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corpsedaydream · 3 years

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not such a merry christmas

corpse husband x reader

hi hi so it’s 4:20am lmao i’m not kidding

so i know i said i wasn’t going to be on over christmas but christmas wrapped up late for me and i wasn’t ready to sleep and i just started writing and this is what came of it. i know that christmas isn’t always exactly a happy time for everyone bc family and holidays can be complicated sometimes. so if ur struggling or experiencing anything negative or just not rly enjoying christmas. this ones for u friend and i’m sending love ur way

word count: 2085

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You had mixed feelings about this time of year.

The holidays.

On one hand, it meant you had some free time to enjoy some quality time with your nearest and dearest. And on another hand, it meant that you would be potentially finding yourself in situations where you would be spending time with family members who you would maybe rather not spend time with.

When you were young, Christmas always felt so magical. Now you were older, Christmas felt more like an anxiety inducing chore.

You’d talked to Corpse about your family a many of times, because for the most part, you really did love your family so much. You felt lucky to have been born into the family you were - again, for the most part. There was one particular sibling who you wouldn’t include in those feelings. Unfortunately, toxic people existed and extra unfortunately, sometimes those people were related to you. After four months of being with Corpse, he thought he had come to learn all of who were apart of your family. But then you were reminiscing on a childhood memory and when sharing it with your boyfriend, he heard a name he hadn’t heard before. When he questioned you on it, he noticed the immediate change in you. The smile left your face and you went timid and very quickly, you shifted the conversation topic. You were acting in a way he had never seen you be like before, usually you were so open and talkative and here was a brother you had never mentioned and definitely didn’t want to talk about.

He didn’t push it any further that day, figuring you would tell him when you were ready. That time came in November, on the 25th.

You remembered it well, Corpse was going through his emails when he asked you, “Baby, what’s the date?”

“November twenty-fi-” You cut yourself off.

“What?”

You were silent for a moment, you didn’t realise that Christmas had snuck up this quickly. It was only a month away.

“Baby?”

“Sorry- um,” you glanced to him, giving him a meek smile before continuing, “it’s November 25th.”

He noticed that shift in you again. “Are you okay?”

And on that day, you opened up to him. Told him about the terrible memories that haunted days that should have and could have been really happy days had it not been for a bullying, negative family member. How now, you seemed to dread Christmas because of this fact.

“Why don’t you just not go?” Corpse had questioned you, he said it as if it was the most clear outcome, but it wasn’t like for you. It was so much easier for him to say that then it was for you to do.

“I couldn’t do that to the rest of my family.”

“Why? You can see them on any other day?”

“It’s Christmas, I couldn’t not go.”

“It’s just the same as any other day if you think about it.” As much as he had cared and listened to you opening up to him, it was hard for him to understand you on this. You grew up in vastly different family dynamics.

“Not to my family, it’s important.”

The two of you continued to go back and forth for a little bit before you realised the stubbornness you both shared wasn’t going to allow you to take in the other’s perspective.

In fact, the two of you didn’t speak about it again until two days before Christmas Eve. You were spending the day together because you were planning on leaving that night to stay at your parents house until boxing day. And as your leaving time was drawing closer and closer, it was visibly clear to Corpse how anxious you were feeling about it.

“(Y/N),” he had called for you attention and you looked to him, “I really don’t want you to go.”

A soft smile was offered to him. “I’m going.”

“But I can fucking see how this is affecting you. You’re dreading it, please don’t go.”

You sighed before answering him. “I have to go.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Please, Corpse, I don’t want to go over this again. I’m already feeling nervous about it.”

“Then stay with me for Christmas, you won’t have to feel nervous about anything, we can just be here having our own good time.”

You knew he was just trying to be there for you, but it seemed this was not something the two of you could find a common ground on. “It’s not that simple.”

But if only it had been that simple. If only you had listened to Corpse. Because you wouldn’t be where you were right now. Sitting in your car with tears running down your face. It was 5:05pm in the afternoon on Christmas Day and you’d made a dash out the front door while everyone else sat down to eat dinner. You had tried your best to stay strong, to ignore your toxic brother but when someone was constantly saying and doing things to try to bring you down, you’d broken. You wished you could pull it together, so you could go back inside for the people you wanted to be with, but you truly couldn’t take it any longer. You would call and apologise to your Mother tomorrow, you felt bad for leaving her the most.

You shouldn’t have been driving in the state you were in, tears kept blurring your vision and your mind was so distracted you knew you really weren’t paying enough attention. But by some miracle, you had made it to where you wanted to be. And in one piece and it wasn’t your own place. You were parked out the front of Corpse’s place and how you just longed to be in his arms right now.

Heavy feet carried you to his front door and before you could get the chance to knock, Corpse had already swung the door open.

“Thought I saw your car pull up- oh, fuck,” His tone was happy at first, surprised with happiness that you were there until he took notice of the state you were in. Your foundation was streaked by the thick and fast tears that had fallen down your cheeks. Your mascara and eyeliner tracked black lines, too. Your nose had the makeup removed from it and it was displaying red due to the amount of times you’d rubbed at it. And oddly enough, a Santa Hat was still sitting atop your head. Corpse had never seen a more gloomy Christmas Hat appearance. “Baby, c’mere.”

He wouldn’t hesitate to stretch out his arms to pull you in close and you so gladly accepted. When you were resting against him, his arms would be holding you so tight and yours clutching at his hoodie he was wearing, he’d kick his foot out to shut the front door once the two of you were inside. Small sobs were already leaving your body, but feeling the familiar and protective grip of Corpse really just made you break more. You were safe here, you were safe with him, you could get out any emotion you needed to, and so you did.

Sobs wracked your entire frame, it was loud, vocal and physical crying. Corpse had seen you cry before, but never like this. It was hurting him to see you so hurt. He was so concerned for you, he didn’t have to ask if you were okay, your display was making it clear you weren’t. When he could start to feel your feet starting to give out and your weight became heavier against him, and he not only heard but also felt you choking on your own cries and starting to really struggle to breathe, he felt the need to do more.

Gently, he’d bring you down to the floor with him. He’d sit with his back against the wall and grab your thighs to have you sit in his lap, your legs straddling him. He would pull you in tight enough so your chest and torso was completely against his, the two of you couldn’t be brought any closer if you tried.

“I need you to try taking some deep breaths for me.” He’d tell you right in your ear, needing you to hear him over your violent cries. And so you did, but each one was uneven and would catch in your throat and make you cough.

His hand would be rubbing big, deliberate, heavy circles into your back with a force to make its presence known, a tactic he hoped would calm you. He was caught off guard to see you like this, but after opening up to him about your toxic sibling and how anxious you had been to be around him again, he wasn’t exactly shocked. He was so concerned for you but a part of him was also furious that someone had treated you in such a terrible way to put you in this state. He now wished he had worked harder in getting you to stay with him, if you were with him, you were safe, he wouldn’t let harm - especially like this - come to you.

“I’m here.” Corpse would assure you with a longing kiss to the side of your head, rocking you back and forth.

And eventually, while sitting there, being cradled in his arms, your cries would quieten, your sobs wouldn’t make you shake so violently and your breathing would return to a more regular state.

“Feel better?” He’d ask you once you reached that more stable point and you’d nod your head from its place against his neck before doing a much needed yawn. “You’re tired?”

“Exhausted.” You’d confirm.

“Should we go lay down?” He was still holding you so strongly and securely but being so gentle with how he spoke to you.

“Yeah, I want to get some painkillers first, though, my head hurts.”

“Want to take off the Santa hat?”

“No.”

“What, why?” Your answer surprised him.

“I’ve had it on all day, I’ll have really bad hat hair.” You admitted and Corpse laughed and had you been in a better mood, you would have joined in on the laughter. But it did lift your spirits to even just simply hear him laugh.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“It will be.”

Corpse laughed softly again and shook his head slightly and when he felt you relax against him again, he brought up his hand to quickly pull the hat from your head.

“Hey!” You lifted your head then and he was relieved to see no more build up of tears in your eyes anymore.

“You’ll feel better without it on.” He argued your protest, smiling a small smile and you couldn’t help but to mirror it, which made Corpse elated to see.

“Okay, but don’t you dare look at my hat hair.” You told him and because he knew your eyes were on his, he intentionally lifted his eyes to your hair. “Corpse!” You called his name with a laugh and he was so happy to hear you laugh instead of cry. “Stop it.” You spoke through more giggles and your hands came up to land on your head over your hair until Corpse grabbed your wrists and moved your hands out of the way. “Hey!” Squirming your arms to get your wrists out of his grasp. Once you freed them, you’d place your hands over his eyes.

“Baby, let me look at your beautiful hat hair.”

“No!” You both would laugh then and this time when your boyfriend took hold of your hands to move them off of his eyes, it would be soft and he’d lift them to bring back his vision and bring your hands down a little to place kisses into the palms on each of your hands.

“You know you don’t have to hide anything from me, right?” On the surface, it could’ve sounded like Corpse was talking about just the hat hair, but on a deeper level, he meant this so wholeheartedly, and you understood.

So you’d nod. “I know. Thank you.”

And Corpse knew that once again, when you were ready you’d tell him about what took place on that Christmas Day, but for right now, he didn’t need to know. All he needed to know is that now you were okay and you were safe and you were with him.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you, too.”

#corpse #corpse husband #corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #corpse imagine #corpse husband fanfiction #writing #mine

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irgmugurg · 3 years

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Belphie's Music Taste

Mammon's Music Taste

Asmodeus's Music Taste

Belphie listening to lofi songs is simultaneously the cutest and funniest thing that I’ve ever heard.

Aw is the bratty little cowboy gonna listen to windchimes and sparkles. Yes. Yes, he is.

Aight hear me out. JUST LISTEN

Belphie listening to country music.

HE HAS THE COWBOY AESTHETIC ALREADY MIGHT AS WELL GO ALL THE WAY.

He’d start it as a joke but he’d gradually love falling asleep to the slow drawl of the music.

he thinks their super cheesy but proceeds to press play

"ugh more country music?" *clicks play*

Or even listening to those sad country army songs about being soldiers and missing your family

He 100% relates these songs to Lilith and having to fight for/against the celestial realm.

AT SOME POINT he’s layed with Beel and they both cried about country music/Lilith (think If Your Reading This and a bunch more by Tim McGraw, Arlington, and Your Gonna Miss This by Trace Adkins)

Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlise. FUCK. I’M GOING TO CRY.

I know some of these songs are from the point of view of a daughter and their dad but Belphie can’t help but think of being able to grow up and show Lilith how the world has changed.

Doesn’t even care that most of country songs are religion-based and yeah sometimes he gets so angry at Father for what he took from him but he remembers that now Lilith is up there still. Doesn’t make it hurt any less though.

Wishes he could still hold her, see her grow up, him and beel being her best men at her wedding, connecting the human and celestial realm

listens to circus songs and fucking cries

NICKELBACK. (he isn’t THAT bad okay, sometimes his songs SLAP) ((lullaby,,,belphie relates this song to his feelings of overwhelming anger in the attic)

Falling asleep holding each others hands, reminiscing about Lilith and the times they had together.

Mammon and satan, just to piss him off, played the wild west theme songs (The Good The Bad The Ugly theme) whenever he walked in a room and he would go demon mode (only for them to laugh harder, cowboy looking ass)

gets embarrassed if you hear him listening to country music

changes the song quickly, he can't have people knowing he genuinely likes it

listened to If I Die Young once and thought of Lilith

proceeded to block all mentions of this song

Anyway LOFI MUSIC.

He loves how soft and sweet it is even though it doesn’t match his “style”.

This motherfucker can be berated by Lucifer and he’ll put on headphones and just watch Lucifer scream at him and only hear soft Lofi music.

Lofi hip hop, Jazz, pop. He does not discriminate.

Very often gets the beats and small portions of the lyrics stuck in his head.

LOVES Shiloh Dynasty and all the remixes

But that is not the only thing that Belphie listens to. Oh no, definitely not.

Loves nightcore. Alvin and the Chipmunks who?

Alternatively likes listening to slowed down songs

Listens to the front bottoms and thinks about punching lucifer in his face

OUCH! By Matt Watson

HE LISTENS TO SCREAMO AND EMO MUSIC.

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE, SLEEPING WITH SIRENS, PIERCE THE VEIL.

Emo headass.

Is very much stuck in the 2010s (probably the last era he was able to listen to before getting locked in the attic and since getting out has been stuck there) and if MC introduces him to any more then even 2020 music.

It’s the emotions that he relates so heavily to but it also helps him stay awake to do tasks.

His turn to do dishes? Unearthly screaming comes from the kitchen. Please don’t worry he is just vibing.

He has the screamo voice. He doesn’t use it often because I don’t see Belphie as someone to sing along, more bopping to the music and swaying, MAYBE mumbling under his breath but nothing more.

Will do it with Lucifer around just to fuck with him

Why is the thought of Belphie on stage, smudged mascara, black leather clothes and screaming on the top of his lungs hot????

would 100% let you dress him up in that outfit but acts like he doesn't like it

Stop *bonk* being *bonk* a *bonk* belphie *bonk* simp *bonk*

He doesn’t like making playlists because its so much work so if he puts on Lofi to go to sleep to and he will stay sleeping on wild screamo music.

Listens to it most in the attic because that’s where a FUCKTON of his resentment/rebellious vibes come from and because he doesn’t want to bother Beel while they are sleeping.

Asshole probably doesn’t use his headphones anywhere else tho.

Asmodeus and Mammon don’t understand him but they love him nonetheless.

*demonic screeching* “Okay sweetie don’t forget about the student council meeting later today <3”

If Mammon vibes with a song he WILL scream along, incoherently though because he doesn’t know the lyrics.

Beel just kinda sits there. Doesn’t get it either but loves seeing Belphie look so at peace.

Old man lucifer “is that what you kids listen to today?” (but can he talk?? really?? listening to cursed records bc iTs InTeReStInG)

Satan gets it the most out of anyone else. When they have Anti Lucifer-League meetings Belphegor puts on the most rebellious, and relatable (for their cause) at least, songs and they both scream the lyrics.

he isn't shy showing these songs to you but has once attempted to show off his emo scream please don't laugh at him

OKAY BUT CLEANING UP THE LIVING ROOM WITH BELPHIE WHILE YOU BOTH SCREAM IS SO CUTE

Trophy Father’s Son by Sleeping With Sirens, Can You Feel My Heart, Keep Myself Alive, Sleepwalking by Bring Me The Horizon, Last Resort by Papa Roach, A LOT OF LINKIN PARK, Monster by Skillet, and OF COURSE Bring Me To Life by Evanescence

He probably wouldn't listen to wolf in sheeps clothing but *pointing* THATS HIM

Belphie has spent time crying over these songs. On late nights when he can’t sleep he cries about how he thinks Lucifer doesn’t love him and blames him for Lilith’s death. How MC must really hate him for how he’s acted. How different he is from his brother’s. (part of why he won’t listen to it in front of Beel)

please hold him and promise him that you don't hate him

He also LOOOOOVVES classical music but due to his history with it will not listen to it.

Aka how he used to lay on lucifer’s lap while he plays lullabies for him.

If Lucifer is playing classical music in the area tho? He can’t help but suddenly feel really sleepy. And no he didn’t fall asleep close enough to hear Lucifer scribble away on his paperwork (Lucifer knows he does and always has a blanket ready for when this happens).

lay with him and if you listen very carefully you can hear him mumbling the lyrics under his breath as he runs his fingers through your hair

One of my biggest things about belphie is that he is really smart even though he doesn’t like to put in the effort.

He likes to dissect these songs (typically passing thoughts and really paying attention, he won’t put to much effort into it) and get into them and it backfires because that means he’s really listening to these lyrics and it hits him THAT much harder. (STICKING LITTLE WHITE FLOWERS ALL UP IN HER HAAAAAIIRRRR)

End Note: Belphie doesn't have the largest music selection but the songs he listen to either help him sleep or makes him get all up in his feelings (bc he is emotionally stunted and its the only way he can cry).

#do you know how unbelievably angry i am writing these #he made me remember the old country songs I use to listen to #my dad use to listen to country and Spanish music often and as I grew up I slowly got out of that and into other genres #thats why this specific playlist is so nostalgic for me #ALSO GO LISTEN TO BUTTERFLY KISSES DONT YOU DARE SAY BELPHIE DOESN'T CRY AND THINK OF LILITH #i listened to it and went damn I can't believe I just lost my bby girl despite not having any children #obey me shall we date #obey me #om! belphegor #om! headcanons #hcs #headcanon #om! hcs #om! shall we date #swd om #obey me swd #shall we date belphie #belphie x mc #shall we date belphegor #belphegor headcanons #belphegor swd #belphegor x reader #obey me satan #shall we date satan #om! satan #om! lucifer #obey me lucifer #shall we date lucifer #om! mammon #shall we date mammon

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chocosvt · 4 years

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⚬ pairing: ghost!jihoon x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 9242 ⚬ warnings: abusive relationship, suicide ⚬ genres: heavy angst, romance, ample fluff

✧✎ synopsis: freedom was a word that had completely lost its meaning - unable to escape from a toxic relationship, you can only find happiness upon confiding in jihoon, the spirit of a writer who died a century ago.

✧✎ a/n: SORRY this took so long to post! i have a habit of holding onto completed fics for a while, bc i feel the need to endlessly proofread. i rly appreciate everyone’s patience :D

You didn’t understand him. You hated him.

You wanted to conjure a pair of scissors and cut the invisible rope that connected your piteous relationship. Tight around your wrist, you could still feel the indents left by his fingernails, how they pushed blunt into your skin like a stamp to a liquid, wax seal. There was no taste of freedom unless you left him, and yet, you lacked the strength, instead rotting in your own indolence.

The doorway to your cottage home burst open as you thundered inside. Smells of the cinnamon bread and ginger tea you had for breakfast lingered in the air, when the morning was soft and you were unaware of his incoming anger that would inevitably cumulate. Gleaming on the edge of the kitchen table was an old pocket mirror, a century-dull shade of gold with a rose engrained into its shallow dome.

Within the next moment, you were sitting inside your closet, frustrated tears pooling slowly down each cheek as you held onto an ignited candle. The flame rippled and danced in response to your ragged breaths. It was the only source of light, for darkness pressed in from every angle. Hands shaky, you set the candle to crackle on the floor, behind the pocket mirror you had opened. Looking into its small reflection, you saw the wet flakes of mascara stuck to your skin, how your lips were so bitten they became mottled with blood spots.

“If I ask for you,” you sighed, eyes falling shut, “will you come to me?”

You waited and listened to the dancing wick, then snuck a peak at the mirror.

Nothing.

Inhaling a deep breath, you closed your eyes and warbled again: “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

The mirror was still open, casting an image of your broken countenance, marred by viscid trails of tears and a patience that turned thinner than the air itself. Every mark, every scratch left by his fingernails only sunk further into your wrist, establishing this control he had over you, until one day, his reign might become permanent. The thought forced you to hiccup a burning sob.

“Please!” You whimpered, tasting the sharp salt on your lips, “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

Snap.

The sound of the pocket mirror being shut was accompanied by an overwhelming sensation of cold, like an arctic breath had just been exhaled into your face. Cautiously, you eyed the candle, in which its flame had stopped dancing and instead stood tall, almost as though it were afraid to flicker. The gentle light glinted off the mirror’s gold dome. At last, you picked your head up and met his eyes, honey-brown, like crisped sugar.

The noise that crawled up from your throat was a feeble squeak.

“Jihoon.” You said his name.

Even though each syllable felt like solace, that didn’t smooth the tremors in between. Unlike your boyfriend who was so assailing in nature and unreceptive to your heart, Jihoon read the pain from your body like it had been scrawled with thick ink. He reached out his hand for you to grab.

Head bent down, tears streaming toward your chin, you cried to him in that small halo of light, squeezing his glacial fingers, crushing his bones, yet he never protested or shook you off.

You had asked for him. And if it’s you, then Jihoon will always be there.

“A peach?” Jihoon murmured, staring at the sunset colour of the fruit in his palm. “I haven’t eaten a peach since… Since…”

“Since a century ago?”

Jihoon looked up at you, his face illuminated by the wax candle. “Yeah.”

He seemed hesitant to sink his teeth past the fuzzy, orange flesh, and kept stealing oblique glances at you. Wiping away a delicious trail of juice that streaked your chin, you encouraged him to just take a bite and stop ogling the fruit like it was plucked from outer space.

A peach was nowhere close to the strangest item you’d brought him. In fact, the sole manner in which Jihoon could connect with the simple indulgences of when he’d been alive was through you.

At first, he sighed, followed by slight apprehension, and then he stopped prevaricating. Jihoon brought the peach to his mouth and buried in his teeth, a loud slurp indicating he’d suckled out the juice just before tearing away a reasonable chunk. He chewed, chewed a little bit more, crinkled his nose and continued chewing. You raised an eyebrow once he swallowed, curious if its sweetness still held true to when he’d eaten the fruit in his youth.

“Not bad. Rather messy.” Jihoon rated with little mirth, his tongue then licking at a trail of liquid dripping to his wrist.

You eyed him whilst taking another bite into your own fruit.

The next time you met, you brought him purple orchids, wrapped in a crinkly, pale mint packaging. He buried his nose into their petals and took a breath. Jihoon had long forgotten the rain, it’s scent, but that’s exactly what the aroma reminded him of.

It was close to midnight, the autumn wetness clinging in a sheer mist, a cobweb almost, that drifted down the road. You stared into the fog, wondering if it might swath around you until you couldn’t see or breathe, only to thin away at the last moment, revealing a place that was warm and brushed with sunshine. There would be no boyfriend, no pain or fear, and you’d have freedom— a word that seemed to have lost its meaning as time wore its grit against you.

Leaning into the side of your boyfriend’s car, you watched him pace back and forth next to the gas pump, cellphone at his ear, occasionally tossing his head back in a splitting chortle whilst he blew plumes from a cigarette. A light rain pattered against the roof of the gas station.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to be tucked in bed, beneath sheets that smelled like summer lilacs. You wanted to close your eyes and dream about the phantom boy who lived in the closet, where your fingers would trace his skin and you might feel the heat from his blood. Yet you lacked bravery. Taking one look at your wrist constantly sore from his steel grip was enough to snuff out any defying fire. He laughed again, kicked his boot into the gravel, brought the cigarette up to his mouth in order to fulfill a toxic addiction.

Headlights suddenly pierced through the mist and tires rolled against the damp pavement. You thought about running onto the road with your arms flailing, hoping the driver would pull over and let you into their vehicle. They might ask where you wanted to go.

You’d say, “just get me away from him. Anywhere, I’m begging.”

“Hey!”

Turning your head, you saw him stalking toward you. In an unconscious attempt to give yourself space, you unpeeled from the vehicle and a took a step back, intimidated.

“Get in the car,” he spat, opening the driver’s side, “m’taking you home.”

With the decaying cigarette hanging from his lips, cellphone now stowed into his pants pocket, he slammed the door. The air inside the vehicle was acrid, stifling, ashes tumbling onto his lap as the engine revved to life. Grey smoke prickled against your eyes until they lined with water and glass. Just before you exited the gas station, your boyfriend rolled down his window and tossed the cigarette, only to reveal another from the glove compartment.

Sticking the wand in his mouth, he tossed you the lighter.

“Spark.” He demanded.

Your whole arm was trembling whilst you positioned the lighter close to the cigarette, thumb pressing down in an anxious flurry, teeth grinding together as you piously prayed the stupid flame would just blossom already so he wouldn’t get foul. Once he exhaled the first puff and took back the lighter, you sunk into the upholstery, hoping he didn’t see your tears.

“Jihoon?”

The boy had been occupied pulling pink tufts of cotton candy apart. The last time you two met within the closet, you were discussing an autumn carnival that took place each year in your town, how you spent the night with a pocket full of tickets and sugar floss melting against your tongue. Jihoon said he couldn’t remember the taste, the smell, the texture, so you promised to bring him a large bag stuffed with cotton candy. He glanced up at you, candlelight swimming in his eyes like a brightly coloured coy fish.

“What did you write about?”

He paused. Then, Jihoon was sitting with a straight spine, rubbing his index finger and thumb together, as though he were attempting to lure an ancient memory from hiding. You wondered if he missed literature, how a ballpoint pen glides across cream paper, the specific click that echoes from a typewriter, running fingertips across a leathered hardcover just to feel every bump and divot. You wished it was possible to read one of his books. He told you he burned them all, every page disintegrating into dust and cinders.

Jihoon looked at the last clump of cotton candy in his hands.

Delicately, he tore the floss in two pieces. Something deep inside your chest fluttered when Jihoon gave you the other tuft.

“Love.” He said, finding the vivacious reflection in your eyes, “I wrote about love.”

As a child, the darkness used to scare you. It was impossible to fall asleep without the dim glow of your aquarium or the fluorescent stars tacked to your ceiling. Things looked different in the dark, they became unfamiliar and colourless and shapeshifted into malignant creations that stopped moving only when the light touched them. Even now, the darkness was still harrowing, but you’d grown to realize that tenebrosity was much scarier when it lived inside human beings.

No light existed which could freeze them in their intent to hurt, no light which transformed them back into the coat over the back of your chair or the laundry pile lumped in its basket. And as you sat next to Jihoon on the closet floor, his gaze thoughtlessly wandering to your wrist, he knew you’d give anything to stay in the dark closet if it meant you never had to see your boyfriend again. You kept rubbing at your skin, squeezing in an anxious pattern.

“Stop.” Jihoon couldn’t stand to watch you repeat yourself. It felt like you were going to erase the flesh clean off.

“It helps.” You told him, though your argument was inconceivably frail, emaciated.

Suddenly, Jihoon reached across the space, his fingers falling over your wrist to bump away your pesky hand. The second you were unable to scrub at the fingernail indents, the scratches, the dull throb of every bruise he’d ever printed upon your skin, the breath died in your throat and there was a stinging sensation that burnt your eyes. Your boyfriend had ruined you. The wounds controlled you, left you in prostration and agony.

Before you could erupt into tears, Jihoon’s thumb began stroking back and forth over a fading scratch, a rhythmic movement, one that managed to calm you down until the tears slowly dried up and the flame no longer illuminated the glossiness of your eyes. He urged you to take a breath whilst he continued to brush soft reassurances across your skin. At first, you were offended by Jihoon’s interference, even slightly angered.

But the way he was so gentle with you brought you to capitulate.

“I’d never try to hurt you.” Jihoon whispered when you caught his gaze in the candlelight.

“I know.” You sighed, placing your hand over top his, “thank you.”

Your hands curled around the handlebars of the bicycle, slightly raised from the uncomfortable seat as you pedalled into town that autumn morning. An impending cold front gushed from the north, sweeping against your face in a harsh frigidity that caressed away any remnants of sleep. Tucking your chin into the fleece of your pullover, you stopped pedalling and allowed the bicycle to simply glide, maneuvering over the small pebbles and gorges in the cement.

A familiar house at the end of the block became closer, closer, closer, to which you bit down on your cheek’s inner flesh, your knuckles tensing like they could burst from the thin covering of skin. You stared straight ahead. It was too early for him to be outside. He was too lethargic.

Or was he?

“Hey!”

You’d been caught, a disarrayed haze momentarily warping your vision. The tires skidded to a halt on the sidewalk, your sneaker touching the ground whilst the northern wind nipped at your cheeks. He sat on his porch, wearing a burly-looking coat that appeared to be seldom washed, a flimsy cigarette perched at the corner of his mouth. Blowing a weak cloud of smoke from between his lips, he gestured for you to approach him, and your heart dropped.

Step by step, you walked the bicycle up his driveway, a few scarlet leaves from an oak tree spiralling down and colouring the gravel. Not even their warm tint could sugar coat that wicked, tight-lipped smile dancing from one spot of his mouth to the other. It was like the devil sat behind him, a myriad of strings on his fingers, and he was pulling each and every one.

“Where’re you off to, sunshine?”

“Into town. I’m getting some groceries.”

His eyes, bloodshot, much too hollowed at the early hour, gave you a once-over. You felt the sponge in your bones deflate. If a person’s stare could be washed from your skin, then you’d find the nearest hot shower and lock yourself inside.

He tapped some ash off his cigarette. “You don’t need to do that now, do you?”

“I-It’s a good time, actually. It won’t be busy.”

Don’t break down, don’t break down, do not let him infiltrate.

In an abasing fashion, your boyfriend laughed, like it was impossible to fathom that you could uphold a life, responsibilities, independence, beyond him and his fallacy of omniscience. He stood up and took another hit of nicotine from the cigarette. Then he was balancing the wand between his teeth, smiling down at you again, the devil’s strings metallic and unbreaking.

“Come inside,” he said, tipping his head toward the door, “leave your bike and we’ll share a nice drink, sunshine.”

You knew through mistake that it would be an unkind fate to deny him. Resting your bicycle against the porch, you trailed a few steps behind him into the house. Just before you closed the door, you drew in a long breath, examining the leaves on the oak tree, feeling that crisp air touch your face, looking up at small gaps of morning light between the grey clouds.

You always tried to remember the natural world, just in case you prematurely became a part of it.

Jihoon had set the notepad overtop his knee, one hand holding the papers still whilst the other clasped a black pen. Upon waiting for him to finish his prose, you fidgeted with the gold pocket mirror, pressing the edge of your nail into its infinitesimal grooves that created the rose. Time and time again, you wondered about the pocket mirror, a robust relic from the nineteen-twenties that the boy had gifted you.

“Done.” Jihoon announced, lifting the pen from the notepad.

The candle was rather inept at providing sufficient light, though you managed to read his looped, cursive writing with a surprising ease, with familiarity, like the words had been from a love letter you read every dusk.

Peaches and cotton candy are sweet. Orchids smell like rain. Scratches can fade.

You smiled at him. The inside of your chest was warmer than a July heatwave. After exchanging the gold mirror for the pen, you brainstormed a set of prose to match his. Jihoon had never looked at his reflection since he was alive, when oxygen still pumped to his heart and his veins hadn’t been replaced with frost. Suddenly, an idea sparked, and you wrote quickly.

Once you handed him back the notepad, he returned the mirror.

I’ll admire you so that you don’t have to. I’ll keep your beauty alive.

He circled the pen between his fingers. With knees pressed tight against your chest, you watched Jihoon’s teeth sink into his bottom lip before he hunched over the notepad, printing a line of clean cursive. Out of all the items you’d brought him, this seemed to be his favourite.

Jihoon passed you the notepad.

Letting the pocket mirror sit between your crossed legs, you held the paper close to your face, hoping it would help conceal the flustered grin.

If I had a second life, I would find you. I would take you away from the pain you have now.

“I wish you had a second life too.” You told Jihoon in a delicate, almost trembling voice. “I wish I could bring you into my life, even if it were just for one night.”

The boy nodded whilst he stared at the wax candle, one that a priest let you take home after you spent a visit to the church, hoping to discover some sense of purpose, some form of guidance. That was two years ago. Even though you had thanked the priest for the candle, it seemed completely useless. Or so you thought. Now, it was the only way you could differentiate every detail of Jihoon’s face, his skin constantly basked in a golden aurora.

“I think…” Jihoon murmured, sitting up slowly and staring into the warm light, “I think there is a way.”

Something seemed to be revolving in his mind, something that planted hope in your belly, and as he explained to you the procedure, you hadn’t realized his fingers gradually interlacing with yours.

The night of October thirty-first, that was the only sliver in which Jihoon could ever separate from the closet, the cottage house, and reacquaint himself with the earthy air and moonlight. It was the only time when the barrier between the human realm and spirit realm was significantly thin enough. Jihoon stood in your bedroom, dressed in an auburn, corduroy button-up vest, the sleeves of his white dress shirt cuffed to his elbows, his trousers hemmed along the leg.

Could those be the same clothes he wore upon taking his own life? You were always curious, though refrained from acting too inquisitive. The boy suddenly reached into his right pants pocket, shifting his fingers as though he were attempting to fish something out, until he glanced at the gold dome in your hand and a pink dust developed along the arch of his cheeks. These days, you’d been holding onto his mirror like it was a personal ligament.

He shrugged. “Old habit.”

Jihoon followed you into the living room. Whilst you tossed on a water-proof jacket and wriggled each foot into a pair of degrading tennis sneakers, the boy paused just in front of the fireplace. He touched the crimson brick, then stuck out two ice-cold palms. The embers were radiant and warm. They drew a beautiful glow to his skin. If Jihoon felt the energy of the heat, he didn’t express it. You stuffed the mirror into your pocket and called for him.

There was a slight drag as Jihoon seemed hesitant to part from the flames, twirling and alive, like he’d been trying to seek for a lost artifact that might still remain amongst the ashes.

“Nothing is the same.”

With his head constantly pivoting in order to gauge every detail, Jihoon seemed to realize that the town he moved into during the last century was starkly and scarily different. Houses now built over cobalt roads, where the wealthy had once let exhaust tumble from the pipes of their timely vehicles. A shopping centre stuck the middle of what was once a cornfield, always rife with healthy, luminous green stalks during the balmy summers. His favourite diner, where he used to gather all his papers and write until his pen lost its ink, listening to revolving tunes on the jukebox, had been replaced by a furniture store.

Jihoon didn’t sound upset, but jaded perhaps.

He’d moved from his homeland, Busan, South Korea, at twenty years old, taking with him little to no belongings apart from some clothes and a pocket mirror his girlfriend had gifted him. He desired a meaningful existence with his writing, hoping to make something, be somebody.

And yet, three years after leaving Busan, Jihoon had killed himself in his cottage home.

“A lot can change in a hundred years. Good and bad. ” You sighed whilst waiting at a crosswalk.

The boy shivered due to the crisp, autumn wind. “It appears so.”

He then clenched his teeth together. “Say, do you think I could get some new clothes? These have a few holes. They’re scratchy too.”

You glanced at the enormous, neon sign anchored to the shopping centre across the street.

“I think I can help you out.”

For the first time in a century, Jihoon stared at himself in a mirror. It was a tall, thin mirror stuck to a changeroom door. His decaying articles were folded on the bench, faintly stitched with the scent of wood pyres and dust and potent ink. It took Jihoon less than a minute to discover his new clothes, a dark blue hoodie and black sweatpants. The hoodie swallowed his upper-half. He seemed comfortable, warm, his fingers rubbing the inside of the fleece sleeve.

In a peculiar way, it hurt.

He no longer held the appearance of a middleclass writer who’d burn out his cigars on paper, always had a whisky shot coursing through his blood, some ash from the fireplace constantly rubbed to his cheek. He had no longer just stepped through a time portal into the most recent era. Instead, Jihoon looked like a student you might brush shoulders with before a lecture, or a modest stranger who’d catch your eye at a party.

If only Jihoon had actually been that stranger, rather than the boyfriend you have now.

“Don’t let go of my hand.”

You asked Jihoon wearily whilst stepping onto a cement ledge next to the sidewalk. Truthfully, it wasn’t that high. Truthfully, you just wanted feel his cold touch caress your skin.

He blinked up at your figure, the moonlight glowing behind you, outlining you in a silver, narrow frame.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Once you were steadied on the ledge, you began placing one foot in front of the other, taking attentive steps that had little to no breadth, and yet they felt like immeasurable strides. Jihoon held your fingers with a sweet pressure. You were almost near the end of the ledge when that autumn wind decided to ripple hard and fierce, and as you braced against the current, you lost your balance. With a small shriek you nearly stumbled over the edge.

Jihoon didn’t waver. His hands fastened upon your waist and he caught you in his arms, feeling your heartbeat that drummed through your chest and into his.

“W-Whoops…” Your laughter was anxious, embarrassed.

Never having been pressed against each other before, there was slight uneasiness. There was racing thoughts and cotton-hearts, a fleeting catch of the other’s eye and faces so close that you shared the same breath. His hands cupped at your waist; your palms flat against his shoulders. If you kissed him, would he taste like a Cuban cigar? Or a soft, warm peach grown beneath summer sunshine? Jihoon thought you smelled like an orchid.

However, you both peeled away from each other.

“Wait—” you remarked before continuing down the sidewalk, “you promised not to let go of my hand.”

Jihoon intertwined your fingers, his thumb smoothing quickly over the ridges of your knuckles.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

The stars burned in their own soot, twinkling intermittently and spread apart across the blackness. Some were passionate and lurid, whilst others were dim, barely there, only glistering to indicate that their radiance still lived. You sat next to Jihoon on the train station bench, the heated rim of a paper cup touching your lips, stained with hot chocolate. After taking a sip and feeling the velvet against your throat, you handed him the drink.

Upon purchasing Jihoon’s new cloths, you’d emptied all the bills wadded in your pocket. A small palm of coins remained and you counted them aside to buy two train tickets in addition to a hot chocolate. The tip of his nose was slightly pinkish from the cold. His eyes focused on the steam, which he impatiently dispersed by forming his lips into a tiny O shape. You continued exchanging the cup until there was nothing more than a ring of wet cocoa powder at the base.

Jihoon began softly bumping his knee against yours whilst you waited for the train. He seemed unaware, though you couldn’t be certain. He had quite the array of small, endearing habits.

Suddenly, you felt a slight vibration inside your coat pocket. And then another, another, and one more after that. Once you slid out the device, something that was thicker than dread surrounded you, absorbing every ray of starlight. His snarl jeered at you through the texts.

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: Why haven’t you responded to me?

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: Where are you??

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: What did I tell you about going out and not saying anything?

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: You don’t just fucking do something like that.

You could already feel his ironclad grip suctioned around your wrist, his fingernails submerging into your flesh, carving out new scratches to replace the ones that had faded.

In the distance, you heard the train rattling and smelled the burning coal. You stuffed the phone into your pocket and pretended the texts were non-existent, yet, that characteristic glint in your eyes was much too candour. How was there a point in pretending when you gave away your own lies?

“Come on,” Jihoon stood from the bench, his breath ghosting into the nighttime air, “you have the tickets ready?”

As the train slowed to a trill halt, you nodded, revealing the two tickets from your pocket.

“Good, good.” He gently traced his fingertips down the back of your wrist before encompassing your hand in his. Jihoon squeezed firmly, leaned into your ear where his breath was ticklish.

Somehow, you didn’t feel afraid anymore when he whispered, “let’s go home, alright? I’ll help warm you up and we’ll go to bed together.”

The conductor accepted your tickets with a tight-lipped smile, and Jihoon’s fingers played with yours whilst the man readied his hole-punch. For some reason, your eyes drifted to the side of the boy’s neck, where ever so faintly, a reddish-pink scar curled around his pearl skin. It was the first time you ever noticed the mark now that Jihoon was no longer blanketed in the closet’s meagre light. The mark seemed painful, like something had been taunt against his windpipe.

You knew Jihoon had taken his own life three years after leaving the comfort and familiarity of Busan. You knew Jihoon had a girlfriend back in his hometown that he wanted to marry. He put love on hold to become a writer. He sacrificed everything yet gained nothing.

The universe was awfully typical.

Upon exhaling a soft breath through your nose, eyelids droopy from the drowsiness, you rested your temple against Jihoon’s shoulder during the train ride home. He must have thought you’d fallen asleep, for his fingertips brushed sweetly against your exposed cheek, his lips pressing to the top of your forehead, leaving behind the warmth of a tender kiss. Jihoon’s touch was always cool, yet it translated into heat.

Forcibly, you gulped down a surprised cough. You knew that was what an intimate relationship should be.

It was more so the fact you had never experienced it.

You kissed the boy’s jaw. His shoulder became rigid, though you were smiling with eyes shut tighter than a locket.

Jihoon mumbled lowly against your forehead, “you were supposed to be asleep.”

Refusing to open your eyes, somewhat petrified that gazing upon his face would further embolden just how attached were to him, you simply shook your head.

“I am asleep. I talk in my sleep. I’m sleep-talking.”

“Do you kiss people in your sleep too?”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Didn’t you just kiss me?”

“Because I thought you were asleep.”

“I am aslee—”

Jihoon’s palm gently cupped overtop your mouth, muffling the syllables. Your laughter was hot against his skin, and your eyes finally opened. No, you didn’t want to fall asleep. It just meant that the next morning Jihoon would be gone.

You removed the little mirror from your jacket and placed it on the night table, then pulled the cloth curtains shut as though you were going to disrobe. However, you only removed your jacket and flung off your bra, much too cognisant of your dwindling time with Jihoon, afraid that even changing into your pyjamas would waste the precious minutes. He observed each of your movements as he lounged on his side, taking up the left half of your bed.

How long had it been since he last sunk into a mattress, since he last had a warm body to share the space with?

Jihoon stared at the dull, golden dome of the pocket mirror. He remembered his past lover’s face, the pain she attempted to make imperceptible as Jihoon stood with only a single luggage case at the Gyeongbu Line station. It was the nearing the terminal of nineteen-seventeen.

His twentieth birthday had transpired only a week ago.

“Just come back, alright?” She had been thumping her fists lightly against his chest, long strands of black hair draping her cheeks, “promise you’ll come back to me?”

“I promise, Jieun. Everything I am is you.”

He framed her beautiful face in his hands, kissed her slowly, wanted to permanently grain the taste of her lip gloss against his taste buds as well as the powdery notes of her perfume. Before he could leave, she slipped her gold, shiny mirror into his hand, a momentum, a memory, something that would preserve her significance to him.

Three years after leaving Busan and Jihoon would only remove the mirror from his pocket so that he could polish the surface. He wrote her love letters, filled every one of his notebooks with limerence-indulgent poems until the twine could no longer keep the pages from bulging open. His typewriter clicked from every pale-yellow morning to the midnight crickets. Being in love felt like a high. He dreamed of their wedding, their first house, a baby tucked in their arms.

Three years later and Jihoon’s rotary phone started wildly buzzing. It was his best friend, Soonyoung. He was sobbing, pouring out hiccups and inarticulate fragments that Jihoon could hardly understand. It wasn’t until the impatient boy snapped at him to clear his nose and take a breath that those words pulled taunt and impaled straight through Jihoon’s heart like a crossbow. There was no blood, and yet it seemed to fill his lungs and bubble thickly in his throat.

“I’ve been sleeping with Jieun. For almost a year now. I had to tell you. It’s eating me alive.”

That same day, Jihoon received a postcard with a picture of cheerful Songdo beach, a place they had often visited to walk the waterline, wondering about their future The back was blanketed in Jieun’s rushed, tear-stained handwriting.

It was true.

They both admitted it.

In that cottage home, Jihoon threw a match into the brick fireplace. Every poem, every notebook, every piece of literature he’d ever written were gradually enveloped and burnt up by the monstrous flames. An hour later and he was standing in his closet, an apple crate under his feet and a segment of durable rope in his hands. The fire continued to crackle in the living room whilst the smoke drifted from the chimney. Buried in his pocket was the gold rose mirror.

In due time, the flames had become the only live part of the house.

As Jihoon continued to stare at the mirror sitting on your night table, he was consistently poked with a truth that made him ache so terribly: his spirit could only be freed if the mirror broke.

But if the mirror broke, there was no possible method for you to contact him. Jihoon could not be summoned, and in no way, shape, or form could he interact with your life, rather he’d be an invisible observer with infinite freedom. This became information he never shared. The conflict was too saturated, and as much as Jihoon despised his condemnation to that dark little space, it was how he discovered you. He’d quickly learned you didn’t have freedom either.

Your freedom only seemed to develop in the presence of each other.

Suddenly, the bed dipped. Jihoon snapped from his musing. The sheets wrinkled below your hands and knees as you crawled toward him, eyes sleepy, intent to create the comfortable position where the curve of your spine was seamless with his front. When your gaze flitted downward, you spotted Jihoon’s hand resting on your hipbone. He waited, and you grinned.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, “I want you closer. Please?”

Jihoon’s small huff tickled your ear whilst he slid his palm flat under your t-shirt. It stilled, pressing to your abdomen, the cold of his fingers meeting your soft warmth. His thumb began drawing strokes just under your navel, to which your eyes fluttered shut and a calm sigh rose in your chest. Somehow, you wanted to preserve this moment, like how petals could be sealed inside an amber stone so that their beauty never degraded. Jihoon’s hand etched further up your torso, his fingertips tracing the supple underside of your breast.

He kissed that tender sweet spot just below your ear, until your eyes opened, gaze falling directly onto the pocket mirror. Aside from the intense heat, another sensation overwhelmed you, and with a breath that was nothing short of unease you looked back over your shoulder at the boy who’d be gone by morning.

“I don’t want you to leave,” your voice emerged in a telling crack, “I need you.”

Jihoon shook his head. Leaning forward, his lips brushed yours in a gentle kiss.

“I’m not leaving. You know that. I’m always here.”

The tears brimmed your eyes. “N-No, I need you out here. In physicality. Not just in a c-closet.”

Your emotions mimicked a violet insurrection, where they could not be quelled no matter how fiercely you took your bottom lip under your teeth, or how rapidly you blinked, hoping the liquid would retract itself. Instead, they flowered in one big uprooting. You suckled in a sharp inhalation that gave them even more fuel and greed.

“Dammit—I didn’t want to cry, but I c-can’t help it!” You covered your eyes with your palms. “I had so much fun with you tonight, Jihoon – I just don’t want this to end. I don’t want to have this pain. My happiness is ripped away every time I see him. I want it to be you but it’s not!”

The boy tugged at your wrists, urging you to uncover yourself. He succeeded at catching your eyes despite how distorted they were with water.

“Relax, alright?” He cooed, his face hovering over yours. “Let yourself breathe.”

The backs of his fingers brushed up and down your far cheek. Before a tear could roll onto his thumb Jihoon had already pecked it away. Heeding his words, you drew in a slow breath and felt the coolness fill each lung, all whilst he comforted you using a benign hand.

“You have me. You’ll always have me. Whether I’m palpable or not doesn’t change that.”

“I-I know…” It squeaked out with little conviction, “If I couldn’t have that mirror, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Jihoon traced his thumb below your teary eye. “You’d be fine, even without the mirror.”

He was met with a doubtful glance.

“Trust me,” his reverence shone through each word, “whenever you speak to me, I will always listen. Even if you can’t see me, or grab my hand. Even if you feel completely alone. I will always hear you. It seems unlikely, but it’s true.”

Honesty consumed the boy’s gaze. His reassurance was akin to a sewing needle that wove back together the collapsing fabric of your heart.

Jihoon’s tone then became even more earnest, and your eyes burned into his.

“I love you. It’s a bit cheap of me to say that considering my circumstances, but I need you to know that having met you… You reunited me with what love is, when I thought it was impossible to feel it again. Life is cruel. We can’t be together in the way we want. I can’t steal you away from him and make you mine no matter how badly I wish I could.”

His fingers paused atop your cheek. Jihoon swallowed and pressed his forehead to yours.

“It’s too late for me, but you have your whole life.”

He kissed you deeply, slid in his tongue to taste the cheap hot chocolate, his chest aching when he heard one of your soft gasps melt into his mouth. Your fingers carded through his hair, but then Jihoon pulled away, rubbing his thumb to your bottom lip whilst you cradled his nape.

“You deserve someone who will cherish you, protect you, sing to you, let you be vulnerable in every way and adore you all the same.”

With a ginger smile, Jihoon looked deep into your eyes.

“And you need to have strength. Okay, my love? Will you promise me?”

Another tear trickled and soaked into your hair. Jihoon was right. There was no second life, and you didn’t want to spend any remainder of your first anchored to a boyfriend who would never love you like Jihoon did.

“I promise.” You spoke quietly, printing a kiss to his thumb. “I love you too. I always will.”

Then it was time for bed.

After reaching toward the night table and plucking off the lamp, you nestled your head against the smooth slope connecting his neck and shoulder, smelling the faint tang of an ancient cigar on his skin. One arm draped across his waist, your leg over his hip, every bit of your warmth seeping through Jihoon’s cloths and into his cold body. As a goodnight rhythm, Jihoon’s fingertips swept along your arm, the contact slightly ticklish but a reminder he was still tangible, still holding you, still positively in love with everything that fabricated you.

His heart wouldn’t change, even if he was no longer burying kisses to the top of your head by morning.

“You better watch your tone, sunshine. That’s all I’m saying.”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, next to the sink crammed with grimy, porcelain dishes that had most likely been collecting for a week. The windowsill above the faucet was lined with dead flies, the glass adapting a sallow hue, as though some type of algae was beginning to develop. A vase sat on the small dining table, filled with orchids, though the purple petals were shrivelled and the bulbs drooped like they were trying to escape the stem.

A cigarette was held between his fingers, to which he smeared off the ashes by rubbing it against the countertop. Squeezing your hand even tighter around the pocket mirror, you stood ground.

“I’ve been watching my tone for the last two years. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Oh yeah?” He huffed, folding an arm over his chest. “Then I taught you well. Don’t make me teach you again.” The smoke wafted from between his lips, and he hacked dryly.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. The only reason you weren’t blubbering through every word was due to your unwavering grip on the mirror and the tearful promise you made to Jihoon. Maintaining an ember of hope, you prayed this would be the last time you smelled the poison from his cigarette. Freedom felt like a walk out his front door.

“The way you treat me is disgusting. You don’t know anything about a real relationship.”

He might have been dense, but his instinctual evil knew contempt like the back of his palm. His eyes flashed, recognizing your defiance, your desperation to break free. Rather than the slumped posture against the countertop, he started to straighten himself out and bare his teeth.

“What the fuck do you know about a real relationship? I treat you like you’re supposed to be treated. I made you a better partner, and you’re not even goddamn thankful?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You felt not a grain of fear, but great astonishment, in which months of belligerence bled through your negation. “You made me better? Did you really just fucking say that? You put me in the worst position of my life! You’re an empty-headed, narcissistic, manipulative asshole!”

It was like a pin dropping in an empty theatre. The words that harped from your tongue merely skimmed the surface of your resentment, and you might’ve kept barrelling down if it weren’t for the obsidian in his eyes. You knew that soulless look. Already, you could feel the ache in your wrist, see glimpses of his iron hand reaching for your skin. He ripped the cigarette from his mouth, smacked it into the sink, and immediately loomed over you, wrestling for your wrist.

“H-Hey, don’t fucking touch me!” You cried out, whipping your elbow backward.

“Don’t act up then!” He roared, clutching onto your arm and wickedly shaking it until your grasp loosened around the pocket mirror.

With a horrified countenance, you watched the artifact fly from your hand and rattle against the plastic, stained tiles. The fragile clasp broke, its gold dome popped open, cracked glass crumbling out from the inside. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Air stuttered on the tip of your tongue whilst you stared at the hundred-year-old mirror, now decimated and irreplaceable. It felt like the universe had an unforgiving hand around your windpipe. No breath left your lungs.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, his brow furrowing, “why were you holding that?”

Why were you holding that?

With your mouth agape, you locked eyes with the man in front of you, and for once, he seemed afraid. The pain upended itself in your stomach, it burst into your atrium, your veins and blood. It was electricity. A frustrated growl reverberated from deep inside and suddenly you were slamming your hands against his chest, pushing him backward, making him stumble and wheeze and fear your aggression until he was caught against the kitchen counter.

“What the he—,”

“Shut up,” you choked out like your whole life had been ripped away from you, tears leaking down your face, “don’t you ever come up to me again. Don’t ever put your hands on me. Don’t you ever speak to me. Don’t you ever look at me. You can’t keep me trapped in your little cage anymore. We’re fucking through.”

He was heaving in quick-paced breaths, and you could see the disorientation cloud in his gaze. Before you left, you scooped the broken mirror and all its fragments into your hands.

You stalked through his front door, but it didn’t yet feel like freedom.

Darkness pooled around you, exempt from the yellowish flame that wriggled up candle wick. Gently opening the pocket mirror, you placed it on the closet floor, holding back a brittle sob as the tiny glass shards collected against its bottom. Glass shards that could never be fixed or glued back together. It was unadulterated heartache. You wondered if that was how Jihoon felt when he watched all his books smoulder in the fireplace, having to accept the voice at the back of his head which told him his literature would be lost forever.

Your eyes were damp and welting with tears as they fell shut. Quietly, into the small space you whispered: “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

But the world was silent.

You felt not a single gust of arctic air against your face, nor did you hear the pocket mirror snapping shut. Jihoon’s soft fingertips weren’t brushing your arm, your teary cheek, the tender inside of your thigh, assuring you he was right at your side. A shudder split through your body. It couldn’t be true.

You entreated him again, “if I ask for you, will you come to me?”

A terrible sickness disseminated from your gut. You felt lightheaded, dizzy, saliva coating the inside of your mouth as though your system was preparing to vomit. Perspiration dappled your forehead, and you were burning hot, yet your hands were trembling like you’d been confined outside during the coldest winter. You leaned over into your palms and let out a petulant shriek. It was unclear how long you stayed in the closet, wetly hiccupping and mourning. The pain needed to escape, no matter how viciously.

And even though you couldn’t see Jihoon, he was looking after you as a free spirit, absorbing your agony, ensuring you didn’t have to feel such torment all by yourself.

Eight months later

It was around lunchtime as you picked up your bicycle, resting against the ivy that coated the sun-soaked wall of the cottage. You decided to pedal into town and grab groceries. June summers were always pleasant, colourful; the heat was rarely unbearable or notably sticky and when you rode your bicycle, the breeze blew the scent of the neighbourhood honeysuckle into your face.

Soaring along the sidewalk, you felt – for once in your life – remarkably free.

When you neared that ominous house at the end of the block, you weren’t afraid, rather you continued pedaling with contentedness, brushing right by the driveway as though it were any other house one might pass on a bike ride. You didn’t think about your wrist. The scratches had long since faded. There was no more bruised tissue or blunt carvings from fingernails. Upon nearing the grocery store, you were creating a small list in your head.

You knew you wanted peaches. Ice cream if they had your favourite flavour. Vegetables and meat and spices for a stew. In fact, you were so concentrated on making the non-existent list that you didn’t even note the young man who’d just rushed out the market door. At the last second you jammed the breaks and gasped, feeling the inertia against your body.

Some of the papers and photographs tucked under the stranger’s arm dislodged, fluttering to the ground.

“Holy shit,” you set your bicycle against the store wall, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention at all—here, let me help you.”

“I-It’s alright,” he replied, sounding a bit shaky as he joined you in collecting the papers, “I wasn’t paying attention either.”

When you grabbed one particular photo from the ground, you immediately froze.

It was grainy, black and white, but you could recognize that face amongst hundreds. His eyes, his lips, even the corduroy button-up and crisp dress shirt. He was leaning against a jukebox, hands in his pockets, a pen tucked behind his ear, grinning like he’d just struck the lottery. You were so entranced with the photograph that the stranger could only stand before you, a thick blush on his cheeks whilst he waited for you to finish ogling. It wasn’t until he slightly cleared his throat that you budged.

“Do you know this guy?” You asked after handing him back the picture.

“Well, not personally…” He scratched the nape of his neck. “But I know who he was. Lee Jihoon. I have this culminating project in my writing class. I thought it’d be cool to choose him since his story is so intriguing. I—,” Suddenly, he stopped, and laughed anxiously.

“Sorry, you probably don’t know what I’m talking about.”

His amber complexion turned increasingly pink. You’d never seen him around town before, but god—he was cute. He had these thin, circular glasses that sat on his pointed nose, a mole doting the upper arch of his cheek, the deepest brown eyes you’d ever seen. His hair was a bit disarrayed after you nearly struck him with your bicycle, the black strands fluttering against the summer breeze. And interestingly enough, he knew who Jihoon was.

“I know of him,” you smiled, though it was hollow, “his story is intriguing, according to what I’ve heard.”

The stranger seemed to sense your aching.

“Yeah… kinda sad stuff. Um, I-I’m Seokmin by the way. I heard Jihoon lived in this town so I’m trying to collect resources.”

You glanced at him thoughtfully and returned your name. Seokmin started organizing his papers, proceeding to shove them back under his arm.

“Resources?” Came your inquiry. “Like what kind?”

“Anything, honestly. I started researching him when I lived in Korea. I even got my hands on some copies of citizen records. I know he had a cottage around here too, but I don’t know the address. And that’s weird right? Knocking on the owner’s door asking about a deceased writer.”

“Seokmin.”

He pushed up the silver bridge of his glasses and gulped. “Yeah?”

“I think I can help you out.”

After taking Seokmin on a curt tour through the cottage, he seemed speechless, and quite frankly a little bewildered considering his luck at encountering you. Much of the cottage had been renovated and refurbished, all but the closet and the crimson fireplace.

The tour ended in your bedroom, where Seokmin shot a wary glance at the closet you had always kept empty, knowing what the cramped space entailed in terms of the writer’s premature death. You thought he needed to sit, so you assured him it was fine if he took a couple minutes on the edge of your bed.

With his documents next to him, Seokmin’s eyes once again probed around the room. He then sighed as you leaned against your dresser, to which you pondered on what had disturbed him.

“I can’t believe he burnt all his work. It’s just gone, y’know?”

Tapping your fingers against the wood, you nodded. “It’s unfortunate.”

“When I was poking around for information back in Busan, I heard he had this girlfriend who cheated on him with his friend. All his books were these amazing love stories based on her, but I guess he felt they were tarnished… So, he just… Destroyed them. I wonder if there’s anything of his left.”

Immediately, you stiffened. Stowed away within your night table’s compartment was the gold pocket mirror. You had removed the broken glass after slicing the edge of your finger on a shard, and only the antique shell remained. It was too painful to keep the mirror with you as frequently as before, so you stored it in a special place, and only accessed it when you needed to talk with Jihoon, when you really needed to feel his presence, even if it couldn’t be what it once was.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you approached the table and pulled open the compartment, revealing to Seokmin the pocket mirror, dulled and broken after a century of hardship. He outstretched his palm when you allowed him to hold it.

“S-Shit, I heard about this mirror. His girlfriend gave him this. Is it the actual thing?”

Folding your arms over your chest, you nodded. “I promise, it’s not a fake.”

Gently, Seokmin opened the broken clasp.

“No glass?” He questioned.

“Um…” You were nibbling your lip hard enough to draw blood, “Just… something happened, and it broke. It was too dangerous to keep the glass.”

“Oh,” Seokmin hummed, “that’s fine. It’s still beautiful. I can’t even believe I’m holding it.” His chest rumbled with disbelieving laughter.

“It’s so hard to see it broken…” You sighed, feeling your lungs shake and your throat tighten.

Seokmin looked up at you, how you gazed at the mirror as though it were a lost love. He rose from the bed and delicately placed the momentum back into its compartment.

“I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing.” The boy pointed out in a soft voice.

“Why not?” You sniffled, tears stinging your eyes, yearning to fall.

“Well, there’s this myth, I guess. People who take their own life are condemned to their personal grave. When items that were precious to them break, like that mirror, it sets their soul free. So, even if it’s painful for you, it could have been a good thing. If you believe in spirits and all that.”

For a moment, you simply held yourself firmer, staring deep into the kind earth of Seokmin’s eyes whilst this catharsis bloomed inside you. Even though you knew the mirror wasn’t necessary for Jihoon to hear or see you, it had been the most difficult tribulation you ever knuckled through. Trying to accept life as it was, not as what it could have been. Seokmin’s brow knitted together concerningly, his bottom lip pushing out, hoping he didn’t upset you.

“Are you oka—,”

He lost an ounce of his breath when you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding onto him tight whilst a few tears beaded toward your chin. Seokmin was at first stunned, though it melted off easily, and you felt his hand rub tenderly against your back. He murmured some small reassurances. His voice was incredibly dulcet, almost velvet-like, and you thought he’d make a good singer. When you took a step away to wipe up any tears, Seokmin gazed at you fondly.

“I’m really sorry,” you chuckled, fingertips brushing against your eye, “but thank you for saying that. It’s something I needed to hear.”

Seokmin shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Pain is pain.”

You smiled at him. He wasn’t wrong.

Realizing he needed to move on with his day, you lead Seokmin downstairs and to the front door, where he stood next to your lilac bush, the afternoon sun adding a touch of honey to his cheeks. Just before he left, you couldn’t help but note that he was fumbling with his words a lot, licking his pretty lips, running a hand through his black locks. Eventually, the boy found his words.

“Do you want to meet up again, maybe?” He quickly adjusted his glasses. “And we can do something? I-I think you’re really nice and cute and I still can’t believe you showed me around when you didn’t have to. I’m sorry if that’s too soon. I totally understand if you’d rather ju—”

“I’d love to.”

The overwrought nature to his face immediately cleared. Instead, Seokmin looked vibrant, so much in fact, that you could feel a familiar sense of warmth rise in your face. It was a sensation you hadn’t experienced in a long while, but it made you happy, inconceivably happy.

“Really? Okay, cool. Do you want my number?”

As you removed the phone from your pocket, your heart skipped a beat.

“Sure,” you eagerly complied, “let’s do it.”

And on that day, your life began in the way you always dreamed it would.

✧✎ a/n: again, i just want to apologize for my lack of posting (pls refer to my last update if you’re curious). I HOPE THE ENDING MADE UP FOR THE PAIN AND SADNESS lolll.

#caratwritersclub #seventeen scenarios #jihoon scenarios #seventeen angst #jihoon angst #lee jihoon #seventeen woozi #woozi scenarios #svt fanfic #svt angst #jihoon x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #abuse tw #suicide tw

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wreckofawriter · 5 years

Text

I Don't Love

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader

Word count: 7,392 (Woah)

Warnings: Alochal, smoking, talk of sex.

Request: Hiii! Could I request a Sirius x reader imagine where the reader is like the girl version of Sirius. She wears her own leather jacket, and she’s basically a heartbreaker. Like Sirius, she doesn’t really believe in love, she believes in lust and attraction. Until She meets Sirius and starts falling for him and she’s super confused bc she’s never felt love before and Sirius starts falling for her and he’s confused cus of the same reason and it’s just super cute and fluffy 🥺

A/n: A few things: Number one. I am so incredibly sorry that this took me like 2 weeks to write. I had some pretty shitty crap go down and it just sorta fucked with me and I couldnt write. Number two. This is a little less fluffy than I wanted it to be but it still has a fluff ending. And Number three. To all the people who have sent me requests. I am going to start writing regularly again now so, I will probally have one out at the end of the week and another out around sunday or monday. Thank you so much for you patience.

You had officially decided that there were two types of boys in this world. One would scream and yell at you when they realized you were only in it for one night, while the other would beg for a chance that you were never willing to give.

Conor had opted for the latter.

“Y/n, please” He begged, his eyes were wide and pleading, he was desperate. Desperate for you to stay, he just wanted a chance.

You sighed taking a large swig of your coffee, it was too early for this shit. “Conor how many times am I going to have to tell you, it was a one time thing.” your voice was monotone, as if you were bored, which was quite honestly the case. Have the same conversation over and over again tended to do that to a person.

“Please y/n, I swear you wont regret it. Just one date.” The Huffelpuff begged, he gasped your hand in attempts to gain your attention. He did not succeed.

You let out a stiffened groan, the conversation had become increasingly frustrating, the fact that most of the school was listening in on the exchange of words definitely didn't help. “Conor,” you spoke slowly, praying that he could get the information you were about to give him though his thick skull. “Friday night was fun.” you watched his features brighten, his sky blue eyes filling with momentary hope. “But that's all it was, Friday night and fun, so please leave me alone, you're giving me a headache.”

You heard the gasps and felt the glares, Conor was popular, he was also nice, and from what you heard extremely sweet. So as he slunk away from you head hung, tail between his legs, you could feel a good dozen people glaring daggers into your back.

“Note to self: dont fuck popular people.” You mumbled quietly knowing you would never follow through with the rule.

You looked back down at your eggs rolling your eyes when you heard an all too familiar voice shriek in rage.

You along with everyone else in the hall turned to a furious Marlen Mckinnion who was practically dragging a smirking Sirius Black from his seat.

“You son of a bitch!” She shrieked, tears of fury and sadness leaking from her cheeks.

“Well my mother is a bitch.” He shrugged a cheeky grin pulling his lips apart.

She shrieked again, making you grimace.

You tunned out of her pathetic argument and opted your attention to the book resting at the bottom of your bag. You were about a chapter in before you got sidetracked by Marleens redicoulsly high pitched blubbers.

“How could you!” she sobbed behind you. God she was so loud. “You knew how I felt and you still fucked another girl!”

You weren't sure why but this sentence made you snort. You attempted to muffle the giggles slowly evolving to laughter, but they poured passed your lips like an overflowing sink. Those close to you gave you angered looks, but you didn't care, you received enough of those already. It didn't take long for Marleen, to halt her reckless cries and turned to you with a fiery rage.

She left Black standing where he was, her attention now focused purely on you.

“What do you think is so funny y/l/n?” She hissed tears still sliding down her flushed cheeks, her mascara trying her face into an angry blackened mess.

You snorted once again “I'm sorry.” You wheezed out unable to contain your laughter, “I don't mean to offend you or anything,” You lied not even bothering to trap your giggles anymore. “It's just…” You burst into another fit.

The hall had gone quite, they wanted to see what was going to happen almost as much as you did. “You're telling me you actually believe that he cares what you felt?”

He face flashed with surprise, you heard a few fellow Slytherins and even a couple Ravenclaws let out short bursts of laughter.

“How dare you!” She screamed, her voice shaky, hands bawled at her side.

“Look, it's nothing personal.” You shrugged calmly, "It's just ridiculous for you to overreact every time he sleeps with someone else. What did you expect?" You could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on you, they were thirsting for chaos, something about the way Marleens face twisted at you words made it seem like there was a strong chance of their thirst being quenched.

"Maybe I expected him to actually give a shit about somebody for once in his miserable life!" She yelled turning around to see the dark haired boy biting his lips to keep in a laugh. "For him to actually love me the way I loved him."

You scoffed rolling your eyes, "You don't actually believe you were in love do you?"

"Of course I do." She hissed back tears still leaking from her blackened eyes, she had now taken a few steps toward you

"Love is bullshit. And if you belive you were actually in love with Black after sucking his dick once, than you just as stupid as you look." You smiled sickly sweet at the girl as she began towards you, her wand suddenly clenched in her right fist.

"You worthless WHORE!" Her voice rang clear through the hall.

You didn't move, you didn't even flinch because the second she raised her wand it was flying from her hand landing in Avery's, who then muttered a spell that froze her feet into the ground.

You sent him a cheeky smile and a wink before gathering your things and standing from your bench. You stood in front of the girl, just out of her reach. She was shrieking and crying and over all just a mess.

"Salazar, your pathetic." You murmured in disgust.

She yelled something at you couldn't understand, not that you cared to, you were pretty sure it involved the words slut and whore multiple times.

"Well I best be off" you smiled, "As said in Shakespeare's Coriolanus, Act 2 Scene one, 'More of your conversation would infect my brain.'" And with that you turned on your heel and left the room, green robes billowing neatly behind you.

A few days past, and as much as you tried to hide it, your world collapsed. Of course this had nothing to do with Marleen or any of her prideful, idiotic friends, this didn't have anything to do with school at all.

It had to deal with your home. You had officially decided that being pure blood sucked. Your whole life had been planned out for you and you didn't want to do even one thing on the pre planned timeline of your life.

The first thing directly after graduation was marriage.

You had been attempting to put this one off the longest, you were definitely not the type to settle down and start a family. In fact the idea made you gag. You didn't even like the commitment of a date, let alone of a marriage certificate.

So when you mother sent you a letter containing a list of names. Your heart sunk to the floor.

The top of the letter read, "My dearest daughter, as you know you are set to be married soon after graduation. Many young men have asked for your hand, me and your father picked the best of the best for you to choose from. I hope all is going well." And then a list of 11 names, some you had never heard of and some, you sat next to during your meals or studied with after class.

The thought of marrying any of them made you feel empty inside. You didn't love any of them and you weren't sure you would ever be able to love any of them.

But you said it yourself, love is bullshit.

This fact didn't stop you from being pushed into a dark hole by your mother's words. She wanted an answer by Christmas break, and hell, you hadn't been able to make a stable decision since you received the letter.

It started with a party after Slytherin beat Hufflepuff in quidditch. That also happened to be the day you were sent a reminder of your impending doom. So alcohol solved all of your problems for a couple hours and you woke up in the bed of a Ravenclaw you didn't recognize.

The next day you had an exam you failed which resulted in a mental breakdown that left you dehydrated with a migraine.

You had downed seven Advils and passed out on your bed by eight.

The next day your headache had progressed, you had taken an absurd amount of medication to ease the pain that day, you ended up in the locker rooms with a Gryffindor beater.

And now here you were already a quarter bottle deep of firewhisky staring at the list of names scrawled neatly on the tear stained parchment gripped tightly in your hand.

You glared down at the grounds so far below you, wondering what it would be like if you just jumped. You wondered who, if anyone, would actually care. You wondered if Marleen and her bitchy friends would laugh, you wondered if, some would say you deserved it. They probably would.

This brought a bubbly giggle to your lips, before the bottle you were holding drowned them.

You glanced back down at the list. So far you had crossed out two names you would never marry even with a wand held to your neck.

One was Lestrange, the other Malfoy. The thought of their hands touching you, lips on yours, made you gag.

You glanced back down at the list circling your current top choice, you would have to do some research on the names you didn't recognize, they must go to a different school.

You brought the cool glass of the bottle back to your lips, sighing slightly at the burning taste it brought with it.

You let a few more tears slide down your cheeks, one dripping lazily off your chin, you watched it disappear into the dark grounds below. For just a second it shimmered in the moonlight appearing to be a drop of pure silver, before it disappeared into the night.

You let out a heart broken sob before letting the stars see the bottom of your bottle.

Just then you heard a short cough.

You turned to see Sirius Black, he was adorned in a pair of black ripped jeans a queen t-shirt matched with his signature black leather jacket.

You glanced down at your own appearance, black skinny jeans, tares in each knee, white t-shirt that read "Fuck Off" in black letters and of course your signature black leather jacket.

He so seemed to be eyeing your appearance. Yiu suspicions were confirmed when he spoke, "I see you've copied my style y/l/n."

"You wish," you laughed, "I'm pretty sure your the one copying my style."

He rolled his eyes before walking to your side and staring down at the shimmering of midnight dew on frosted grass.

"What is Sirius Black doing alone up in the astronomy tower at night?" You asked curiously, offering him your bottle which he took, downing a quick swig, grimacing slightly.

"I could ask you the same." He huffed glancing at you, taking in the wetness of your cheeks and red tinge in your eyes.

"Well I asked first." You pointed out before glancing at him as he brought the bottle back to his lips.

Sirius shrugged passing the liquor back to you. "I guess I just needed some alone time."

"Guess I ruined that, didn't I." You smirked lazily.

"Nah," Sirius sighed waving your comment away with his hand, "I didn't have a fire whiskey anyway." His smile was dopey, his hair drooping in front of his stormy grey eyes.

You let out a giggle, taking another swig from the bottle.

"So why are you up here." He asked teasingly.

You grimaced taking another sip.

Sirius waited for a response for a minute but as he watched you avoid his gaze he realised you weren't going to answer. He sighed sadly, "Come on, you gotta be drowning something with that shit." He motioned to the bottle your lips were closed around.

You chuckled lazily, "Myself I guess."

He let out a snort, something you've never seen him do, you simply assumed it was the alcohol getting to him.

Sirius glanced at your paper and before you could whip the list away he gasped.

"Why is my brother on your list!?" He asked in alarm.

You said nothing feeling tears reach your eyes, the last thing you wanted was someone you barely knew knowing what was slowly tearing you apart.

"And why is his name circled!?"

You cringed tears pricking your eyes, Sirius glanced at you, flushing a bit at your glassy eyes, you weren't one to show emotions, seeing you smile alone was a rare opportunity, that was if you only counted sincere grins, not deadly smirks. But crying, he couldn't recall seeing you crying or hearing of you crying from anyone, he figured that you had about the emotional range of a teaspoon.

But here you were tears sliding solemnly down your cheeks, moonlight causing the drops to shimmer like rare gems.

"Is this some sick kill list or something?"

No response, just tears, leaking silently from your deep y/e/c eyes.

"Because if you mess with him I swear-"

A choked laugh escaped you crimson lips, your tongue swiping some lipstick from them. "I'm not going to hurt you brother." You then handed him the note and turned, your back facing the window you were gazing from and sliding to the floor.

Above you Sirius eyes widened as he read the note left by your mother before processing the list below.

He glanced down at you, your mascara was leaking slightly from the corner of your eyes, your hair was a bit tangled, your hand wrapped around the neck of your bottle as you brought it to your lips, leaving a bit of deep red lipstick on its rim. He recognized the look on your face. It was completely vacant, despite the tears, no emotion lived in your features.

Your eyes blank and staring, mouth a straight line, not turning up or down. Your whole face was simply empty. Sirius remembered seeing that face in his mirror after he received a letter from home. And he knew that you felt how you looked. Empty.

He sighed, sliding to the floor beside you. Your long black nails came to your face furiously wiping at the tears on your cheek, refusing to meet his eye.

"I know this doesn't matter to you but 11 guys wanting to marry you is pretty good." Sirius shrugged attempting to lighten your mood

You emitted what was either a sob or a laugh, he couldn't tell, "There were more, my mom cut out the ones that she didn't think were 'acceptable'" you made air quotes with your hands.

"Damn." The Gryffindor huffed, "What does the circle around Regs name mean?" He asked he didn't want to push you but he had to know. Because for some reason, he didn't want it to mean what he thought it did.

You fidgeted with the end of your jacket, leaning your head back against the rock wall behind you. "He's my top choice." You mumbled, blushing a bit, another thing that Sirius had never seen you do, even when your sex life became everyone's life.

Sirius cringed, feeling dread soak into his bones and fill him to the brim, the idea of the y/h/c in front of him marrying his younger brother made him sick. "W-why?" He stumbled lightly over his words as they seemed to get caught in his throat.

You finally met his eyes, they seemed to swirl with different shades of grey like a hurricane with a black eye.

"I don't know." You voice was rough, sounded like it was a tap away from breaking, "Hes nice, polite, attractive. He's not a complete perv."

Sirius now wore a sly smirk, the corners of his lips curving up neatly, "You think Regulus is attractive?"

You rolled your eyes, "Yes, of course I do, jawline like that don't grow on trees."

Sirius let out a barking laugh, you could feel his shoulder shake beside you.

You exhaled loudly rolling your eyes again before handing the bottle to Sirius. He glanced at the almost empty bottle than back at you eyebrows raised in a silent question.

You shrugged, "High tolerance."

"You know that isn't good right?"

"No Black," you drawled sarcastically, "I'm as stupid as you are."

He smacked his hand to his chest and mimicked a shocked expression you felt your eyes roll instinctively in their sockets.

He dropped the act and chuckled finishing off the bottle with a final swig. "So if you think my brothers hot, where does that leave me?"

"God Black, don't you think your head is big enough already?" You inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Humor me." He smiled pulling out a pack of smokes.

You took a cigarette, holding it out for him to light, "Fine, yes you are extremely attractive."

He flashed a set of pearly straight teeth, the warm orange light from his lighter reflecting from them as he lit the smoke you held out to him.

"How bout me?" You asked after taking a huff and watching as the smoke from your exhale trailed away.

Sirisu hummed in confusion.

"You know, humor me, how attractive am I?" You asked nonchalantly.

Sirius suddenly felt color rise to his cheeks, he hoped you would blame it on the alcohol. The truth was no girls really asked him what he thought. Well that's a lie, they ask if he thought they were pretty all the time. Asked if he thought they were good enough. But never like this. They all cared, they would burst into tears if he answered wrong. They would hate him for an answer and love him for another.

But not you. You didn't care in the slightest. He could have said he would have rather fucked a lizard than you and you would have shrugged and continued with the conversation. And something about that made Sirius flush.

"Well? Don't tell me I'm that bad." You giggled, although your tolerance was high, the alcohol was definitely getting to you.

Sirius quickly gained back his charms, "My dear y/n, trust me you are gorgeous."

"Thank you." You smiled suggestively adding a wink that made Sirius stomach fill with wings.

There was a long pause, the sound of crickets and small frogs chirping faint in your ears. Smoke drifted from the room as a crisp chill filled the air.

Finally Sirius spoke, "So your really gonna marry my brother?"

You cringed at the word marry scratching at your wrist nervously, "I guess so. What other choice do I have?"

"You could leave." Sirius muttered putting out his cigarette on the wall behind him.

"No I can't." You all but whispered.

"Yes you can y/n, no offense but your parents are assholes, you don't need them."

"No Sirius!" You yelled voice loud and echoing off the open room, "I can't." Your voice had dropped once again, your words almost inaudible."I can't." You repeated face once again empty of emotion. He watched in horror as you put your smoke out on your own skin. He could hear it sizzle in protest for just a moment before the small orange glow disappeared.

"Why?" He asked annoyed, "What are you scared?"

"Yes!" You shouted. Sirius' eyes widened in surprise and for a brief moment fear as you turned toward him in anger. "You wanna know why I can't leave? Because last time I tried to leave I almost died!"

Sirius eyes filled with guilt. His annoyed look turning to one of pity.

"You think I haven't tried to leave? I have! The second my mom mentioned marriage I packed my bags! But when my mother and father caught me trying to sneak out they used two of three of the unforgivable curses on me to get me to stay!"

Sirius winced, feeling the pain from far away memories returning to him.

"So I can't leave. They'll kill me. I know they will."

Sirius said nothing. He simply sat staring straight ahead. You expected him to say some inspirational bullshit or just tell you to go for it, but he didn't. He just handed you another cigarette and lit it for you.

Your face had been sucked of all signs emotion except for one tear rolling slowly down you right cheek. It had cooled from the midnight air and now felt like a drop of ice slowly melting down your warm cheeks.

You could feel the alcohol slowly affecting you as if it was finally catching up with you. You could feel the rational parts of yourself drift away and just then it was occurring to you that you had been irrational since the long haired boy walked in. You turned towards him, head fuzzy, stomach buzzing, and he turned to you.

Your eyes locked grey staring into y/e/c as y/e/c stared into grey. You blinked twice, attempting to make a decision. All you could think about was how empty you felt. How much you wanted to feel something. Sirius could do that. He could make you feel something. Something.

Your lips connected with his sloppily, your nose bumping his, as you dropped your smoke, hands connecting with his hair as he fought for dominance in your mouth. You didn't taste anything but fire whiskey and cigarettes, nothing different than what you tasted of. His tongue explored your mouth as Sirius pulled you onto his lap. You felt his hands roam your body enjoying they pressure they held on your hips as his lips passed down your neck. Seconds before your memory fade to black, you remembered thinking how much different Sirius' hands felt on your skin than anyone else.

You woke to a familiar sight. Well by familiar you mean unfamiliar, but unfamiliar had become familiar to you. You could feel a warm arm wrapped around your bare waist, your head pounding behind your eyes as a bare chest pressed to your back.

You could also hear whispers. They were hushed and quick, you could only make out a few words.

"How did he-" a pause of mumbles

"That's so-" more incoherent words, "I mean what about the…" the murmurs sunk to low for your ears to pick up.

You opened your eyes slowly opened, you turned to see three boys who you recognized immediately staring at you. They all flushed realizing you were awake but before they could speak you brought your finger to your mouth.

"Be quiet." You hissed dangerously, wincing at the sudden stab behind your head.

They all nodded slowly, wide eyes trading for confused ones. You slowly slipped from the bed, doing everything in your power to not wake the boy sleeping next to you.

You let out a sigh of relief hearing Sirius snore quietly, something you found yourself thinking was adorable. You turned to see the three boys staring at you in awe, shot them a smirk as you gathered your clothes sliding on your panties and bra. You could feel their eyes follow you around the room, honestly you didn't mind in the slightest.

You turned after grabbing your jeans they were all bright red, James smirking as the other two refused to meet your eye. You felt your lips twitch into a wolfish grin.

"Enjoy it while you can boys, this will be the last time you see it."

James let out a hearty laugh as Peter looked away Remus blushing amazingly red.

"Except you." You pointed at the werewolf "You might see this again." You winked as he sputtered for words.

You slid on your t-shirt snatching your jacket from the ground. "Hopefully I'll see some of you again very soon." you winked, eyes locked with Remus as he grew impossibly warmer.

You then walked promptly from the dorm room, earning a few glances, but you didn't care, you walked swiftly to your own common room, muttering the password and entering. A few first years looked up before whispering to each other. You rolled your eyes heading to your dorm. You were greeted by a pissed off pair of deep brown eyes adorned in yellow robes.

"You said you would study with me this morning!" Harper scrolled you.

"I can still study!" You fought back, calling on to your bed.

"Please." Your friend scoffed, "Your hung over and what ever boy you got back from fucking is going to wake up and look for you."

You laughed, "Please."

"They always look for you because your too pussy to tell them you only wanted to get laid."

"Trust me this guy is not going to look for me." You assured her as you stood rummaging through your things for something to dull the pain in your head.

"They always look." Harper said with a roll of her eyes.

"This guy won't." You promised tossing back some advils you found.

"Is he dead?" She asked sarcastically.

"No."

"Then he'll look for you." She stated matter of factly.

"Look its Sirius Black he's not going to look for anyone." You sighed, and for some reason this realization brought you nothing but pain. The idea of him not caring hurt. But you weren't sure why. It's not like you cared.

"You slept with Black?" Harper gasped.

"Yes" you rolled your eyes, "Half the school has done it, it's not that big of an accomplishment."

Harper let out a magnificent laugh, "That's true. Now come on, if you can study, let's study."

It was in your firm belief that Sirius would not look for you, talk to you or even mention you, but boy did you wish he would. As you walked down to the library you found your self craning your neck to catch a glimpse of his glossy black hair or his dashing grin. But you saw no such thing, he didn't care. You reminded yourself, and neither do you.

You had run into the younger Black brother though. He had greeted you and Harper politely despite the Hufflepuffs half-blood status. He had even carried the books you had been struggling with for you. He walked you to the library sharing a small conversation before heading to breakfast.

"Are you gonna choose him?" Harper asked, "He gives off like a mysterious, proper sorta vibe."

You darkened slightly at the memory of choosing your betrothed, making Harper regret her decision on topics of decisions, mumbling an apology.

You waved her off, "I don't know." Your awnser was honest, you had no fucking clue.

"Well, I think Black is a pretty good choice, he's nice, he's polite, not to mention really hot." She shrugged attempting to lighten the mood.

"Yeah he is." You hummed thinking of a different Black.

Harper didn't miss the distance your eyes held. Something was up with you. Not just the shit with your family but something else.

But before she could ask a booming voice called out your name.

Both girls turned to meet eyes with four boys. Two hanging back slightly as the other two headed straight towards your table.

"They always look." Harper mumbled beside you, but you couldn't hear her over the rushing in your ears. Your heart began to speed as the pair of grey eyes you had looked for this morning shined brightly at you.

"Yes, Black?" You asked casually as if you didn't feel like suddenly throwing up.

"Left quite early this morning." He sneered playfully plopping into the chair next to you.

"Well your snoring woke me." You lied turning back to your work attempting to ignore the pressure his stare held on you.

"Also gave the boys quite a show." He shrugged, "Didn't know you were into Remus."

You ignored Harpers confused glance and Remus' flushing face behind you.

"Please." You scoffed, "We all know I'm flirty by nature."

Sirius felt his heart squeezed, he really didn't mean anything to you. Who cares you didn't mean anything to him. "I guess we do." He huffed feeling suddenly overwhelmly sad. He glanced up at you, your y/h/c hair framing your soft face, y/e/c eyes glinting your pretty pink lips pulled to a lopsided grin. God how he wanted to feel them against his skin again.

"Is there a reason for your visit?" You asked impatiently, not liking the queasy feeling that his presence gave you.

"Oh, umm y-yes." Siriua stumbled on his words. "I have your jacket." He shoved the leather jacket he was holding at you. "I think you have mine."

You flushed, "Oh, sorry, it's in my room. I can go get it I'd you-"

"Its fine." Sirius assured you, placing his hand on your shoulder. The touch felt electric, like a spark that will set off a bomb. Sirius eyes roamed you landing on the dark marks he left on the open skin on your neck. You bathed in crimson when you noticed where his eyes lingered.

"Sirius!" James voice brought him back to reality. The boy removed his hand from your shoulder and snapped his eyes back to your own.

"I'm, I'm sorry." He stuttered scratching the back of his neck.

"It's fine." You smiled weakly.

"So um I'll, I'll just go." He tumbled banging his knee as he stood, he swore as James let out a barking laugh.

"Wait what about your jacket?" Harper called after him.

"Just bring it to me whenever." He spoke hurriedly, he needed to get out of there.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding when he exited the room.

Harper looked at your eyebrows raised.

"What?" You asked attempting to turn your attention back to your essay.

"You're blushing." She pointed out, "You never blush."

"I am not blushing." You huffed angrily even though you could feel your face glow.

"Yeah sure." Harper drawled eyeing you skeptically.

"I'm not!" You exclaimed.

"Totally." She said narrowing her eyes.

"Stop saying it like that!" You shouted.

"Like what."

You let out a frustrated whimper grabbing your things and heading for the doors. "I was not blushing!" You added quickly before retreating to your common room, cheeks still burning.

The next week was weird, it was like someone had flipped a switch to make you like everyone else.

Suddenly you became awkward and clumsy, you blushed and stuttered when you were nervous. It was all so strange and awkward and it was all because of him.

Sirius Blafk had done something to you. You didn't know what it was and you did not care for it in the slightest. Every Time you saw him you hated the way you looked. You suddenly began to wonder if your makeup was too dark or if your hair was too messy. When you passed him in the hall, you felt your throat close and your stomach do flips.

In charms you couldn't focus anymore. He was alway right across from you laughing with his friends and playing pranks on Snape. You were now constantly biting your long nails, something you had never done before, you had begun to find your mind wandering subjects you didn't want it to. It was if you had lost all control of your thoughts. And you had.

Sirius found himself in a similar situation. Suddenly your image planted itself into his brain and your voice rang in your ears. He saw you everywhere. The more he tried to get you away from him, the closer you became. He had become moody, everything would make him feel something, every little thing made him fight with an emotion, he wasn't accustomed to so much ... feeling. It was like someone had turned into a fourteen year old girl. It was terrible. To make things worse you were always with someone else, something that made him feel unexplainable fury. Every Time he saw you giggle with Avery or smile at Diggory his heart would clench, pausing slightly before he continued on, his mood soured. To make things worse Regulus never seemed to leave your side. He was carrying your books to class, sitting with you at meals, studying with you in the library. Why did Regulus get to do all that? Why did his little brother get to bathe in the light of your smile so often? That wasn't fair.

The rest of the marauders had noticed the long haired boys sudden mood changes. They had first though he had just had a bad day, but when a day stretched to a week, they had grown concerned. Remus was of course the first to identify the cause, with James lost in emerald eyes, and Peter busy being about as observant as a brick wall, it was pretty much his obligation to do so. He noticed the way Sirius's eyes lingered on you, how he soaked in your form as you passed in the corridor. He saw how Sirius would glare at boys you spoke to, specifically his little brother who seemed to be near you at all times. It didn't take the young werewolf long to put two and two together. Upon his new discovery, he began to pay more and more attention to you.

He noticed how you avoided Sirius at all costs, he saw the way you blushed when Sirius laughed around you. He also caught you staring across the charms room at the long haired boy when he wasn't paying attention. Everything you did confused him. Because while Sirius seemed head over heels, you either hated him or loved him. It was hard to tell.

But it wasn't for Harper. She knew you were in love with the older Black brother the second he walked into that library. You didn't even have to do anything. You simply looked at him and she could tell. It was like some alarm going off in her head, telling her what was up. When Harpet first realized this, she attempted to tell herself that she was wrong, it was silly, you didn't 'love'. But then she watched as you blushed and watched and avoided, and she knew you were deep in it. Harper was terrified to bring it up with you. She knew that in a way you already knew, but if she brought it up, made you truly realize, things could get ugly.

But she couldn't wait any longer. You had to see what was in front of you or you would only get hurt.

So now the burnet Hufflepuff, paced nervously in your dorm waiting for you to come in. She had a plan in her head, but it still didn't change the fact that she was a nervous wreck.

Most people would constantly tease their friend if they believed them to be in love, but with you love wasn't an option, you had obligations, not feelings. In fact, you didn't even believe in love. You treated it like some superstition. It wasn't real to you. Not like she could blame you, you were going to be forced to marry some guy you definitely didn't want to at age 17, your parents the same way, and their parents and their parents and their parents. It was a never ending cycle of loveless life.

Harpers frantic thoughts were interrupted by a loud thump. The girl turned to see you ditching your bag on the floor and huffing to your bed. You fell on to your mattress blankets ripping slightly like someone had tossed a pebble into a smooth lake.

"You okay?" Harper asked cautiously.

You sat up meeting the pair of green eye scanning you in concern. "Marleen is such a bitch." You stated beginning to pick at your nails.

"Can't disagree with that." Harper chuckled, "What she do now?"

"She said I was Sirius 'sloppy seconds' which makes literatly 0 sense. And now she's pinning after him again." You seethed angrily.

"You're in love with him aren't you?"

Harper's plan just crashed through the window.

"What?!" You exclaimed."In love? With who? Black!? Never!"

"Y/n/n, it's not a bad thing to be in love." Harper spoke calmly attempting to soothe your fury.

"I'm not in love! Love is bullshit!" You had how risen from the bed, your hand clenched into fists beside you.

"Y/n I see the way you look at him I'm not blind! You love him! You get all flustered and weird around him, and I know you know what's going on, you just are too scared to admit it."

"I'm not scared of shit. I know who I am and what I feel and I'm going to tell you this one time. I. Don't. Love."

"Everyone loves y/n!" Harper heaved, her eyes desperate for you to understand. How could you not see what was in front of you. But she knew you were blinded by fear. Fear of what most craved.

"What the hell would you know about love?!" Your voice echoed off the stone walls of the small room, reminding Harper of a jail cell.

"Clearly more than you!" She huffed back anger sewn delicately into each word she spoke.

"You will never know more than me you worthless HALFBLOOD!" You spat the last word of your damaging sentence as if it were a bitter taste you were attempting to ride your tongue of.

Harpera eyes flashed with fear. Not fear of some asshole who you had to kick the shot out of, not of Malfoy, not of one of one of the boys who had suddenly become aggressive in there chase after you. But fear oif you. She was afraid of you.

The fear left her eyes and was replaced by fury and disgust in a second. Harper walk straight to you practically shaking with rage and she slapped you across your face. You gasped head turning from the impact of her hand. When you turned back she was already practically out of the door. You felt tears slip from your eyes and you shrunk to the floor clutching your cheek.

It wasn't the pain that hurt. Well it was but it wasn't the pain from the slap. It was the pain that the look in Harpers eyes sent through you. It was the pain from the momentarily fear that ripped through her. It was the pain of you realizing you had just lost your only true friend.

Your body shook with sobs, the force of your tears making breaths hard to gather. Suddenly the door to your dormitory burst open.

"Holy shit y/n/n."

You could hardly hear the voice over the echo of your own sobs. But soon a pair of arms wrapped slowly around you lifting you slowly from the floor. You buried your face into the cloak of the boy who now held you in his arms. You took a sharp breath of alcohol and smoke, with an undertone of chocolate.

(Well fuck I hit the word limit. Click THIS for Ending.)

Taglist

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @songforhema

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ashisbaeee · 5 years

Note

blurb night! reader finding out Tom cheated on them and the reader feels it’s their fault for not being enough for the movie star

A/N: tysm for sending in this request! as you can see i got a bit carried away, haha. I hope you like this!

1.5k of pure angst

___________________________

Never in a million years would you ever date a movie star. If someone was to tell you that you were to date of the biggest and most famous movie stars that emerged within the past 5 years or so, you’d be in hysterics. You were just a regular person, with a regular job. Never would you have imagine crossing paths with Tom, let alone date the hottest young actor and arguably one of the best actors within the past five years or so. You were on cloud nine. Nothing could bring you down. Or so you thought.

At the beginning, you were beyond skeptical. You couldn’t understand how someone as famous as him would ever give you the time of day. Slowly but surely, he began to break down your walls. The walls surrounding your heart that you built up way too high, blocking off any potential heartbreak. Let’s just say that your last relationship really messed you up; left you scarred and afraid. You needed to protect yourself, to prevent your heart from being broken again. Your ex had cheated on you, he was just bad news. You told Tom the reason as to why you had been single for so long, you told him about your ex. He told you that your ex never deserved someone as amazing as you. He told you that he would do anything and everything, to tell you daily that you are more than enough. He asked you to give him a chance. He was beyond patient. he stayed true to his word, everyday he’d greet you a good morning and good night as well as being there for you. You saw his efforts; hell everyone saw his efforts. There was no denying his feelings for you. When you finally caved in and agreed to date him, he was beyond ecstatic. He jumped what seemed to be like 8 feet in the air before engulfing you in a tight embrace. He promised you that he’d never treat you like how your ex did.

And foolishly, you believed him. What a mistake.

After returning from the bathroom, you met up with him and the guys. They were all so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t realize your return.

“Did you guys see Krista, wasn’t she looking fit?! Oh man, I hope she’s free so I can talk to her” spoke Harry.

“Like she’d ever talk to you, you div. But yes, she is looking rather nice tonight” replied Tom.

“And why wouldn’t she talk to me? please, I know she won’t be able to resist this” rebutted Harry.

“Trust me mate, you’re not her type.”

“And how do you know what her type is exactly?”

“Because. I just do.” stammered Tom.

Harrison and Sam sensed where this conversation was going. It was not looking good at all.

The unknown becoming way too much, Sam finally spoke. Breaking the awkward silence.

“Tom, and how do you know this exactly? P-please don’t tell me what I think happened. Mate, please tell me I’m wrong” spoke Sam.

They guys were all a bit too tipsy to even notice your presence. Their focus was on the man of the hour, but not for the right reasons.

Haz too couldn’t take it anymore.

“Did you do something with her? T, what did you do? Does Y/N know?”

After hearing your name roll out of Haz’s mouth, Tom had a drastic change of mood. His mood changing to anger and pure annoyance. He walked up to his best mate and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pushing up against the wall.

“Don’t, don’t ever say her name. She is not supposed to know this. This can’t get to her. It would literally kill her. You all have to promise me that this doesn’t get to Y/N. But yes, Krista and I went out for drinks after shooting. We had a little too much to drink. I remember she had kissed me and I kissed her back. I know I shouldn’t have, but I was just missing Y/N, so badly; I know that’s not an excuse but you guys have to believe me. I vaguely remember bringing her back to my hotel. We had made out some more. It could’ve went a bit further but thank God it didn’t. It didn’t because I had heard my phone go off, signaling I had just gotten a text. Y/N, had texted me. And that was when I sobered up and realized what had just happened. What else could’ve happened if my phone didn’t go off. I tore myself away from her and told her to get the hell out. She ignored my pleas and continued on, only stopping when I had raised my voice. Wide eyed, she angrily left. Not before telling me her plans of blackmailing me. She told me to keep Y/N close or else she would tell her what happened. Guys, she can’t find this out. This would literally kill her. She was cheated on before and it messed her up badly. I had waited on her for months, I worked tirelessly to prove to her that if I was given the chance, I would treat her the way she should be treated and patiently waited until she was ready. When she finally agreed to go out with me, I made a promise to her that I would never treat her how her ex had. But I did. I treated her just like her ex. I fucked up, big time.” he spoke, his voice cracking a bit. He was on the verge of tears.

You stood there, mouth agape. You had quickly placed your hand over your mouth to block any sounds from escaping. Your eyes welling up, the tears threatening to fall at any second.

Krista? Who is Krista? And he brought her back to his place? What?! And it could’ve gone further more if it wasn’t for your text to have him sober up?

You knew this all had to be too good to be true. You knew you weren’t good enough for a guy like him. What was Hollywood’s best actor and famous movie star doing with someone like you? You were a regular person working a regular full time job who lived in a rather small town. You didn’t understand the Hollywood life. The glitz and glam was just a bit much for your liking. You did not want your life to be under the limelight. Constantly being scrutinized for your every move. Your worst fears of not being enough came to life. Your heart shattered into a million and one pieces, hurting even more than your previous relationship. Knowing that he knew why you were so guarded and hesitant to be in a relationship with him and promising that he would never do such a thing but then finding out he did break his promise not only angered you but hurt like hell. It was as if your heart was continually being stabbed.

You quickly turned your heel and ran to the nearest exit. You felt your throat closing. Tears were now free falling. Your once perfect makeup now ruined; your mascara smudging right under your eyes, your face blotchy. You ignored the looks of the guests as you ran by them. You exited the theater and made your way into an awaiting cab.

As soon as you got into the cab, you sent a text to him.

Tom: you’re right, you did fuck up. How could I have been so naive and so stupid to believe the lies you fed me? I knew I was never good enough for you and you’ve proven it. Had I not text you that night, who knows what else could’ve happened. I don’t want to know so spare me the details. Just bc you said you missed me doesn’t make this okay, not in the slightest bit. I missed you too, but I didn’t go about town and looked for a guy to kiss or whatever. I waited for you. It’s too late, you’ve already done the damage. You’ve hurt me more than my ex ever did. You broke down my walls from the last relationship, you knew I was guarding my heart, you promised you’d never hurt me; that I’d be safe with you. That was one hell of an act for sure, pretending to care about me. Tell me, how long were you plotting this? Was this some sick joke to you? I don’t want to hear from you ever again. Delete my number. I want nothing to do with you. And don’t beg your brothers or Haz to contact me. Don’t bring them into your mess. You’re now free to do whatever, to do whoever. That’s none of my business. As you had said, Krista is fit, and you’re clearly her type so go get her.

You pressed send and quickly turned on the ‘Do not Disturb’ feature.

You clutched your chest as you slumped in the back seat of the cab as you cried your heart out. The pain becoming way too unbearable.

#tom holland imagine #tom holland angst #tom holland blurb #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader

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jawnjendes · 5 years

Text

it came back for more | shawn mendes

university au, shawn x goth gf

AN: let me know if i should give the goth gf a name bc like,,,,,,,,,,, idk just let me know,, also does anyone actually like this series lmao

masterlist | series playlist

"You're leaving me?" Shawn asked in mock disbelief.

I knew he was joking, but the fact that he said it as we were walking through campus, in the view of many passing students was a little embarrassing. There was just no getting used to that, like he couldn’t get used to my emotional distance sometimes. I just kept my eyes on the ground and continued walking next to him. No hand holding today. Doesn’t mean I don’t adore him any less.

"I made plans with Stella weeks ago," I told him. "We already bought tickets."

Shawn smiled, letting go of his pretend hurt. "It's cool. I understand, and I hope you have fun."

"Shit, me too. I feel like this movie is going to destroy me."

Yes, this is about the most anticipated movie of the year. Yes, I was more hyped than I have been in months. No, there will not be any spoilers.

"You're welcome to tag along," I added. "I mean, if there's still seats available at the theatre."

He shrugged off the invite, which I knew he would do. Shawn wasn't into this particular franchise, claiming he was tired of this type of movie. Can't say I blame him, plenty of people felt the same way. It was just hard to ramble at him about it because he didn't know jack shit. That was why I was going to the movie with Stella.

"I'll just stay home and watch Grey's without you." He smirked.

"First of all, that's mean and I would never do that to you. Secondly, Grey's comes back next week!"

"Oh yeah."

“Besides,” I added, “I’m gonna spend the night at your place anyway. Just like every Thursday.”

“Yeah, but instead of twenty four uninterrupted hours, we’ll get…” Shawn counted on his fingers. “...Less than that?”

We made it back to my dorm to find Stella lying facedown on the couch. Shawn and I shared a look as we entered the vicinity. Not that this wasn’t unusual, it was just hard to pinpoint her reasoning for this. I mean, I shouldn’t talk. Sometimes I lie on the floor without explanation wherever I please. Stella was used to that, but Shawn would ask if I “wanted to talk” or something.

"Did you get spoiled?" I asked her.

"No," she replied, her voice muffled by the cushions. "I'm trying to kill time. There's five hours left before the movie!"

I sighed and went to sit on her legs. "I know. I made Shawn take my phone because I don't wanna go online and see something I don't wanna see."

Stella picked her head up. "That's a good idea." She reached for her phone on the table, extending her arm towards my boyfriend. "Can you take mine too?"

Shawn chuckled, back and forth between the two of us. But he took Stella's phone. "You're both crazy."

"And what about it?" I said back. Then I reached for his hand. "Anyway, I need you to keep me busy for at least three hours." I smiled and batted my lashes in an exaggerated manner.

"Only three hours?" he replied with a cheeky grin as he took my hand and got me to my feet again.

"Ugh!" Stella interjected as she rolled off the couch. "I'm going to the library! And I'm leaving my phone so I don't go online! If I'm not back before we have to leave, just assume I killed myself because I got spoiled!"

"That's valid," I told her, "but I like you better alive."

Two of the three hours went by before Shawn practically tired himself out. He tapped out and rolled onto his back, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I couldn’t blame him for pulling out (in every aspect) because it was close to finals season. Tensions were rising, he was finally feeling the consequences of missing assignments and poor exam grades. I knew that because I was going through the same thing. The semester was going to be over in a month, then I would be going back to California.

And Shawn was coming with me… for a week.

It got awfully cramped on my single size bed by the time Shawn was out like a light, so I got up and decided to get ready. I got dressed in the appropriate attire for this movie, a black t-shirt with the franchise logo and black leggings. Then I grabbed my makeup bag and sat down on the floor in front of my mirror. Halfway through my routine, Shawn awoke with a start.

"I'm up! Let's go again!" he said, sitting up.

I looked at him through the mirror, still blending concealer under my eyes with a sponge. "You're like, twenty minutes too late, my dear. I'm already getting ready."

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, nodding in response. "Okay…"

As he lied down again, I couldn't help but smile. Shawn was really fucking cute, and he had no right to be. I don't want to sound like that girl, because I’m rarely that girl, but how was I expected to spend three whole hours away from him tonight? Thursdays were usually our night, since neither of us worked or had class after four o'clock. I mean, nothing was going to stop me from going to this movie, let alone a cute guy with curly hair and a charming smile. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t miss him.

"You're still welcome to join us," I told him from where I was sitting.

"You really want me to go, eh?" he replied, shifting to his side so he was looking at me.

"I'm just saying, it's probably the only time you'll see me cry."

Shawn picked his head up, eyes wide. "Seriously?"

Between the two of us, he was the crier. Are we surprised at this point? I had my exceptions, like watching a new movie I was very passionate about, or when my chronic GI issues would flare up and give me a panic attack. However, I haven't gotten sick in a while, so technically only one thing was going to make me weep.

"Well," Shawn spoke after a while, "guess I'm going."

I knew I was expecting tear jerkers, but I still sported my inner and outer wings to the movie. Half of it smudged onto my eyelids and half was under my eyes. On top of that, I got a dehydration headache, because I refused to drink water during a three hour long movie. I did eat popcorn, even though it was well after the time I cut off food for the day. That sounds concerning, but it's a thing I go through. If I eat after 8PM I will spend the night barfing.

Shawn, Stella, and I left the theatre practically buzzing. The mood of the film and the other moviegoers kept our spirits high, despite the fact that Stella and I had visible mascara tracks on our faces. I cried at things you wouldn’t normally cry at in a movie, like when your favorite character breathes, or makes a dramatic entrance.

"Okay," Shawn said, "that was actually a really good movie."

"Good enough to convert into a stan?" I asked, holding his hand.

"Mm, probably not."

I quickly let go of his hand. "Fine."

Walking towards the parking lot was when I started to feel something. My abdomen felt a little sore, and it made me slow down my steps a little bit. I placed my hand on my stomach; It wasn’t excruciating, but it was noticeable.

"You okay, honey?" Shawn asked, looking at me.

I nodded quickly and got back into step with him. However, the soreness was persisting by the time we got back to my car. I unlocked the doors to let Stella and Shawn in, but I stood where I was and focused on this pain. Maybe I cried too hard at the movie. Maybe the popcorn I had was giving me a warning.

Either way, there go my late night plans.

"So, I don't think I should stay at your place tonight," I told Shawn when I got in the car.

"Aw, why?" he asked.

"My stomach is, uh, acting up a little. Not feeling too good."

"You're gonna let your stomach stop you?" Stella piped up from the backseat. She wasn't one to normally say things like that. She knew how serious I got when I got sick.

I looked at her through the rear view mirror. "You got plans tonight?"

She picked at her nails and stayed quiet for a minute. "I have a friend visiting."

"Just stay at mine anyway," Shawn said to me. "I have the tea you like, and medicine, and a shit ton of blankets to keep you cozy. I'll be there to take care of you."

"I don't know, I wouldn’t wanna put that on you."

"I really don't mind."

We’ve been together five and a half months. In those months, I have gotten flare ups a handful of times, and all of those times had to do with trying new foods that ended up disagreeing with me. Each time I was with Shawn, and I had to tell him to leave me to deal with my illness. He did so, reluctantly. He really wanted to nurse me back to health, though.

Sickness is just so ugly. I didn't want to burden him with my physically unstable ass sleeping on the bathroom floor. I didn't want him to hear me puking in his bathroom. We just got to a place where things were Love sick, not Sick sick. Everything was so soft and sweet between us. For once nothing was grey, it was soft blend of black and pink. I didn’t want to taint it with my stupid gastrointestinal crap.

On the other hand, Stella is my roommate. She offers to look after me when I get sick, to which I always say no. I know how to handle it. Still, she goes to the extent of cancelling plans and breaking dates just in case I needed help. She was my safe person when went out. She was the extrovert who wanted and deserved to have a good time.

I had to stop by campus to drop Stella off, anyway. She got out of the car, reminding me once again that she'll have somebody over very soon.

Shawn turned to me once we were alone. "Please stay with me tonight."

"I don't need you to deal with my sickness," I said firmly. "It's nothing personal-"

"Okay, stop for a second," he told me. Then he placed his hand on the shoulder of my seat. "I know you know how to handle yourself when you get sick. It's like, a plan you've had to make and adjust over time, and you know it like the back of your hand. I get that, you know how to take care of yourself. I just don't want you to do this plan alone."

"I won't be alone, I have Stella." By that I mean, she's on standby only if things go really wrong... which is never. I’m not that sick.

This time, though… I’ve only felt actual pain one time before this.

Shawn gave me a look. "She's gonna be busy tonight. She wants to be busy tonight."

We stared at each other for a while. My stomach was flipping for reasons unrelated to illness. My boyfriend had stupidly kind, gentle intentions, and stupidly pretty eyes. He also had a very comfy bed.

I sighed. "Fine."

After some tea and rest, I felt a little better. I felt good enough to hop into bed with my boyfriend for about twenty minutes. It was fine until he was on top of me...

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Shawn frantically said, moving off of me. "Oh god, I'm so sorry."

My face was scrunched with pain, and I tried to control my breathing. The soreness from earlier turned into a sharp pain in my abdomen that made me push Shawn away from me. It was kind of a mood killer to say the least, since it made him panic.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice trembling. "How bad is it? What do you need?"

"Shh!" It wasn't intended to sound mean, but I was trying to focus on what my body was doing.

I struggled to sit up, so Shawn held my lower back to support me. He kept asking questions, but I was rapidly tuning him out. The pain didn't get any better or worse, but I was feeling something in my guts. I got up and dashed into the bathroom.

We're going to get just a little TMI. I wanted use the bathroom, but my bowels weren't having it. Then, I wanted to puke but my stomach wasn't having it. I didn't know what to do, so I just stayed on the floor in front of the toilet and let my body try to figure things out for itself.

I shouldn't have had popcorn at the movies. Sure, popcorn is light on the stomach, but Stella wanted extra butter, and I hadn’t eaten for hours. I knew what I was getting myself into, and now I was paying for it. Add popcorn to the list of foods that were now forever tainted with a bad memory.

Shawn came knocking on the door, his voice full of concern. "Honey, are you okay? Can I come in?"

I didn’t say anything but he let himself in anyway. He sat next to me on the floor, next to where I was leaning over the toilet. Delicately, he moved my hair from my face and held it back.

"I don't think I'm gonna puke," I told him, resting my forehead on the seat. My mouth was watering inexplicably, and I felt a tingle in my feet.

"Okay, then let's get you back to bed," he said gently, placing his hands on my waist to help me up.

Then, I actually puked. Yup, no more popcorn for me.

It goes without saying that I was up for most of the night. I only threw up that one time, but I felt nauseous until the sun peeked through the window. Not only that, I always got a bout of anxiety whenever things with my stomach got bad, and it intensified knowing that I wasn’t home at my dorm. I wasn’t in the comfort of my squeaky single size bed. I didn’t have my phone charging next to me here because the only other outlet was on the other side of the room. I felt so out of place and I wanted to run, but I knew I couldn’t because traveling would only upset my stomach more.

Shawn fell asleep when I reassured him that I wouldn’t spend anymore time in the bathroom. He was on his side facing me practically the whole night. When I felt okay enough to lay down, I put one of the extra pillows between us and faced away from him. He started stirring by the time I was finally sleepy.

When I woke up in the late afternoon, I was just grateful I didn’t have class on Fridays. I couldn’t get up even if I wanted to.

I rolled onto my back, only to find that I was alone. I rubbed my eyes, then quickly remembered that I fell asleep with smudged eyeliner, and I just made it worse. I sighed and looked out the window from where I lied. It had gotten cloudy throughout the day. Thank god, today was not a sunshine kinda day for me.

If only I had the energy to get off my ass and go back home where I wanted to be.

My eyes blankly stared at the ceiling. Whatever spirit I had left in me was slowly floating away. My incorporeal being was rising out of my physical being, until voices outside the bedroom caused me to come back to earth.

“Oh, let me just see her! Maybe I can help!”

A woman. I slowly moved onto my side, curling up under the blanket and trying to focus on the window. Then, I heard Shawn’s voice.

“No! Ah - I mean…” He was suddenly outside the door. “Let me see if she’s awake.”

Shit.

The door opened, but I didn’t move from my position. Shawn came up in my peripherals, and then he sat down on the empty side of the bed. His eyes met mine, and he smiled.

“Hey, you. How ya feeling?”

I blinked. “Tired… Not sick. Just tired.”

“As long as you’re not sick.” He brought a hand up to my head and stroked my hair. “Listen, my mom is here.”

“Why?” Seemingly innocent question, but it did make me feel some kinda way, and it certainly sounded like it.

“She comes every so often,” Shawn explained. “She’ll clean and do my laundry.”

Must be nice.

“I told her you were here,” he continued. “I told her you were sick, and she just wants to check on you.”

We had talked about me meeting his family. I joked about wearing a high ponytail with a pink scrunchie the way Meredith did in Grey’s Anatomy. Shawn replied by saying I’d be wearing a black scrunchie, duh. Clearly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, the day after a particularly nasty flare up. I was severely unprepared and it was a couple of months too early. But how the hell am I supposed to turn his mother away when she was already here?

“I’ll go out there,” I told him. “Let me just wash my face first.”

Shawn looked pleasantly surprised. “Okay, great. We’ll be in the living room.” He kissed my forehead and got to his feet.

As I pushed myself out of bed, I noticed the persisting pain in my abdomen yet again. Not as bad as last night, but it was still there. I already knew how to handle this.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #fourtristattoosspring #shawn x goth gf #i think everything after this is gonna be posted in chronological order #no more out of order chapter updates lmfao #god i hope ppl like this series #im feeling inadequate and sensitive sry

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whatadaze · 5 years

Text

the long-awaited rant

(lol jk nobody was waiting for this)

i’m glad that i took the time to process the clips today + gather my thoughts + feelings before writing down my thoughts bc i’ll be honest, i was NOT a super happy camper this morning lol

but now, i am calm, cool, + collected so here goes

update: this is so fucking long holy shit like this is my warning to you right now lol

i’m just going to start off with where skamnl went “wrong” i guess you could say. i don’t know if it’s mistranslation (but at this point, i’m pretty sure it’s not) but for me, everything went to shit starting from the conversation with marie. don’t get me wrong, i was excited for liv to finally talk to her, after all, she’s the only other person liv would’ve been able to talk to in regards to the party. and i expected her to say something similar to the girl in the og (i forgot her name lol). what made me disappointed was when marie said nothing happened and liv felt relieved. i mean, her relief is understandable because she just found out she didn’t have sex with m*rris, but what happened to her is still...awful. liv has literal video proof of her getting assaulted + i think marie mentioned that she went to the bathroom so the viewers are aware that the video was probably filmed during that time. yes, m*rris was “so drunk he could barely stand on his two feet” but the video was like...fifteen seconds long and who knows how much time passed between m*rris passing out and marie going to the bathroom. anyway, m*rris’s involvement with the video is unquestionable because...it’s his hands...in the video...that he sent to liv...

but anyways,

so liv is relieved that she didn’t sleep with m*rris and everything seems like it’s going to be all good, right? wrong. liv confronts noah at school and everything goes to shit. i think this was skamnl’s attempt at the people need people clip, but it still kinda felt short? like something was missing. which i’ve been feeling like that for the past couple episodes but that’s another convo for another time. noah packs up his things, tells liv he doesn’t love her anymore, and liv let’s him go. she’s obviously upset, but i think in the next clip, it kind of seems like she’s kind of given up? she just seems tired + dejected and on top of that, she has that whole music label thing to deal with. which BY THE WAY, i’d like to mention that i loved how liv finally spoke up and told her dad what she truly felt. (woot woot) liv doesn’t know what to do anymore and it isn’t until ralph + esra kinda give her that PUSH that liv begins to think of a plan (was it a good plan? i’ll get to that in a bit lol)

i’m going to go on a little bit of a tangent that i already kinda talked about before but after the clip i just talked about, people were upset about esra telling liv to go beg for forgiveness because here’s a boy who writes you poems and you’re packing?! i don’t think she meant it that way. i think it was more like “here’s a boy that you love, that “i don’t know who i am anymore” kind of love, and you’re just letting him go?” ms. liv “i don’t have time for love” reijners giving up on the boy who finally got through that barrier she put around herself? esra knows that this isn’t what liv wants to do, and THAT’S why she said what she said.

ok so now we have today’s clips.

let me tell you, i was so frustrated because this is the last episode and we’re having THE most “ooc” clips right before the long-awaited party clip. i genuinely enjoyed the og people need people clip. i thought it was super important + when willhelm jumped out of the car, yes it was cheesy as fuck, but i kind of liked it? but i knew that with noah extra boom hitchhiking, they were going to go in a different route. did i rEALLY think that liv was going to dress up in a wedding dress and show up at his house? hell no. did that happen? yes. lol

but now that i had some time to process it, here’s my take on it.

so noah doesn’t know liv was sexually assaulted by m*rris and he most likely hasn’t seen the video. scratch that, i know for a FACT that he didn’t because i just refuse to believe that he would’ve reacted the way that he did if he watched it. so that being said, people have been giving noah shit since the whole “confrontation” clip but HE DIDN’T AND STILL DOESN’T know about the assault. whether or not liv tells him, we’ll just have to wait and see, but that’s fucking important. there’s already been a shit ton of posts talking about this so i will try to keep it short but if you see things from noah’s pov, his reaction makes sense. okay so with that in mind, liv knows noah doesn’t know. and judging from her reaction after her talk with marie, i don’t think liv is aware of how serious what she went through is? because she now believes nothing happened and everything is okay (maybe i’m wrong on that, but skamnl is portraying it that way). there was no “going to the police” or anything like that and frankly, i don’t think there will be. maybe if the season or episodes were longer we would’ve had that, because it is so important + necessary to include that. but they didn’t and so i’m just going to assume that the seriousness of what liv went through was kinda swept under the wrong (but like i said, we’ll have to wait and see because the episode still isn’t over). that is NOT me saying that it’s not important because I BELIEVE THAT WHAT SHE WENT THROUGH IS FUCKING SERIOUS. with that being said, liv is trying to figure out a way get noah back, to remind him “why they belong together” so to speak. i think she channeled her inner noah in this moment. she showed up at his place, did this ridiculous gesture of wearing a wedding dress to remind him of all the times he asked her to marry him, and told him he looked like a painting. these are all things NOAH would do, so of course it felt ooc. and the thing is, if you think about how guarded + reserved liv was in the beginning, this can be seen as growth. she is stepping out of her comfort zone, doing something that she would’ve never normally done for the boy that she loves. some might see it as a humiliating or degrading act, but i don’t think skamnl meant it to be. we see how nervous she is, we see how she doesn’t really know what to say + when noah leaves, it’s like “okay, i did this thing that i would’ve never done, gathered up all my courage to show him how much i love him, and he still left” so of course she cried in the park, hell I WOULD HAVE TOO. but when i first watched it, i was like, this is so embarrassing. i felt so fucking embarrassed for liv. i hated it. i HATED IT. and a little part of me still does, because i had this idealized version of liv in my head. BDE badass cool chick liv reijners. but the thing is, at the end of the day, she is still a teenage girl who is figuring out who she is, what she wants in life, and discovering what it’s like to be in love all at the same time. that’s a lot of shit to deal with.

so she does this grand gesture, and noah leaves, but he comes back. let’s be real, we ALL knew he was going to come back. noah “i’m out of breath running down the stairs” boom wouldn’t have survived hitchhiking with that huge-ass bag. which like, can i just ask: what the fuck was in that bag because noah wears like the five same shirts so...his art supplies? HAHA anyway, noah probably knew he was being an idiot + i’ve seen people say that he came back without any real reason to. this is what i think:

the clip cuts in and out of liv crying so we don’t actually know how long noah was gone for. we can assume that liv was alone for a while (at least 5-10 minutes or so?) i mean, you have to be crying a shit ton for your mascara to run like that. but anyway, if you assume that it took about that time for noah to decide to come back, he probably took that time to process everything. he knows that liv is sorry for not listening to him + seeing his brother. he’s one of the people who knows liv best, i mean, he was able to read her from the beginning. he knows that what she did took a lot of courage and is something that she would’ve normally never done but she did it for HIM. and i think noah realized all of this + finally went back. and then he sees liv, a sobbing mess, and he probably knew that this girl loved him back. all the insecurities he must’ve felt, the sadness + confusion, must’ve disappeared in that moment. seeing her in such a vulnerable (and embarrassing) state was enough to dispel his doubts.

and finally, after two weeks of hell, these two art dorks made up.

i think i touched on some of the main things people were upset about already but here’s some more things i’ve noticed

i’ve seen people say that the writers chose to humiliate liv + keep in scenes that were degrading or embarrassing to her character. i thought the same things okay!? i’ve felt ALL the things that most people felt the past two episodes + i still feel some of those things right now. but i’m trying to understand from the writers’ pov why they chose to keep these things in and certain things out. i don’t think keeping in the scene of liv chasing after noah was humiliating or degrading. it was important bc it showed liv finally come to terms with her feelings in PUBLIC. she didn’t care who saw her running after a boy or crying after him. she didn’t have her walls up anymore. and noah didn’t push liv (i hate when i see this argument). she fell. does it make it any better? of course not. but it’s important that we don’t villainize characters that shouldn’t be villainized. if anything everyone should direct their hate towards the real villain, fucking m*rris. and liv crying in the park, that was a problem too. why include this embarrassing moment, right? it’s so humiliating + liv would never! and you’re right, liv WOULD NEVER. but she is. because she’s in love. and love makes you do stupid things like cry in the park in the middle of the day while wearing a wedding dress. we’re seeing a different side of liv because liv being in love IS a different side of her.

i’ve seen people say noah was “victim blaming” and i can see where they’re coming from. he tells her “i told you to stay away from him” and then liv apologizes. yup, sounds like victim blaming to me IF HE KNEW WHAT HAPPENED. so here’s what i mean:

if we assume that all noah knows is that liv got super drunk + almost slept with m*rris, then yes, it’s kind of understandable why noah said what he said. is it any less shitty? OF COURSE NOT. i’m not saying that kind of behavior or response is okay. all i’m saying is that i don’t think he was trying to “victim blame” liv nor do i think that’s what the writers were intending. and i’m not even going to talk about the whole “crybaby” thing because there’s already a lot of posts on that + i’m not dutch lol

i feel like i didn’t mention a lot of things but this post is already hella long so i will wrap up with this:

do i think this season is perfect?

of course not.

it IS true that i think skamnl prioritized aesthetics over content. that’s not me saying that the clips were useless because when looking at the episodes as a whole, the clips are necessary. after all, it’s the little details that build up a character + help create the backstory. we learned so much about liv during this season and the characters are more fleshed out than the og + some remakes (i haven’t watched all so i can’t really form an actual opinion on that lol) but anyway, they changed up a lot of the characters and i love that they did that. but the thing that backfired on them is the thing that i love most. they kept the original storyline with completely different characters so sometimes, things they decided to do might’ve felt ooc.

another thing is that i still think the season was supposed to be longer, or at least the writers thought it would be. so if that was the case, then the feeling of something missing makes sense because there aRE things that are missing. TWO EPISODES WORTH OF CONTENT are missing. and it must’ve been super hard for the skamnl team to decide what to keep + what to throw out. do i think they made the best decisions with that? no. but i don’t think they’re would’ve been a perfect outcome either way.

and lastly, cancel culture. guys, this has been said many many times already but cancel culture is so fucking toxic. also, skam is a show that literally portrays imperfect characters making questionable decisions. it’s not supposed to perfect! how can you expect perfection while also expecting skam to be “realistic”. it’s just not possible. sometimes, the person you love won’t react the way you want them to. sometimes, you do crazy stupid things because in that moment you feel like there isn’t any other option. sometimes, you act fucking ooc because you can’t think straight.

that’s life! that’s the beauty of love + living!

so don’t hate or cancel the show because of some questionable decisions in the last two episodes because the first eight were (pretty close to) perfection if i say so myself.

oh! another thing i’ve seen

the girls let liv do this because when has liv ever suggested to do something like this? they all know how much she loves and misses noah. she has never asked them to do anything for her + here she is, asking them to help her with this crazy grand gesture she has planned. what did you expect? them to say no and not support her? it was obvious that they were all confused at first, but they saw how excited she was. she thought this was a good idea + they did what they do best, SUPPORTED HER. so no, i don’t think they were being ooc either.

okay wow.

i knew this was going to be long, but didn’t imagine it would ever be THIS long lol if you read the whole thing, thanks for taking the time to indulge me + my thoughts :-) i love you haha

i’m so sad this season is coming to an end, but i’m hoping that we will get a s3 renewal announcement soon! i love this show and the fandom (most of it anyway lol) and am thankful for all the highs and lows we’ve experienced together. i don’t know why the fuck i’m acting like the season is already over, we still have two more days hahahaha i’m feeling sappy now.

so in conclusion, this isn’t me saying that the two clips were perfect by any means. there were still a shit ton of issues like the lack of communication. the fact that noah still doesn’t know the truth about what happened between liv + m*rris. the fact that the sa plotline hasn’t been mentioned again. liv’s music label plotline. there are still SO MANY LOOSE ENDS. and idk how skamnl will wrap it up. i have a (bad) feeling that things will be “easily fixed” and that bit bothers me, but like i said before, it all boils down to the lack of time skamnl has. if they had longer episodes or a longer season, i just KNOW this season would’ve been (even more) amazing

maybe i’m just trying justify everything skamnl writers did + defend them because i just love the show so much haha maybe i’m just overanalyzing + overthinking (as always) but this is just MY opinion on the matter. if you disagree, that’s great! please let me know, i’d love to hear!!! that’s what i love about this fandom! we can all share our thoughts + feelings!

whew, okay now i’m really going to go now

byeeeeee :-)

#skam nl #why do i keep doing this lol

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alittlebittersweet · 5 years

Text

my thoughts on avengers: endgame

i finally stopped bursting into tears whenever i think about this movie so i guess it's a good time to write down my thoughts

i was UGLY CRYING when i was watching the movie, especially the last 30 minutes or so, i never cried that much in a cinema, thank god no one was sitting beside me and thank god my mascara is good cause i fully expected to look like a panda when i was heading to the toilets

i was crying that much that i don't even remember some things from the last battle (LIKE STEVE APPARENTLY SCREAMING AVENGERS ASSEMBLE - SERIOUSLY FUCK MY LIFE, I NEED TO WATCH IT AGAIN)

it's been almost a week and i'm still in denial about some things

there were some things i loved, some things i hated and two things that made me go 'wtf'

first of all, time travel. there are two ways you can do it - either a closed loop or alternate timelines

if it's a closed loop and a writer sets firm rules on how it works i'm down. i LOVE it. harry and hermione saving sirius in PoA? still one of my favourite moments in all 7 books, in all of fiction

alternate timelines... yeah i'm not a fan. because it's lazy. you can do whatever because it doesn't change anything in the main timeline, instead it creates many other alternate timelines, the stakes aren't as high and also what do i do knowing that somewhere out there is another steve who knows bucky is alive and hydra thinks he's a nazi????? and another steve who will wake up not knowing that his peggy is with steve from our timeline?????

i'm sure that the russo brothers, markus and mcfeely will be answering questions about the specifics of time travel in this movie for years to come, they will get sick of it soon i'm sure and THAT'S THEIR OWN DAMN FAULT I DON'T PITY THEM

okay so i was prepared for steve to die, and i was also prepared for tony to die, it was either one of them or both

so IMAGINE MY SHOCK AND DISBILIEF WHEN NATASHA SACRIFIED HERSELF

like we all thought she was the safest avenger because of her solo movie

I HAD LIKE 5 MINUTES TO ACCEPT WHAT WAS HAPPENING BETWEEN REALISING SHE AND CLINT ARE GOING AFTER THE SOUL STONE AND HER SACRIFICE

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'M STILL IN DENIAL

I STILL CRY WHEN I THINK ABOUT THAT SCENE, IT WAS BEAUTIFULLY SHOT AND THEIR ACTING WAS JUST ON POINT AND I KNOW IT WAS VERY MUCH IN CHARACTER

but it leaves such a bad taste in my mouth because she was the only female avenger in OG6 and we're finally getting her solo movie and not to mention gamora was also fridged the same way (the only female guardian, not now but at the beginning) and she didn't even get a funeral the fuck

from that moment i was in a dazed shock and i kept thinking 'no way she's gonna come back along with gamora'... and then she didn't

i don't know if i'll ever forgive them for this

when steve went back to return the stones and he didn't come back immediately i was certain he sacrificed his life for natasha and she would come back instead of him so i started sobbing even harder than i already was but i was mistaken lmao

tony, i knew tony was dying when doctor strange said he couldn't tell him about that one version when they win, I WAS SOBBING LIKE A BABY

I AM IRON MAN

HAHAHA GO ON WITHOUT ME

he started it and he ended it so it was fitting in that way but like HE FINALLY HAD SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

and also rdj seemed down for cameos so i'm really surprised they killed off tony instead of steve

and my dearest steve

he didn't die and i was SO prepared for this so i kinda felt disappointment that he didn't (i know it's weird i can't explain it)

even though he didn't die i was also crying for him because it was a goodbye and for me as a viewer it was the end, it was as if he died so maybe all this time i was preparing myself for a goodbye and not specifically for his possible death??? OH GOD I JUST REALISED THAT I DID OH GOD

AND ONCE AGAIN I FEEL LIKE CRYING, WRITING THIS ALL DOWN WASN'T SUCH A GOOD IDEA AFTER ALL

i am a steggy shipper so i should be over the moon and i was but the implications of alternate timelines kinda soured it for me

THEY GOT THEIR DANCE AND IT'S ALL THAT MATTERS THO

(i always thought they would get it in the afterlife and I WOULD SOB FOR MONTHS BECAUSE OF IT)

really bummed that steve and bucky got like two lines but i'm happy for sam !!!

CAROL WAS FABULOUS (even tho i hated her new hair, i know it's similar in the comics but i still HATE it)

she wasn't as much in the movie as i expected and some of her scenes were kinda weird, i think it's all because they shot endgame before captain marvel, it really shows so i'm not too mad about it but her introduction was really disappointing, like no hello thanks for saving tony and nebula but WHO ARE YOU??? the whole sequance at the beginning was really rushed because they wanted to get rid of thanos as quickly as possible to not waste more time on it but still it didn't feel like 3 hour movie they could've easily sneaked in another 15 minutes but that's me

NEBULA

I WANTED MORE NEBULA AND TONY BUT WHAT WE GOT WAS AMAZING

NEBULA WAS SO GREAT, I'M SO HAPPY FOR KAREN GILLAN

i loved everything about her arc, she even got to spend some time with another gamora, during the battle when she said 'it was either him or a tree' I LOST IT LMAO

speaking of the other gamora, is she going to be in gotg 3? because i didn't see her at the end so i'm not sure, it's not gonna be the same tho because she doesn't remember all they've been through together i hate when that happens :(((

professor hulk umm yeah

honestly i think i only enjoyed and understood bruce in the avengers, i didn't like what they did to him in infinity war (i'm not mentioning aou bc i try to forget it exists), he was a walking comic relief like no thanks and now professor hulk, i'm no longer trying to understand what the writers think they're doing, i'm like whatever at this point i just try not to think about bruce at all

and Thor

OH MY GOD THOR, WHAT DID THEY DO TO HIM

THE BIGGEST WTF, WHAT WERE THEY TRYING TO ACCOMPLISH HERE, COMIC RELIEF WHILE SHOWING SOME EFFECTS OF DEPRESSION AND PTSD WHILE ALSO MAKING A JOKE OUT OF IT???????????????????????? ALL THE THOR STANS ARE MAD AND I DON'T BLAME THEM

so he abandoned his people and peaced out with the guardians are you serious

i really liked his scene with frigga tho, that's great we got to see her again <333

and scott, the ultimate fangirl, was a delight

I REALLY LOVED ALL THE CALLBACKS TO THE OTHER MOVIES WHEN THEY WERE TRAVELING IN TIME

THE BATTLE OF NEW YORK

TONY COMMENTING ON AVENGERS POSING LMAO

AND STEVE IN THE ELEVATOR !!!!!! I ALMOST SAID OUT LOUD 'BEFORE WE GET STARTED DOES ANYONE WANTS TO GET OUT?'

HEIL HYDRA ASDFG;ASDFGH

STEVE FIGHTING HIMSELF, 'ARE YOU SHITTING ME'

TONY MEETING HIS FATHER AND STEVE SEEING PEGGY

SO MANY OTHER THINGS I'M NOW FORGETTING

AND THE FINAL BATTLE

WHEN SAM SAID 'ON YOUR LEFT' MY SOUL ALMOST LEFT MY BODY

STEVE WITH MJOLNIR !!!!!!!!! I ALMOST DIED !!!!!!!!!!!!!

(in your face whedon)

no but seriously so many things were like IN YOUR FACE WHEDON in this movie like steve cursing in front of steve from 2012 lmao

and every moment with peter/tony broke my heart, i was sceptical about their mentorship in civil war because of obvious reasons but man rdj and tom really sold it

THAT HUG AND LATER WHEN TONY WAS DYING AND PETER WAS SOBBING BESIDE HIM THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR MY WEAK HEART AND

OH MY GOD PEPPER ;_________;

okay this is no longer my reaction, it's just a stream of my consciousness so i'll stop

i'm still in denial

I LOVE THEM ALL 3000

#i love them all 3000 #i'm still in denial #endgame spoilers #the avengers #marvel

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theblacksirenx · 6 years

Text

Time Can’t Erase The Memories

Who → Laurel Lance

When → July 4th, 2018. ~ 4:30pm.

Where → Laurel’s bedroom

Notes → Another self para from me bc I have no self control and I just need to write. Contains current time stuff and flashbacks in the form of memories. Italicized pars are the flashbacks. Gives you a bit of insight into the real Laurel and her life, rather than the stuff she tells everyone about the Laurel she pretends to be.

Staring up at the photo hanging on the wall across from her bed, Laurel sighed. Nowhere else in the house did she have any pictures. Just the one. The shot of her with Matt and James warmed her heart, and it made her happy being able to look up and see it every day. It was a good memory, a happy one. It was a picture she could look at without feeling any type of anger or sadness.

It was easy for Laurel to say that she just didn’t have any pictures of her life before Amsterdam. But much like her life, and who she claimed to be, it was a lie. She had pictures. She had plenty of them. But hanging them up would never do any good. It could give away the lies she had told, and it would only bring her sadness. Laurel looked back at her life before Amsterdam, hell, even before going to this Earth, and it made her feel awful

Leaning over from where she sat in bed with her legs crossed, she tugged open the drawer of her night stand. Beneath a few books, she had hidden a small stack of pictures. Some of them were worn and faded, small tears obvious along the edges. Some of them were in better condition, the newer ones that she had from her time on this Earth.

On the top of the stack sat a family picture. It was her, her mother, and her father. Laurel was wearing her pajamas still, but her parents had set up the camera with a timer to surprise her with a stack of waffles with syrup, chocolate chips, whipped cream, and a candle. It was a traditional Lance family thing to do when it was someone’s birthday. She clearly remembered that day.

“Happy birthday, Dinah!” her parents chanted as they set the plate in front of her at the table.

She leaned forward, blowing the candle out before picking up her fork and knife.

“This.. is the best tradition I think our family has,” she told them, shoving a forkful of waffle into her mouth.

“We’ll go out for dinner later,” her mother said.

“And that’s not all,” her father said. “I’ll be picking up your favorite this afternoon. Yellow cake,” he said. “With chocolate glaze,” he said, as she chimed in along with her father to finish his sentence.

“I can’t wait. You guys are the best.”

It was one of the worst days of her life.

“Where’s daddy?” she asked. “He’s been gone for a long time, it doesn’t usually take him this long to go out for the cake.”

“Dinah, sweetie..” her mother said, wiping wet streaks of eyeliner and mascara off of her cheeks. “Y-your father was in an accident.”

“He.. what do you mean, where is he?” she asked, her voice beginning to shake.

The moment her mother said that her father was dead, it felt like her whole world shattered. She and her father had a bond that was unbreakable. He was her partner in crime, the parent she trusted more, the parent she felt like she could tell anything to even when she had screwed up. And now he was gone.

“N-no, you’re lying to me,” she said, ignoring the tears falling. “He’s not gone, this is some cruel joke. It.. It’s my birthday,” she sobbed.

Her mother’s arms went around her tightly, but she pushed her away. She was thirteen years old, and her father was gone. On her birthday, he had died. She never thought that when she saw him before he left that it would be the last time.

“His body is at the hospital. Dinah, we need to go,” Mrs. Lance stated, trying to keep herself together for her daughter’s sake.

“I’m not going anywhere!” she snapped, giving her mother a hard shove. “Just leave me alone.”

She stormed off to her room, slamming the door behind her. The small brunette leaned against the closed door, sliding down it until she was seated on the floor with her knees tucked up to her chest.

“Happy fucking birthday to me.”

A single tear rolled down Laurel’s cheek, but she was quick to brush it away. Eve since that day, she avoided doing anything for her birthday. It always became a day where she could be alone, and deal with the huge loss. Sometimes it’d become a day of anger, and acting out. But she made sure that she never had birthday cake, never celebrated, and she rarely told people that was her birthday so she could really avoid it all.

Setting the photo down, Laurel looked at the next one in the stack. Her and Oliver.

“Do you have to go?”

“Have to? No. But I should. My dad and I don’t always see eye to eye but I know that he’s looking forward to the trip,” Oliver stated.

“I’m going to miss you, Ollie,” she told him.

Oliver pressed his lips to her temple, and tugged her closer. She curled up against him, running her fingers gently up and down his bare chest. She didn’t know it was possible to love like that. After losing her dad, she became so mad at the world, but Oliver was there for her. He stood by her, even as she began making some less than good decisions.

“I know. But it’s only a short trip, we’ll be back in a week. Promise.”

She leaned up and kissed him softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Her eyes glued to the photo, she felt a pain in her chest that she knew was heartache. They looked so happy in the shot, standing on the dock right before her boyfriend got on the boat with his father. Laurel was sad that he was leaving, but she had been sure that she’d have him back soon enough so they could continue their lives together. She never expected to be so wrong.

As the news flickered across the television screen, the words she read an heard were unbelievable. There was no way.

“Starling City native and owner of Queen Consolidated, Robert Queen, and son Oliver Queen found dead after boating accident.”

“No..” she whispered. “No, no no..”

She tightened her blanket around her body, feeling sick to her stomach. She loved him. Oliver Queen was the love of her life, and she was never going to see him again. Much like her father’s death, she never could have seen it coming. Growing up, she knew that the family used the Gambit all the time. She didn’t understand what happened.

“Ollie,” she cried out, listening and watching as the news continued with the story. “No..”

They had plans. He was the only man she had ever envisioned a future with. They were so happy, they had everything figured out and suddenly it was all ripped away from her. She was crying, sure, but inside she felt completely numb. Her Ollie was dead.

She was only twenty two. But he was dead, and she had now lost the two most important men in her life. There was no getting them back. They were gone.

Laurel and her mother didn’t have what anyone would call a functional relationship. After her father’s death, it just got worse. Her mother didn’t know how to handle Laurel as she started to act out, causing trouble and becoming more and more angry and aggressive as the months and years passed. So when the news came out about Oliver, Laurel had nobody. She was on her own to grieve the fact that she had nobody.

People wondered why she always found herself involved with bad men. But she desperately wanted to be around that strong male figure and although her choices weren’t always ideal, it was enough for her. The distraction that came from being with them and working with them was also very welcome. She needed that.

As she set that one down, she sighed softly. She didn’t have a memory for that one, because even though it was her face, it wasn’t her. It still made her stomach twist though. It was Quentin, and his Laurel. She knew Quentin carried around the picture of the two of them after his Laurel died. She remembered when she saw it for the first time, but she could entirely remember how the picture ended up in her possession. Seeing it now, she wondered if it would have been better if it had stayed with Sara. Her doppelganger’s sister was a great woman, and Laurel could only imagine the pain of losing both her sister and her father.

When she moved to the next picture in the small stack, she had to take a minute to breathe. She felt like all of the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Laurel wiped her eyes as more tears fell.

He was gone. Another person she cared for, taken away. She wondered when this cycle would stop. She knew she lived in a shitty world full of shitty people, but she didn’t think that Quentin was going to be the next person in her life that she’d never see alive again.

“I’m so sorry, daddy,” she whispered.

Looking at the cold, lifeless body in front of her, Laurel didn’t know what else to say. Sara had left more than half an hour ago, but she still remained. She couldn’t seem to pull herself away.

“You didn’t deserve this.”

She pulled a chair over to him and sat down, taking his hand in hers. Her eyes stung with tears as she looked at him, wishing that there was something she could do to change this.

Quentin’s death was so fresh. He died trying to save her. Diaz had the gun pointed at her, ready to shoot her. But Quentin jumped in front of that bulled for her. He wasn’t supposed to die. The doctors were optimistic, he should have made it through surgery. But he seized on the table and there was no coming back from it. His brain was without oxygen for too long.

He wasn’t technically her father. He was Laurel and Sara’s father. Her died years before, back on her Earth. But it still ripped her apart inside. He died right before she left for Amsterdam. While he hadn’t been the one who raised her, he looked like the man who did. And sure, they had only known each other a short while, but he looked at her as if she was his Laurel.

Once they got past the initial rockiness of her kidnapping him, him shooting her on Lian Yu, all the other times she did shitty things to him and Team Arrow, he treated her like a daughter. He took her somewhere safe when she was shot by Dinah Drake, he tried time and time again to find redeeming qualities in her that she was pretty sure she didn’t have. He was the reason she finally stood up to Diaz. He was the reason she had begun seeing the light, and how did she repay him? By getting him killed.

At first, referring to him as her dad was just a way for her to ruffle his feathers and get under his skin. But eventually it was because he really was a father to her. She loved him as if he really were her father. He was such a positive force to have around. But now he was gone, and she entirely blamed herself for that.

The stack of pictures had a few more in it, but Laurel couldn’t bring herself to keep looking. Her little trip down memory lane was more than enough to make her wish she had just burned the pictures, or left them back in Star City.

Deep down, she knew that even if she had destroyed them, or left them behind, she still had the memories engraved into her head whether she liked it or not. Going through that much loss could take a toll on anyone, and losing people she loved was something her mind would never be able to escape. She walked around with the grief of the losses every single day of her life.

Stacking them up neatly, she put the pictures back in her night stand. Her face was wet with tears, and she couldn’t seem to make them stop. She inhaled shakily as she looked up at the picture hanging on the wall. Her heart was so heavy and full of sadness, but looking at the smiling faces she, Matt, and James all wore was nice. That feeling left quickly though.

So many men in her life, all the good ones, were dead. What if that was a sign?What if now, any man she got close to would end up dead? She didn’t want that. She hoped that she was safe their in Amsterdam, but there were no guarantees. There was no way to know for sure that she wasn’t going to be found by Diaz. There was no way to know whether or not she and the people she had grown close to would be able to live peacefully for very long. Fear was a powerful thing, and Laurel was full of it.

No matter how much she wished she could breathe in relief, relax, live life to it’s fullest, and forget the pain she endured, she knew it was impossible.

#{ self para }#back at it with another self para and tbh i kinda broke my own heart with this one #death tw #guns tw #kudos to anyone who actually reads these things #bc they're long and kinda useless but i just like to write idk #also this one is like.. twice the length i usually write

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