i'm planning for the second one to be from james' point of view and for it to take place during the yule ball (no promises on when i’m going to finish it though TT )

credits : lovelyy dividers by @cafekitsune, pins i used (1) (2) (3)

───────────────────────

The castle seemed to have its own separate life in December. Snow, trees, warm hearth, lights, candles, sweaters, hot drinks, and not to mention the food. The students always seemed to be reinvigorated by the time this month came too. Excited whispers floated the hallways in strings of exclamations.

This year, they were way louder than usual though. And the reason for it was visible in every room. The vibrant yet elegant posters, the talks of elaborate plans, scenes of people asking and being asked (and the cheers that would follow it), conversations of suits and dresses, and absolutely nonchalant talks of dates and hopes.The Yule Ball.

This extravagance of the event only happened once in every four years, so of course, everyone was excited. Nothing could be more thrilling than a chance to live out your silly teenage dreams and be like one in the movies.

You loved it too. The smiles, the laughter, the gossip, the drama. It was fun, though you weren't expecting much for yourself. You weren't being a downer or whatever (which was what James would definitely tell you), it was just that, if truth be told, you had learned not to hope too much in anything. Retrospective had taught you a long time ago that it would only tarnish the joy out of a perfectly good moment.

Today was a festive Saturday morning. Talks of the ball were echoing off the walls in a more persistent way than ever. Understandable for they only had a week left before the festivities, anxiety and anticipation were sure rising.

You were just about to enter The Great Hall, the comforting smell of good breakfast already reached your nose, before someone suddenly threw their arms around you from the back, throwing you off balance a bit, his warmth enveloping you. James Potter.

Funny how someone's laugh could be so familiar to one's ears.

"How are you in this fine lovely morning?" The bespectacled boy greeted you as you turned around, eyes meeting his, your lips turned upward mirroring his smile. He really did have the most annoying charming smile. It was infectious.

"Freezing to death," you responded, slinging his arm around your shoulders as both of you walked the rest of the way to the hall. "Where are the others?”

"Already there," he scoffed, and continued on dramatically, "They left me to fend for myself!"

"To be fair, you are a heavy sleeper."

"You're one to talk," he grinned at you, "Why do you think both of us are the last ones to arrive?"

And he hit it right. You straightened up, ready to defend yourself. "Well, look–"

But he was way ahead of you. "Good book?" he smiled knowingly. And right again.

"So good," You nodded your head vigorously. "You should read it sometimes. I'll add that to your list." You waved your hand away casually, as if to say ‘done and done.’

"I look forward to reading it."

You smiled up at him, agreed. "Good, because you must." And before you could stop it, you went on telling him all about your reading from last night.

He didn't seem to mind, he never did. In fact, he always seemed to be interested in everything you had to say, so you continued. It had become a routine. You told him about a book he had never heard of, he told him about a match you had never watched.

James Potter was your best friend. Always had and always would be. The two of you had known each other since you were five and knew nothing and everything. Both of your parents had been best friends and it just progressed naturally. They would often spend the holidays and breaks together and so his house was yours as much as yours was his.

And when both of you got the Hogwarts letter at the age of eleven and were sorted into Gryffindor, it was inevitable that you grew even closer. Everything about him had become so familiar now. It was like you knew him at the back of your hand.

His favorite color, his favorite food, his favorite song. How his eyes brightened a bit when he laughed. The dimples that came with his smile. How he would bite his lip a bit when McGonagall caught him and his friends in their mischievous schemes, or when he was thinking of a lie to tell her.

How he liked to put his arm around your shoulder, or tucked it in the inside of your arm every time he saw you. His glasses that were always lopsided, and his hair that was always tousled. Just like it was right now.

Both of you sat down in front of Remus and Sirius, who were laughing about something. Crisp toast, bacon, and eggs on the plates completely abandoned. You eyed them closely and wondered how two people could be so oblivious to one another when they were sitting that close to each other. And look at Remus! He was almost red.

If only you did not have a sense of decency and could have it in you to interfere with these two, then maybe, just maybe, they'd finally admit their feelings and go to the Yule Ball together.

"Where's Wormtail?" James asked them, getting himself a plate of eggs and sausages. You decided to grab some toasts, marmalade, and some eggs.

"Don't know," Sirius shrugged. "Probably hatching a plan to ask Jane out."

"Doesn't she already have a date?" You asked him, confusion on your face.

"Not sure," Remus chimed in, "it's hard to keep track these days." True that.

The four of you talked some more. You and James tried multiple times trying to get these two to talk about their dates to the ball—or more like the lack of it—and did a bait and switch. And you were good at it, but boy were they better.

After their plates had emptied, Remus said that he was going to make a quick run at the library and Sirius, very subtly and casually, offered that he could come too because he was "bored." You and James could barely contain your smiles until they disappeared out of view.

He grabbed a bit of your toast, put some of his fruits on your plate in exchange for it, and asked, "So... what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Who are you going with to the dance?"

"Oh," you pondered a bit, biting one of the strawberries. "I don't know. I'm thinking of going by myself, maybe? I think it'd be fun."

"No one has asked you yet?" He asked, surprised.

You let out a laugh at his expression. "Don't pretend to be shocked now, James. I don't exactly have a line of people waiting to ask me out."

"People here have bad tastes then.” He concluded.

You shrugged, “I don’t mind. It’d be a pity spending the night with some stranger I don’t know, or even like, anyway. What about you and Lily?”

James' die-hard affection for the red-head girl was never a secret. The entire school knew it. It had been going on since first year and you doubted it would ever stop.

The way he always talked about her — with so much fondness and care. It was, the way she smiled, the way she laughed, the way she talked. But you noticed the way he looked at her too. It was like he fell in love every time he laid his eyes on her.

You figured that he was going to at least work up the courage to ask her out to the ball, even if it would only end up in vain, but no news from him so far. It was weird, like a sudden change of the weather. You had had to endure listening to him for what seemed like ages after Lily talked to him for the first time. And then another and another and another about his failed attempts at asking her out. What's with the quiet and silence now?

Was the fact that she turned him down again for the dance hurt him that bad? Oh, now you felt guilty for asking.

What was so strange, though, was that there wasn't sadness on his face now. No hidden pain or aches. Instead, he said, ever so casually, your toast in his hand "I haven't asked her yet."

You were taken aback, shocked, eyebrows scrunched up. "What?"

James' fruitless efforts with Lily was also very much widely known, but he was never ashamed of it. You couldn't remember the last time he passed an opportunity to confess his— as he said it —undying love for her.

"What, what do you mean you haven't asked her out?" You sputtered out.

He chuckled nervously at your response, raising his hands in trying to calm you down. "Is it really that surprising?"

"Considering the fact that you, James Potter, have been after her for like forever and never faltered in his efforts to make her know that he is head over heels for her, then I'd say, yeah. It's pretty surprising." You responded, baffled. "What changed?"

"Nothing! I just figured that she'd turn me down anyway and didn't bother. And then I heard she already accepted someone else's offer anyways." he shrugged.

"Oh," you put his hand in yours and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry."

James squeezed yours in return and gave you a smile. "Nothing to be sorry about. I'm fine, honestly." he assured you. “I think it might be for the best.”

Though you didn’t believe that, he did look fine. And James was never one to hide his feelings from you— in fact it was the total opposite, he was always ever so dramatic — so you took his words. You bit your lip and asked, "You want some tea?"

"What is it this time?" He asked as he took a bite of the egg.

You grabbed one of the teacups and gave it a sniff. "Oh," you scrunched up your nose from the smell, "Herbal, I think." you put it down. "That's a no then."

He groaned, "Why couldn't they just serve normal tea?"

"Because then we won't have a ‘refined’ palate." You rolled your eyes, quoting something Madam Pince had told you in the library for what seemed like a long time ago.

"That's a silly excuse for serving only herbal tea at breakfast."

You couldn't say that you disagree.

"So,” he started. “What are you doing today? Any plans?"

"No,” you shook your head, “Nothing much." You poured yourself a glass of orange juice and passed the jug to him. "I'll probably just read. You?"

He poured one himself and grinned at you. "That depends, you want to go to Hogsmeade?"

"Uh-oh," you let out a laugh, sensing trouble. "What are you up to?"

He gasped dramatically. "What do you mean ‘what are you up to?’ I am offended.” He placed a hand on his chest for good measure. “Could it be possible that maybe I just want to spend the day at Hogsmeade with my best friend?”

You raised your eyebrows at him.

He laughed. “I’m not going to do anything, honestly. And It'll be fun, I promise!" he nudged you. "We haven't gone there in a while." Well, that was true.

"It's cold," you argued.

"I have an extra coat if you want double."

"It will be very crowded."

"Then we'll find some place no one knows."

"That's impossible."

"Anything is possible, love. Please." He pleaded, looking at you with his big doe eyes. It was so unfair of the world to give someone such gorgeous brown eyes and left the others to dust. So unfair.

You sighed, letting out at last. He would be the death of you one of these days. "Fine," — which brought a whispered "Yes!" from him— "But we're going to have to visit the quill shop."

"Consider it done."

──────────────────∘

Hogsmeade was truly beautiful in the winter. Its snow-covered roads, the orange lights visible in every shop, and the chattering crowds in their coats and scarves. Though the hits of cold wind on your face made you shiver, you were glad that you decided to go. And that you were with James. His arms around your shoulders provided you warmth just as much as his breath on your cheeks did.

As promised, both of you visited Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. James had complained at first and tried to negotiate by saying you should "save the best for last" and head to Zonko's instead to open the trip, but after both of you saw the line the place'd formed, he agreed that maybe quills were more fascinating.

"Why are there so many types of ink?" he whispered loudly at you as he examined the shelves, "Who cares if it's lavender purple or lilac purple? They're purple!"

"Lots of people do." You answered before quietly squealing to him after finding a rare gem. "Look!"

You pushed the ink bottles to his face so he'd read the label. "Rainbow ink?"

"Rainbow ink!" You nodded excitedly.

"You do not need rainbow ink, love." He shook his head but couldn't force back the affectionate smile that had appeared on his face.

"Just like you don't need those hand-biting teacups or whatever from Zonko's, and yet here we are." You hummed giddily as you grabbed one of the brand new boxes of rainbow ink from the shelf.

"It's nose-biting teacups— please don't take the fun out of it," he corrected you, "and yes I do need it! It's fun! Trashy fun, but fun!”

"Whatever you say, love." Something caught your attention and you immediately grabbed the cuff of his shirt. "Oh! Let's look here!"

With the rainbow ink tucked safely in your coat pocket, you and James walked out of the shop and visited Zonko's. He recounted all of the items he had once bought and how he had used them up, mostly with Sirius. He ended up getting something called Inflatable Tongue (for what you didn't want to know) before both of you walked out.

You turned to him with a glint in your eyes. "Honeydukes?"

He returned the mischief and grinned. "I thought you'd never ask. Time?"

You thought it over, looking at the clock nailed onto the wall of the shop through the glass.

“Five minutes,” you pointed out. “Letter?”

"B,” he decided as he rubbed his gloved hands together. "Ready?"

"One..." you looked over at him, I'm going to obliterated you.

"Two…”

“Three.. Go!" you declared before both of you ran to the brightly colored store.

You and James had many traditions. This was one of them.

The challenge was simple. You only had to find as many candies as possible that started with the decided letter in those few minutes.

It had started with a silly argument in second year, about who knew more about sweets and, later on, the knowledge of Hogsmeade's own candy shop's stocks and products. You only had been able to visit by third year of course, and the real game had only begun there, but the fire was already established way before.

Your friend, Marlene, thought it was stupid, and so did the rest of the Marauders, but there was something to be said about the similar stubbornness you two had. Sirius had said they were eerily alike.

You and James entered the shop with thrill and jumpy nerves, but were still decent enough to try not to run like little children that would definitely result in getting kicked out. Like that time both of you visited those muggles candy stores over a summer when you were younger. Lessons were learned.

You immediately went to the right part of the store, claiming the territory. Directed by your decision, James went to the left.

You knew the store well. James didn’t know it, but you had been visiting this cheerful shop a lot recently. Mostly because Mary was so down after her breakup with her toxic ex and these treats are one of the things that could cheer her up. But on the side, you had done your research. The Bs were on this side of the store.

Bolandi’s Exquisite Crystallized Pineapple. Blood-flavored lollipop. Bat’s Blood Soup? Gross. And some chunks of brownies.

Five minutes passed, and with James only got Bertie’s and bubblegums, you came out of the shop victorious.

You jumped and threw your hands in the air. “And miss y/l/n won again. Thank you, thank you.” You bowed to a nonexistent audience.

He only smiled at you. “Don’t be so proud now. Remember, miss y/l/n, I am still the running champion here. 3-2” he reminded you with a smug smile on his face.

You shrugged. “That won’t be hard to feat, you mark my words.“ you offered him a look into your paper bag. “Want to try some?”

“What’s new?”

“Bat’s blood soup.” Your nose wrinkled at the name. “He said that it’s actually chocolate, but the name is too off putting.”

“It’d be good with strawberries,” he offered. “We can grab some from dinner later.”

You nodded your head as both of you made your way through the village. “I think Mary would like it too anyways.”

“Oh, right.” James said. He and Mary weren’t close but they were friendly, especially from being past neighbors and all. “How is she these days?”

“Better every day I'm sure. It’s for the best, Matt’s an asshole.”

“We can only hope that that itching powder will find its way real soon.” he grinned at their latest form of tricks. “Or maybe during the Yule Ball actually. That would be so much better.”

You snorted. “Usually I would say that’s cruel, but he deserves it. We thank you for your service.” You continued solemnly.

He waved his hand as if tipping off his hat. “And you are so very welcome.”

Both of you walked through the well-lit village. Talking about everything and nothing, laughing at that student making a fool of himself in one of the shops, and slipped some bites of the crystallized pineapples.He asked you about how far into the book you were now, and you asked him about his Quidditch team and whether the newest member– someone from year two, you believed–was still afraid of heights.

James had his left arm around you and your gloved hands were holding his–the one near your neck–fighting for some sense of warmth. You and James hadn’t done this in a while and you’d forgotten how much you missed it. You looked up at him as he was talking about the second-year boy and saw the flecks of snow scattered on his face, his askew glasses, and his jet black hair. It made him look a tad bit adorable, you thought. His brown eyes that had that bit of green in them were alight with something so charmingly infectious that you couldn’t help but smile.

You looked at him as he talked about the latest match, his right hand going everywhere as he was talking at the speed of 893 miles per hour. You loved seeing him talk excitedly about something. There was just something so beautiful in hearing the people you cared about talk about things that they cared about so passionately and ardently, no matter how trivial they may be. It was like you were trusted enough to see this crazy side of them. It’s nice.

A group of third-years passed by and you heard them complaining about not being able to go to the ball yet. Something about dances, dresses and suits, and dying alone.

"Oh," you fought a smile to keep it from surfacing as you remembered a particular last week incident. “How are your dance moves coming along?"

He groaned. “Not this again. You're trying not to laugh."

"I'm not!" but a chortle escaped you either way. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I know you're trying your best."

"I am!" he whined. "It's just really hard and Padfoot isn't exactly the best dance partner for practicing," he grumbled.

"Steps-on-you-shoes kind of bad or doesn't-catch-you-after-the-spin-that-you-end-up-falling kind of bad?" You said with a smile and with raised eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes as he revealed a sheepish smile. As if he could forget. "I said I'm sorry."

“I know. but it was right there. I couldn't not do it.”

A week ago, in the empty common room at night, James had asked you to teach him the basic dance steps most people used for the ball. Despite his mother's graces for it, you found that her son was very much an amateur.

He kept stepping on your foot and collided with you as he took the wrong directions. You were laughing and kept saying that it was fine, but he still apologized every other second of it.

The ending to the attempts was a disaster. A playful one for you, but he seemed very embarrassed of it. You had suggested the spin—and honestly it was your fault to have recommended it in the first place when it had only been an hour and a half—and as he tried to pull you back, he might have tugged your hand a bit too hard and you ended up crashing into one another. Your figure on top of his, his hands on your waist.

His cheeks had turned slightly red, and yours had grown hot as the fall stopped and you found your face so close to his. Your eyes inevitably found his brown ones and you felt his rapid breaths on your skin. His eyes have a little bit of green in them, like stars, your mind wandered before catching yourself. You let out a slight awkward cough and tried to laugh it off as you made yourself stand up.

He gave you a string of apologies afterward, and although you had assured him that it was all in good fun, he never asked you to teach him again. You kind of wished he would, for reasons you couldn't quite explain, but you didn't want to push him when he had turned to Sirius to "let the failures just befall on him", as he'd said it.

"But, either way, have you improved under the capable hands of Sirius Black, Mr. Potter?" you asked him now, an eyebrow raised.

"Well, he's definitely not as capable as you." He gave you an admiring smile, and you almost looked away from it. Taking compliments was never one of your talents. Especially if you felt undeserved of it.

"Well, it might come to you as a surprise, but what we learned was the easy part. I'm an intermediate myself." Deflected and dodged.

He laughed. "Either way, you're still graceful at it. You know, the incident did happen again. With Sirius."

You snorted. "What?"

"Yeah. Luckily, it's still in the privacy of our dorm. so it's good."

"I'd give money to see that."

"Would never let that happen in a million years."

“With the way things are going, I might. The dance is a public affair.”

“I’d have to get better by next week then.” He said it solemnly like it was a promise, but he probably was kidding. That small child-like smile on his face said it all.

You had walked to the empty side of the village. You didn't think there was one, but the snow covered streets around you were scarce of people. Only a few passersby before they too disappeared into the warm shelter of a wooden shop. Just the way you preferred it.

A sudden thought crossed your mind and before you could even give it a second thought, your mouth decided to give it a voice. "You want to try again?"

He looked around, his snow flecked eyebrows raising, and his smile tinted with a hint of amusement. "Here?"

Well now you wished you hadn't. But, playing along was always better than an embarrassed "never mind, that was stupid" right?

"Well, yes!" you told him as if you definitely didn't have any second thoughts at all. "Almost no one’s here. Besides," You continued with a light feather edge on your words. "I heard it's freeing to dance in the cold December wind."

He shot you with one of his cheeky smiles. "Is that so?" before putting on his thinking face, a guess on the tip of his tongue. "Romance?" He ventured.

"Partly. It's a coming-of-age drama and such." You corrected him. "It's also on our winter list for this year you'll see."

"Can't wait." and he meant it. But only because, "I hope you'll also like that match tape I got of a muggles' football match. They're entertaining too to say the least."

After years of being best friends together, he had learned that you liked to talk in quotes from the books you'd read and the movies you'd watched. And after years of spending winter and summer breaks together watching and listening to the muggles' form of entertainment media, it was like you shared the same frequency. He could guess which type of movies or shows or songs you had probably heard the saying from, and you could guess which sport match did he reference that joke from.

It was a whole different game. Total number of players : two.

He stopped in his tracks, letting his arm fall from his shoulder, making your neck shudder a bit at the loss of warmth.

"So," he gave you a gentleman's bow—and a playful smile along with it—and offered his gloved hand. "May I have this dance?"

You almost let out a surprised laugh at the gesture. You took a ladylike bow, pinching the fabric of your invisible royal dress. "That depends," you said in an exaggerated accent, "are you able to do so without giving me a head injury?"

He returned the overplayed accent. "I shall make no promises. But, if i were to slip and let you fall, best believe I'd try my best to catch you."

On the usual days, you'd bring up Gwen Stacy falling into her demise in one of the remakes of the Spider-Man movies. How Peter wasn't able to catch her and she ended up dead. James would've gotten the reference—you had cried to him for hours after that first watch last summer—but you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

And yet instead, you were here, trying not to let the invisible red take too much space on your already freezing cheeks. You smiled, and it was a smile you couldn't contain. Not like others. It was one that just kept going wider and wider the more you looked at the beam plastered on his face until it wasn't physically possible anymore.

James, your head echoed his name as you mentally shook your head. A soft laugh escaped your lips. What have you done?

“We’re going to look stupid.” You admitted.

“Hey, it was your idea." He reminded you, his hand still stood in the air.

"It was a moment of foolery." But you took it.

The wind had started to pick up its course again and caused the snow to fall rapidly. Under the glow of the streetlights, you two danced and laughed. It started off as an attempt to the formal dance two would usually use at a ball, but after one or two or seven missteps, you agreed that maybe you should start over.

There was no music to accompany you but there was a faint piano playing from one of the shops. It whispered gently with the wind that swept you and James' rowdy steps.

His laughters were echoing in your ears, into your mind. His breath was on your cheeks, and his gloved hand on your woolen one was a warming touch. His glasses were a bit askew, and a part of his hair that came out of his beanie was flecked with snow.

There was no rhyme nor reason to your steps or the placement change of your hands. It was so stupid and silly. One minute it was an amateur attempt at classic dances, and another you were fooling around as if you were at a house party.

It was nice. Like you two were five again and you knew nothing and everything. Childhood innocence, where have you gone?

There were a lot of things you were late to realize about your friendship with James. You guessed you didn’t really think much about a friendship that had started since you could remember. It had always just been there, all your life. So long that you couldn’t imagine a life without it. A steadfast thing, the most you ever had one with someone that used to be a stranger to you.

You couldn’t even imagine that now. James Potter, a stranger. It felt so wrong. You had known too much about him, he had known too much about you. He was memorized in your mind.

From his hazel brown eyes that felt like the warm hearth of your home every time you looked at them, to the quirk of his lips and the gentleness of his smile.

To his voice that had once become a soothing presence after you had had paranoid nightmares about one of the people you knew dying. To the sound of his laughter that accompany the hot days in June and the freezing weather of winter, like how it did right now.

How he would run his hands through his hair when he was frustrated or didn’t know what to do. Or how his handwriting looked and how the Gs and Ys are always so sloppy and how the Ss barely look like one.

And so many things. So many other things you couldn’t imagine living without. Maybe this was just you being too present in a moment that you couldn’t think of it being ripped away and making you not be there anymore, but you weren’t sure.

You looked at him, and it was like the rest of the world fell away. His eyes had stars in them and his cheeks were red from the cold.

Your thoughts raced in a hundred miles per hour as your breaths and the pulse in your veins tried to catch up. All of them were beating to get out of your skin and onto the snow. They all had the same jitters, the same sound, and the same beat. And they all were talking in one unison, a whisper of the name of the person in front of you.

James Potter. James Potter. James. Oh. Oh.

It was a moment too late before you realized you had not been watching your steps and tripped yourself over a good mound of snow.

“Woah, woah” You started as you fell forward onto the snow, with your hands still on James’.

You heard the soft thump of the snow hitting James’ head, as your body fell on top of his. The rough old material of his father's coat met with your similar one. Your eyes were inches from his and so were your lips. You didn’t know what to think, your mind just went blank at the sudden proximity.

You should— wait, what should you do? You should— right, oh my god, apologize!

Fighting your inner thoughts and denying its claims, you immediately got up. Maybe too quickly for nonchalance but your racing brain didn’t have time to think it through. Not when it was jammed with mixed and confused signals from your heart.

“James! I’m so so sorry!” you offered him your hand and pulled him to stand, brushing off the snow from his coat. “Sorry, I wasn’t in my mind for that one second. Sorry.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, or even look at him—which almost never was a problem before, at least not because of this kind of… thing— so you resumed correcting his lopsided beanie.

He just laughed though. All casual as if you didn’t just find a big revelation. “It’s okay, it’s fine.” He tried to assure you. But you still wouldn’t stop, so he took hold of your hands to stop them from fixing his woolen headwear.

Great, now you were forced to look at him. You just hoped the cold weather was still a believable reason to cover up for whatever your face may look like now. Flushed, probably. But hopefully not too embarrassed.

You looked at his face, a trace of mirth still on his lips that were so close to you a minute ago. His face was kinda red too, but it was probably because of the season.

“It’s okay,” he assured you again. “You know,” an end to his smile turned a bit more upward and you knew that a tease was coming. “You reminded me of an old me,” he continued breezily, “i made this same mistake too back then. When i was more foolish.”

You couldn’t help but let out a snort. James, james. Alright, just let things—and especially you—calm down a little, you told yourself. Let everything go back to normal.

“You mean a week ago, old man?” You lightly punched his arm, before dusting off the snow from your own coat.

“Time is relative. Miles Morales said it himself.” He said as he helped you brush the snow out of your hair and coat. “Or actually it was Ernest whatnot but whatever.”

You let out a breath of laughter as you shook your head. His glasses were crooked so your hands automatically went up to fix it. Like you had done so many times. “There. It was crooked.” You heard yourself explaining.

“Thanks,” he said with that stupid silly smile of his. You hated that smile now. How can one have such a charismatic smile? It wasn’t fair.

“No problem, wise man.” You responded with your new-found nickname for him, playfully rolling your eyes.

“Seaweed brain," He called back, and that made you smile– you didn’t even realize it.

You gave him a nod of approval. "The Percy Jackson reference. Touché."

"I've learned sooo much from you." He said solemnly.

"I know." You smiled up at him. And he looked right into your eyes, that blinding smile of his radiating onto them before suddenly averting his gaze onto the ground, where evidence of your very own accident made a mark on the snow.

James rubbed his hands together, searching for warmth. "Hey, you want to go to the Three Broomsticks? It’ll probably be emptier now.” He offered, like he always did because he was your friend. Your best friend since you could remember.

You didn’t know why you were acting weird. It was only an hour ago when everything was normal. You didn’t know how everything could just change in a matter of seconds. He was your friend, it would be okay. However this would unfold, everything would be fine. Both of you had always overcome things before. It was with James, you two would get through it. You were grateful to have him.

“Oh yeah sure.” You agreed. Wait, was that too quick of a response? Oh fuck it. He was your best friend, he had known you all his life too—which was exactly why if there was something off with you, he’d definitely be the first person to notice it, but you didn’t want to think about it too much. You shook your heads to clear all maddening thoughts. “Have you heard from Frank? Haven’t gone there in a while.”

“Oh, yeah he’s great.” He continued in a whisper, “I heard he has just received a new package of fire whiskey and Sirius and I are hoping to get a snatch of it or two. You know, for the house.”

“Right, for the house,” You rolled your eyes.

He lent out a hand to you, "Shall we?"

You took it and he gave it a soft squeeze, its grip sending vibrations through your bones.

"We shall."

───────────────∘

James was right, it wasn't as crowded as it would be if you had come earlier. Most people here had their drink and company either at noon or late afternoon and night. 3 pm wasn't exactly a busy hour. Though there were still too many people and noises for your comfort, you and James could at least find a table for two in the corner, quieter spot.

He came to the table holding two butterbeers in his hand. Both served hot to minimize the cold. He slid yours down the table and took a seat in front of you. His glasses are turned slightly uneven again.

"So, y/n" he started as you picked up your drink and sighed at the heat it gave you. Your hands were absolutely freezing.

"Hm?" You responded, more focused on the comforting smell that radiated from your cup.

"I've been thinking," He continued, and now you looked up. You were so distracted before that you didn't notice how his hands were moving as if he were drumming his thighs under the table— a habit he often did when he was nervous.

You furrowed your eyebrows for a second but decided to ignore it. "Uh-oh. Nothing good ever comes up from that." You took a careful sip of the butterbeer, its warmth traveled all through your withered body. "New horrible trick ideas?"

He rolled his eyes, a breathy laugh came out of his lips. "Why is it that you always always think the worst of me, miss y/l/n?"

Just this morning, at the Great Hall, every part of you was functioning alright. Nothing going haywire. But now, there was a skipped beat in your heart and a flip in your stomach. You tried to deflect it but the butterflies couldn't be bothered.

"I don't always always think the worst of you James. I just know you." You did, you really did. You wondered if he knew it though.

"Well, I bet you wouldn't guess what's going to come out of my mouth this time." He claimed in a challenging tone.

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Five guesses." He grinned as he pulled up five fingers to illustrate his point. "No retracting."

"Alright then," You accepted the challenge. You silently thought to yourself before voicing it all aloud. "Wasn't a trick, so maybe you are... planning to do something to the Marauders? Like, I don't know, maybe get those two idiots together to the ball?"

He pulled down a finger. "You know, maybe I should. But that wasn't it. You were kinda close though."

Close where? “Sirius and Remus?”

He made a loud incorrect buzzer sound and pulled down another finger.

“Hey, that wasn’t-”

“No retracting,” he reminded you, as he took a sip of his own beverage.

“Not fair,” you grumbled. You thought about it again before guessing, “Oh! Yule Ball shenanigans? Oh wait no-“

Another buzzer sound, and two fingers left. “My, you really don’t know me, do you y/n?” He feigned a dramatic hurt on his face and a slight pout. “You’re close though.”

About the dance? What’s about the dance? “What, you’re going to skip the ball?” You said it as a joke but he wasn’t laughing. In fact, there was just a trace of truth in that smile of his when you said it. “What, I’m right?”

“No. But that depends actually.”

“You’re talking in riddles.”

“Yeah, it’s fun, isn’t it?” His smile had a slight smirk now, like it was still held back or something. “That counted as incorrect by the way.” He made another buzzer sound and one finger left.

You sighed in frustration. The Yule Ball, but it wasn’t about any tricks. So what? Oh. The realization hit you as you felt your heart drop. It was so silly, but bad timing, James. Bad timing.

“You’re finally going to try and ask someone else to go to the ball with you?” You voiced out your thoughts, hoping there wasn’t a hint that could suggest something else; reluctance and hesitation. What, did he meet her in the hallway before you two went out or something?

He pulled his lips together and gave you a small shrug. “Close,” he concluded. “But again that depends.”

You sighed. “Alright, fine. I give up. I surrender. Just tell me.” You almost pleaded with him.

“You’re my best friend, right?”

Right. Best friend. Of course. You nodded. “Mhm.”

“So…” he stopped, like he was nervous to get the words out. That was weird.

A worse idea came to mind.Oh please don’t tell me he’s going to ask me to become his fake date for the ball to make Lily jealous, you silently desperately prayed. It would’ve been easy if it had been any other week before, but not this week. Not today. And specifically not at this hour, when you were still processing everything.

“Will you…” he continued hesitantly, his fingers playing with a loose thread on one of his gloves, a smile fighting to still be displayed on his lips. “Give me the honor and go with me to the dance?"

You said nothing, only slightly raised your eyebrows in surprise. That depends. You didn’t want to let the fireworks surround you. Skepticism came first, as it always had to.

But your silence seemed to jittered him, and he immediately jumped to explanation. “You know, because we’re best friends, and none of us have a date, and I don't know, I thought it would be fun? To go together. As friends. Casual thing. You know.” He shrugged.

You let out a smile at that, and it seemed to relax him a bit. Why was he so nervous? Of course you’d go with him. You were his best friend, and he was yours, he knew that. “Well, you are not a stranger I don't know or even like.” You joked.

He gave you a grin at that. “No, I’m not. So, you’d go? With me, I mean?”

He was cuter when he was nervous, it wasn’t fair. Why was he nervous again? You’d understand if it was you who were nervous, but why was he?

You couldn’t focus on anything besides the annoyingly loud flutter in your heart—and how hard you are trying to beat and stomp it to death right now. This doesn’t mean anything, it was just a friendly gesture. James was in love with Lily, there was no question, of course.

But you still felt the butterflies on your stomach go wild. You were fighting to contain that smile on your face, scared he’d figure out it wasn’t just any casual thing for you. You were going to the ball with your best friend and you realized there was no else you’d rather go with.

“Of course, James. You’re my best friend!” You smiled up at him, the warmth coming through your gloves from the hot drink was now small compared to the thrill that coursed through your body. “Though do you have a written contract for possible head damage compensation because I might need it.”

He shook his head, a slight relieved laughter came out of his lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me because of it.” You were only teasing, but you thought he looked at you with such sincerity in his eyes that it jarred your senses a bit.

“Yeah, I do.”

───────────────────────

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter #marauders x reader #the marauders #james potter imagine #james potter fic #my writing!#hp #requested #harry potter imagine

212 notes · View notes