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sirenutsukushi · 3 years

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Keiji Akaashi SFW/NSFW HeadCanons

Featuring: Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Domesticity, talks of marriage, AFAB!reader, soft!Akaashi, fluff, anxiety, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of kids, reassuring Akaashi. NSFW after the border, light spanking/slapping/choking. Thigh riding, thigh fucking, breast fucking. Oral, giving. Fingering, fisting. Light overstimulation. Mentions of role playing, lingerie. Light pregnancy/breeding kink.

Type of girl he’d like - Akaashi Keiji is a very creative, yet very analytical and precise man. Despite this he’s an over thinker and he isn’t as suave and cool as he is portrayed to be. Because of this I definitely see him falling for a girl who is creative as well, maybe an artist or painter, who is typically reserved and keeps to themself, isn’t as loud and brash as his best friend. He wants a s/o not Bokuto 2.0. I also seem him as being into an independent, academic girl. He definitely wants a girl who can hold a educated, deep conversation with him and who knows what she’s talking about. He’d also be into a girl who loves books and literature. Bonus points if she loves old classics such as Sherlock Holmes, Hans C. Anderson Fairytales, Knights of the Roundtable, etc.

(Omfg imagine sitting down with Akaashi and him reading a book to you in that melodic, soft voice of his wHOO)

Definitely has that academia aesthetic, even out of high school. Like he’s not dark dark but he’s definitely not light.

Akaashi most definitely has insecurities and hella anxiety he’s just very good at controlling it, plus being friends with someone like Bokuto really helped him out. He most certainly needs a lot of convincing in your relationship, he gets worried that he’s not enough for you or that you’d be better with someone else.

“Keiji, darling, look at me.” You pull his face into your hands, peppering kisses along his cheeks, forehead, nose, chin and finally, lips. “You are more than enough, you’re absolutely perfect and don’t you dare think I’d be better off with anyone else.”

If you have anxiety, he’ll be the same way for you. Always reassuring you and praising you, making you feel loved and wanted. He loves you more than he can express in words.

Totally leaves little notes and poems expressing his love and affection for you all over the place.

For nicknames, he’s more elegant and classy. “Darling”, “Blossom”, “My Love”, etc. Sometimes calls you “Baby”. You definitely call him “Pretty Boy” and “Love”.

He definitely strikes me as the type of guy to listen to soft jazz, blues or like Elvis and other similar artists. Classical music too. He definitely owns a record player and an extensive vinyl collection. The only thing bigger than his vinyl collection is his collection of books. His home office literally has a nice, sturdy and polished oak desk with a desktop computer, a bunch of bookcases made with the same wood and style as his desk. He definitely has one of those desk lamps that fancy granddads have. (Ya know, the gold ones with the green pill shaped shade thing— lemme look them up. BANKER DESK LAMPS-) He probably has a really nice chair too, one that won’t give him back issues. He still has a sore back of course but that’s from slouching when he’s working. His bookcases are definitely filled with older series, classics, etc. probably even has his old college textbooks and high school exam prep books on them too. Most definitely has a calligraphy pen set. (Akaashi gives me low low key Edgar Poe from BSD vibes.) You got him a few old looking maps to hang on his walls (one of them is a map of Camelot cause y’all best be watching Merlin together) alongside his college degree and a couple framed photos of you and him. Definitely has your son’s birth certificate framed.

Speaking of having a son, I totally HeadCanon it as being a complete (but happy) accident. Like Keiji is in his like— last year of college and you call him freaking out. You’re both in a committed relationship with each other, and have been for a couple years now. He comes over and you explain to him in tears that you’re carrying his baby and he just— freezes. It’s completely unexpected and definitely not part of his life plan yet but he wasn’t really all that upset about it. He smiled and explains (with tears in his eyes 😤) that while it’s definitely unexpected he’s not mad and is in fact elated. He really does love you and while a kid was unexpected, once again it wasn’t unwanted.

He moves you into his apartment after a few months, since your lease will be up soon anyways. The one bedroom apartment is small but it’s livable and cozy. Your son is born and you name him Eichi, which means Wisdom 🥺 Yall definitely have to keep him in your room for now, theres no space in the apartment for a nursery or anything unfortunately. After his lease is up, Keiji and you get a slight bigger apartment, with a nursery, an office for him and a studio for you.

Tbh Akaashi definitely proposes to you after you tell him you’re pregnant. He’s had the ring for a few weeks but was waiting for the perfect moment. He decided that was definitely the perfect time to pull it out and propose. His parents were always a bit old fashioned, and it was imperative to them that you both got married before you had Eichi. You both got married in a shrine for his family, but it wasn’t terrible. It was simple and elegant, the way you both liked it.

NSFW HeadCanons

Akaashi is definitely amazing in bed. Maybe I’m being biased because I’m head over heels for him- but he’s fucking perfect. Strong thighs, strong arms, pretty moans, pretty hands and long fingers 🥵

He strikes me as a thigh guy, but like Oikawa he fucking loves boobs. Loves the way your thighs jiggle when you flop onto the couch, or how your breasts bounce when you’re coming down the stairs fast. Can’t help himself when you wear anything low cut, or short shorts. Especially weak for thigh highs. He will gladly fuck his cock between your thighs before stuffing you full, without hesitation.

Speaking of thigh fucking—- he definitely has a thigh riding kink. The idea of you getting off by rubbing your pussy along his strong thigh, your juices dripping off and soaking his flesh— it just does something to him.

“C’mon Blossom, you can do it. Cum on my thigh.” He whispers in your ear, fingers digging into your supple hips as he helps move you along his toned thighs. A wanton moan escapes your swollen lips as you lean your head against his chest, whimpering and whining as you hump his thigh so needily, already overstimulated. Akaashi chuckles, bouncing his leg and making you jolt forward with a squeal as your clit is smacked, causing you to gush with your orgasm. “Fuck, that’s it baby. Such a good girl for me aren’t you?” He asks breathlessly, watching as you cum on his thigh for the second time that night, your juices dripping down his flesh, causing his dick to strain against his boxers.

To the topic of his fingers—- w h o o o o boy. He has extremely pretty hands, they’re soft and large but not scarily so. His fingers are longer, slender and nimble. And he certainly knows how to use them. He loves the reactions you give him. The moans when he buries his middle and ring fingers in your cunt, or the breathless gasps of pleasure when he wraps his fingers around your throat, lightly, faintly constricting your airway in a manner that makes you wetter than before. He’s also, definitely into fisting you.

The squelching and gushing noises that filled the room brought a flush to your already warm cheeks, your head falling back as you brought your hands to your face. “Keiji… f.. fuck.” You swore softly, bucking your hips upward as he buried two of his slender fingers inside your slick cunt, thrusting them in and out at a steady pace, slowly adding a third. Akaashi watched your face, drinking up the noises of pleasure, the shudders that wracked your bare body and the wet sounds your dripping pussy made. “You’re so beautiful, blossom… think you can take more of my fingers? I’d love to see your cute little flower swallow my fist.”

For kinks- praise, giving and receiving. Fingering, fisting, giving. Thigh riding, thigh fucking. Breast fucking, low low key into Roleplay. Things like teacher/student and some romantic roles. Low key has a breeding kink, seeing you have his kid is something that never ceases to amaze and attract him. Plus he loved watching how swollen your breasts got. Spanking, light choking and lingerie, especially thigh highs and garter belts. Love, love, loves watching you suck him off. It just does something to him.

Speaking of sucking him off, I’ve mentioned that this man is pretty pretty. And that includes his dick. It’s long and still a bit on the thicker side, definitely at least 6.7” erect, with a slight curve. Kinda like a banana. Probably an inch or so in girth, with a prominent vein along the underside. The head is a soft pink, while the rest of his length is a bit paler, matching his skin tone. Circumcised, definitely keeps tidy and trimmed, with a dark happy trail. You’ve never imagined calling a dick pretty until you saw his for the first time and your breath hitched looking at it. He adores gently tugging on your hair as you take him in your mouth. Will instantly cum if you sandwich his dick between your breasts while sucking him off.

”Fuck- that’s it Blossom, just like that-“ Keiji’s soft, melodic voice praised you breathlessly as your tongue flicked the flushed head of his cock, collecting the warm precum and tasting it. You hummed at the faintly sweet taste, your hand pumping and twisting his shaft as you brought your swollen lips around the tip and suckled gently. Keiji leaned his head back, a series of soft moans, swears and praises escaping his mouth as he buried his pretty hands in your hair and tugged gently. You looked up at him through your lashes, slowly lowering your head down until the tip of your nose brushed against his trimmed patch of hair.

His favorite positions are definitely missionary, or mating press. But he loves watching you ride him, and loves taking you from behind and bending you over even more. Enjoys the latter especially so, just loves watching your thighs and ass bounce from the force of his thrusts.

He’s even more into throwing your legs up and having you squeeze your thighs together before sandwiching his cock between the plump flesh. He’ll gently squeeze your thighs, slap and pinch your ass as he fucks your supple skin and slaps your cunt with his cock every now and again. He’ll go feral if you wear those stockings he loves so much, while he fucks your thighs.

Akaashi is just the best in the bedroom, hands down. He’s very observant and knows just what makes you squirm, and how to completely satisfy you in ways nobody else ever could.

#akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #keiji akaashi x reader smut #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyu x reader #haikyu x you #keiji akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi Keiji x reader smut #Keiji Akaashi x reader

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theepisceswriter · 3 years

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DOMESTIC NANAMI KENTO HEADCANONS

A/N: Because domestic life with Kento has been weighing heavy in my heart and I need to let it out

TW: none really apply, GN!reader

Let me set the scene; you and Nanami have known each other for quite a while, since your high school days to be exact, so you’ve been there for all the ups and downs in his life. You’re not a jujutsu sorcerer and definitely didn’t go to the same high school together. The two of you met at the library when you both went to reach for the same book on the shelf. It sparked up a conversation between the two of you, you found out you had a lot in common with each other, but that wasn’t enough for the two of you to ask each other out on the spot. It took a couple of more run ins and conversations with each other before you finally asked him out on a picnic date. It was a success and flash forward a couple years later, the two of you are a married couple and couldn’t be any happier. There’s no one he trusts more in his life than you.

First and foremost, even though he probably works the most out of the two of you, Nanami Kento is a househusband and you cannot convince me otherwise. Dishes in the sink from last night’s dinner? He’ll take care of it! Leftovers you forgot to put in the fridge after you two ate? He’ll get the Tupperware and stack them away! The house isn’t as tidy as he knows it can be? Catch him cleaning it up throughout the day! Anything to take some work away from his significant other and help them relax.

Something in my heart tells me that he’d love partaking in baking as much as he enjoys visiting the bakery. Which shocks some considering that it’s a pretty messy activity, but when you’re by his side he can care less about the flour that turn his blue shirt into a dusty color or the dough that sticks messily to his fingers after kneading it when the two of you are dancing offbeat to the soft melodies of ‘Let’s Stay Together’ by Al Green. Smiling and reminiscing on the earlier stages of your relationship as you dissect the lyrics with him, never relating more to such a heartfelt romantic song than you did in that moment. Don’t let his sweet nature fool you though, he’s definitely going to be a menace and put flour on your face. Which then leads to a food fight while the two of you wait for your pastries to cook in the oven.

Date nights are the best nights. Between your crazy work schedule and him disappearing every other week for days at a time to do god knows what with Gojo, it’s one of those few moments where the two of you can spend intimate time alone with each other and enjoy each other’s company. Sometimes you stay home and improvise; cooking your own meals and watching movies together for the rest of the night because you miss each other so much that you don’t even want to go out in public and deal with people who aren’t you two. Other nights the two of you go all; getting dressed to the 9s and finding a local restaurant that also doubles as a poetry reciting club to spend your night out. Nanami even goes on stage, which is a huge deal because it’s Nanami, and recites a haiku that he wrote about you. He reads you a poem once he gets home because he wanted his time on stage at the restaurant to be as short as possible.

He goes all out for you on special occasions like anniversaries and birthdays. Specifically anniversaries because, and I didn’t tell you this, but he’s actually a lovey dovey dumbass. Does the whole rose petals leading to the bed in your room thing, gets that expensive food catered by a chef or hires them for the night and has them cook for y’all, and showers you in gifts. Of course, there’s a few materialistic things in the pile like a very shiny bracelet with earrings to match, expensive name brand clothing, and bouquets of flowers. But Nanami really strikes me as a sentimental gift giver type. Something that’ll bring you to tears like one of those Spotify art things with a song played at your wedding, one of those necklaces that project ‘I love you’ in over a 100 languages when you open it, or he might even go all out and surprise you with a tattoo of your initials going over his ring finger for when he can’t wear his wedding ring.

The very first time you found out about Nanami being a sorcerer and your exposure and to the world of jujutsu happened when you were teenagers still in the honeymoon phase of your relationship. It was in the ungodly hours of the night when every working citizen and people your age were sleeping for school or work the next morning. You were too, but it was the banging at the window in your bathroom that awoke you and made you go check on it and to your surprise it was Nanami. You hadn’t seen him for a while prior to this, maybe a week or two, but you didn’t even have enough time to ask him where he had been because he was collapsing in your arms, exhausted both mentally and physically from a mission he had been on. Everything came spilling out, everything he had been through in the last couple of weeks and call you could do was hold him close in your arms and let him ramble on. Whispering words of assurance in his ear every now and then when he began to cry and wiping his tears away from his glossy brown eyes. It was also in this moment that he decided that he was utterly and helplessly in love with you.

#did I cry while writing some of these? absolutely !#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento headcanons

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poetrusicperry · 3 years

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the poets and their first summer jobs

i’ve seen some discourse about how rich all the boys/their families are, and of course there would be like very little reason for them to work, but i couldn’t help wondering who would do what for their first jobs (summer jobs bc they couldn’t work while they’re at school). andddd that led me to writing this lol

neil: so neil would have like absolutely zero time for a job between all his normal coursework/extracurriculars and his summer classes (��you know me, always taking on too much”), but i guarantee you he would still take the time to get a job and have his own money to do with whatever he chose. mr. perry wouldn’t care much because it showed neil “taking initiative” or whatever. neil would likely work at a diner as either a bus boy or a waiter. he’s super personable, so he’d always strike up conversations with people sitting at the counter, and he’d get loads of tips bc he’s cute (: he’d bring his summer school work with him to do during lulls in business, which his boss didn’t mind because it’s neil and everyone knows how responsible he is. the poets would come visit him pretty much every day (to eat, see neil, and escape the heat in the air conditioning), likely taking up a whole booth, and making an absolute mess of the area. charlie would be making spitballs, aiming at cameron and knox every time (earning a “charlie, knock it off, i told you three times already! so mature of you, really.” from cameron) and meeks/pitts would try to see how many straws they could connect to make “ultra straw.” todd would come hang out at the counter when neil was closing, admiring his pretty bf as he worked (’: neil would always make todd a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and rainbow jimmies on the house, claiming, “we have to empty out the ice cream machine anyway” (but really he’d take the cost out of his paycheck, just wanting to make todd happy). his boss would hire him back every summer, loving how much business neil drove in (even if the poets made a mess every time they hung out and ate) and absolutely adoring how much effort neil put into what anyone else would seemingly call a “meaningless” job.

todd: you can’t tell me that todd wouldn’t look forward to working. especially during the summers, it would get him out of the house and away from his parents judging his every move. being the shy introvert he is, he’d likely do things like mowing lawns or gardening for people around his neighborhood. minimal interactions, but still decent pay (as all the people in his neighborhood were likely super rich and could afford to pay him well). the poets’ parents would hire him, after much convincing from their sons (”todd’s just trying to make some money, dad. please?”) and todd would appreciate this more than they ever knew. he’d become super familiar with flower types and he’d become a lot more nurturing after taking care of plants and grass for multiple summers. he’d keep a little journal or notebook with drawings or sketches of the flowers he’d taken care of, complete with descriptions and magazine/newspaper clippings from his mom’s better homes and garden subscription (a lot of his poetry would become nature-related as well). it would be his late night project, or something he’d do if he couldn't sleep (which was pretty common for todd). he’d call neil on the phone some nights and just gush about all kinds of flowers or tell neil how he accidentally got stung by a bee and cried about it because he knew the bee would die (all the while, neil would be listening so intently, taking note about which flowers were todd’s favorites for future use (’: the calls would have to be pretty planned, bc if neil wasn’t working, he was doing school work, or his parents were keeping an annoyingly close watch on him. but sometimes neil would call him impromptu and that made todd just the happiest little camper ever). todd’s nails would be really short (he’d cut them really often because he doesn’t like the feeling of dirt under his nails), which means he couldn’t bite his nails anymore, causing him to pick up a new anxious habit of biting the inside of his bottom lip ): overall, though, todd would like his job, and even find pleasure in being surrounded by little flowers all day. also if/when neil ever got the chance, he’d absolutely tag along to see his sweaty boyfriend in action (come on, neil would go absolutely nuts for todd in a cutoff shirt, 5″ inseam shorts, and converse mowing a lawn looking all manly and tough).

charlie: obviously, charlie wouldn’t need to work because of his financial situation, but his mom would 110% make him get a job just so he wouldn’t be around the house causing trouble/bothering his siblings for fun (”i’m hosting a lot of book club meetings for the country club this summer, i can’t have you putting spiders in the ladies’ hats again, charles”). similar to neil, mr. charlie dalton would work his summers at an ice cream/custard stand. he’d have to wear a white, short sleeve button up, a red and white striped apron, and one of those white, rectangular hats (his least favorite part HAHA, stating, “my hair is one of my best features and this just takes it all away. it’s unfair.”). the poets would visit often, both for ice cream, but primarily to give him a hard time about his uniform (”i’ll give you twenty bucks to wear this on our first day of classes” meeks would tease, completely gobsmacked when charlie showed up to their first chemistry class in his uniform, earning lots of demerits, but also twenty dollars). charlie would hate it at first, but obviously he’d adjust, being the extroverted/personable person, not taking himself too seriously and being one of the best ice cream slingers anyone had ever seen. he’d give the cute girls (and boys) extra scoops of ice cream for free, winking as he handed them their orders. like neil’s boss, charlie’s boss was even more thankful for charlie’s presence because they’d likely be raking in at least triple the income they would in a summer without him. he’d become a sundae expert, spending many dead poets meeting making them for his friends while they read poems and stories. that being said, he’d come to hate eating ice cream, publishing an article in welton’s honor demanding that they remove ice cream from their dessert menu (yes, almost exactly like the “girls at welton” prank, but he’d make the call collect this time. mr. nolan would be fed up to the point where he wouldn’t even punish charlie physically, just suspend him from rowing [which charlie wouldn’t mind at all HAHA]).

meeks & pitts: after their hi-fi success and the fact that they are seemingly inseparable, they both sought out jobs at the local radio station where they were hired as interns/assistants, running errands and picking up coffee or lunch for the station. but sometimes, when they worked pretty late, the night shift dj would let them pick the records and show them how everything worked (: after nights like that, meeks and pitts would go to one of their houses and add modifications to their hi-fi radio, staying up all night modifying and researching (by the end of the summer, they had made another hi-fi (portable) and their og hi-fi would have been morphed into a huge nationally reaching radio that they keep in the cave (since it would be disallowed in their room at welton). another job that the two of them would have would be answering calls for the station about song requests. with this knowledge, charlie and the other poets would hang out at someone’s house, calling and requesting the same songs over and over and over again. their biggest task for the summer would be organizing the shelves with all the records into alphabetical order (”duh, we should go by first name, meeks. which other way would it be” pitts would argue, only to find out that after they had spent about three weeks alphabetizing by first name, they were supposed to go by last name. “now who’s the idiot?” meeks would jeer, beginning to pull the records off the shelves). they’d also learn a lot about music from their night shift coworker, which would help in their quest to woo some ladies the following school year.

cameron: cameron liked spending his summers doing research projects for fun and just reading a whole lot, so you can imagine his displeasure at when his parents asked him to get a job (presumably to help with paying for his schooling). while upset about it, he wouldn’t complain, and took it on the chin, understanding the reasoning. he’d apply to a couple places, but ultimately end up as a grocery store cashier/stock boy. much like charlie, he’d have the same kind of uniform, but with a green apron instead. he’d spend most of his shift ringing people up at the register, being friendly and personable (something no one ever really realized about him !!). the poets’ moms would always see him and choose his register on purpose, using it as a chance to catch up or tell him to tell his parents that “the overstreets say hello!” or “mrs. anderson says hi!” pitts, meeks, and charlie would utilize cameron’s position at the supermarket to buy nudie magazines unembarrassed/slightly illegally HAHA (”come on, cameron! it’s not like you won’t be included in seeing them next year, too. we bring them to the meetings, you know that!” charlie would say, leaving cameron at a loss, reluctantly scanning the magazines and bagging them as pitts and meeks sniggered). charlie would wave, blow him a kiss, and wink as they left, “love you, richardddd.” sure enough, the magazines would make an appearance during the following school year and cameron was glad he had decided to let them buy the magazines lol.

knox: out of all the poets, i feel like our knoxious would be the least inclined to work (yes, even less inclined than charlie). his parents wouldn’t even make him get a job because he simply didn’t need to, but to everyone’s surprise, he would volunteer at the animal shelter. the poets would later find out that it was a great way to meet girls (which is why he did it lmfao so they endlessly goaded him about it). charlie would visit often, and even took a rescue puppy home, much to charlie’s younger sister’s delight. charlie even wanted to start volunteering at the shelter to also meet girls, but he was too busy at the ice cream stand (plus, he had really grown to like it there so he didn’t want to leave). another effect of volunteering made knox super interested in zoology and animals, which brought out a newer, more nurturing/caring side to him, and who knows, maybe he’d go vegetarian somehow. he’d want to pursue a career in animal science or becoming a veterinarian, but mr. overstreet was hellbent on knox taking over the firm, so it seemed like a pipe dream. knox would continue to volunteer at the animal shelter, well into his career as a lawyer, and would even go to veterinary school in his 30s (when he was a nationally famous, established lawyer) to get certification to work with animals in a broader way (:

hope you guys liked these. it was pretty fun to write, and i'd pay such good money to see neil, charlie, and cameron in their uniforms (and todd, but that’s neither here nor there). happy thursday !! let me know what you guys think of these <3(:

#dead poets society #dead poets in nyc #dps #dps headcanons #neil perry #todd anderson #anderperry #neil and todd #charlie dalton #richard cameron #steven meeks #gerard pitts #dark academia #headcanon #angelina writes

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stray-kids-react · 3 years

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S/O likes enjoys writing/writing lyrics

Masterlist

...

Bang Chan

° You owned this special and locked diary for years, where you kept all your bottles up emotions and feelings in.

° One of those feelings evolving your long time crush on Chan, including the words 'Sexy, Cute, Inspirational, Hot, Prince, and A Literal Angel' all in quite a few pages. Luckily your now long time boyfriend has never seen these fangirl/boy paragraphs.

° Chan was all of those words, no doubt about it. But it is still hard to look at those paragraphs without cringing at how desperate you sounded in your mind.

° Chan however apparently loved your affectionate paragraphs, flipping through the pages as you walked through his studio door. Your heart sank as pure shock and terror rushed through your veins. No one wants their private thoughts to be read.

° The tips of Chan's ears were firetruck red, as a beaming grin flashed towards you. You noted that he read through the entire diary, knowing all the dreams and wishes you had that involved him. No skeletons were left in your closet anymore, it was bittersweet.

"So you really think I'm an angel who is also the sexiest person on earth?" he teased, cupping your face in his palms.

"Well duh, but you can't tell me you didn't think anything like that towards me-" You defended, cut off by his sweet kisses.

Lee Know

° Minho found out about your true feelings towards him while reading some song lyrics you wanted to show 3Racha.

° He needed to know who you loved and admired so dearly after reading this, constantly by your side questioning anything he could. After literal weeks of conspiracy, you couldn't take his suspicion anymore and admitted everything.

° You are now much more secretive with your songs that you've written, but that won't stop Minho from looking everywhere he possibly can. He is determined to find them.

° After so many large steps that were taken in your relationship, he wants to see how you truly felt throughout them. From the first date, first time, to the promise ring he fave you last week. Minho wants to say it's to tease, when it's truly because he loves you.

° He loved the way his stomach did kart wheels as his heart fluttered when he first read your words. He hasn't felt that amazing feeling in a while and needs to re live it, luckily for him he noticed a place he has never thought of checking.

"So kitten, you really want to marry me don't you?" he commented, a soft smirk across his glowing features.

"Why wouldn't I? You're you. And how'd you find those?!" you replied, tone changing as you saw how many he actually had.

Changbin

° Changbin was struggling to create a new song, he seemed to accidently make similar beats and lyrics to their past hits.

° You would sometime write up different songs when you were bored, but you never showed them to anyone thinking they weren't great. But Changbin looked in need of some type of inspiration, so you brought out your journal and placed it infront of him.

° His expression was unreadable, either about to thank you for the amazing inspiration or laugh at your cheesy words. You just wanted him to say something.

° Changbin began to smile shyly, showing you a page he just read over. That page happened to be the most recent and the one you completely forgot about. It was a draft about 10 different ways you could tell Changbin that you loved him.

° You really wanted it to be special when you would say it to him, but luck didn't seem to be on your side that day. You were at least glad that he was smiling, showing positive signs that he isn't feeling awkward or doesn't feel the same way about you.

"I love you too my adorable bean." He chuckled, pulling you into his lap as he held you close to his racing heart beat.

"I'm guessing he new comeback is going to be a love song now?" you teased, burrowing into his soft black hoodie.

Hyunjn

° Your relationship use to be a cat and mouse situation, one day you two were best friends and then the next you two were rivals.

° Your anger and frustration towards one another was simply a way to hide your true emotions. Both of you found each other attractive in and out, but were too stubborn to confess. That is until he walked into your room and pressed you up against the wall.

° Your rivalry left out the door once you started dating, the only ounce of it was left in the small playful bickering and teasing. Which happened every day of the week.

° You walked into the dressing rooms, noticing Han and Felix giggling as your presence became known. This wasn't a usual giggle of theirs, something was going on. You knew that for sure once you saw the way Hyunjin presented himself.

° A sly smirk across his lips as a couple crumpled peace of paper were in between his fingers. His steps were long and powerful, as he held his head up high while nearing you. This usually meant he found something to tease you with.

"I didn't know you liked me for five years, coming up with so many cute pet names if we ever dated." He teased, hiding his blush.

"First of all, you went through my desk without asking me. Second of all, I am whipped for you dumb dumb." You replied.

Han

° You weren't a very vocal person, having trouble expressing your thoughts and emotions through words everyday.

° That reason alone is also why people think you and Han are a perfect match. He helped you come out of your shell and be comfortable in your own skin. All of those actions sent your heart into a frenzy, finding there way into pages filled with emotion.

° Han knew about your habit of writing cute quotes on your palms and arms, or just randomly taking out your journal and starting a new page.

° He respected your privacy even if the temptation of knowing every little thought you have was very very strong, he held back and let you write in peace. However, when you dropped your journal without knowing. Han held it and the temptation took over.

° As you had a chat with Seungmin, he turned around from your eye sight and flipped through the pages. Many of them expressing how much you love him and how much he helped you without him even knowing. This effected Han immensely.

"Hannie are you crying?" you questioned, noticing the forming gloss over his sparkling chocolate orbs.

"Yeah, but it's happy tears. I just never knew how much you cared about me, and it makes me feel important." He explained.

Felix

° You cannot hide anything from this adorable koala, he knows you too well and can find anything you've hidden from him.

° You learned this the hard way when you asked him for help when forgetting where you left your journal, panicking since the last place you saw it was at Minho's. Felix knew you usually placed it near your bed and assumed it to be under the covers.

°His assumption was spot on, but you had no idea that he had found it yet. Felix took this advantage to skim through a few pages, smiling at the sight of his name in the book.

° His name was mentioned ever since the day you first met, January 7th 2017. He was written as this attractive aussie that had your knees weak, he laughed silently at the realization that you fancied him since the first day you met. He loved it.

° Felix walked out with the navy blue book tight in his grip, his ears a bright shade of red. You knew he must've read some sort of page about him, but you weren't nervous about it. It couldn't have been anything more cheesy than what you say on dates.

"I can't believe Han knew about your crush on me that entire time." Felix chuckled, shock filling his expression.

"And I can't believe you never knew how much I truly admired you." You teased back, kissing his freckle speckled cheeks.

Seungmin

° Seungmin met you at a library, you were working on a soft poem about not being able to find the right person.

° That whole meeting seemed like something right off of a romance movie or fanfiction novel. Writing about giving up on love as an amazing guy happens to cross paths with you. But both of you laugh at the whole cliché nature of your meeting.

° Seungmin loved how you wrote, taking him into the story each time. He felt so special whenever he found something referring to your relationship, feeling fuzzy inside.

° He liked to bring some of your poems on tour with him, reminding him to stay strong when being away from you. Letting him know that you'll always be there for him when he needs you, even if you are both countries away from each other.

° Felix once found his stash of poems that you wrote, he never teased him on it but would still smile excitedly at how sentimental Seungmin was becoming. Seungmin knew he was becoming cheesy and mushy, he hated yet loved it.

"Do you know how much you have effected me?" he questioned, tracing the curve of your jaw with his thumb.

"Or maybe you have an addiction to me, ever think of that?" you responded, smiling widely as he rolled his eyes at your words.

Jeongin

° You worked under JYP entertainment to help create songs for different groups, Jeongin noticed you during his break.

° You rarely got to work with Stray Kids since they made 99% of their own songs, but that didn't stop Jeongin from trying to get to know you. It worked in his favor, since you began to develop a living in him after two months of hang out together.

° Jeongin likes hearing certain songs you create or in the process of being created, cheering you on and telling all of his members when you created a song.

° He liked to give you the credit and appreciation you rarely get, most of the credit going towards the artist who performed the songs you created. Jeongin wanted to let you know how proud he was of you daily, even if you got shy from it.

° Whenever you showed him different samples of songs you were working on, he'd dance in his seat with a beaming smile. Even when you were tired and wanted the day to end, his admiration and addicting smile would make your mood change instantly.

"I am just worried because JYP has been pretty harsh on the past few songs." You sighed, tired and frustrated.

"He literally wrote a song about women's butts. I'm pretty sure you're more talented baby." He reassured, patting your head.

#stray kids #kpop #changbin #skz scenarios #stray kids reactions #han jisung #hyunjin #jeongin #lee know #bang chan #skz reactions #skz fluff #skz ff #felix skz #skz seungmin

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favefandomimagines · 3 years

Text

Then Let Me Go (g.w.)

Summary: you’ve been with George since your third year at hogwarts and you wondered if he’d ever propose

AN: this was inspired by a season 3 episode of glee where emma talks to will about marrying her and her OCD and i switched it up and used anxiety instead which is something i deal with all the time

You and George were the epic love story. You beat the odds, survived a war and had reached a mile stone of almost a decade together.

And yet you were at a stand still. Everyone around you was either married or engaged to be married.

Fred had just gotten back from his honeymoon with Angelina, Ron just got married to Hermione and Harry proposed to Ginny two months prior.

And then there was you and George. The epic love story that was grinding to a halt. That thought alone made your anxiety and overthinking worse than it’s been.

Being a half blood, you knew what anxiety was. Your mother had it when she was your age and it was something you dealt with every day. Your boyfriend had known about your illness early into your friendship, long before you were dating.

He was always there for you but now that he was the thing causing your anxiety, you didn’t know who to turn to.

George not proposing made you second guess everything you did. Thinking that the smallest wrong thing would lead to George to admit he didn’t want to marry you.

You were beginning to feel self-conscious and almost like you not revelling in the greatness that is pre marital or post marital bliss, you were a burden.

No one who’s married or engaged wants to hang out with the only person who’s not.

Angelina’s birthday was coming up and Fred had entrusted you in planning the event. Which you said yes to because not only was she your best friend, it distracted you from the constant mental chatter.

You were sitting at your kitchen table, going through the various ideas you had for Angelina’s party.

“Hello, darling.” George greeted you as he entered your shared home. “Hi, Georgie.” You replied, eyes not leaving your plans. “Are you still planning the party?” He asked.

The redhead sat across from you as he watched you hyper focused on your work. “Uh, yes. I just want everything to be perfect. I feel like there’s something missing.” You answered.

“Y/N, it’s going to be perfect. You just have to relax.” He said. “I can’t relax, George.” You muttered, hating the way he told you to relax.

“What’s really going on? I know there’s something wrong, there has been for months.” He commented.

You stopped your movements for a moment before looking up at him.

“D-Do you want to be with me? As in husband and wife?” You questioned. “Of course I do. But planning a wedding and having kids can be a lot for your anxiety, love. I don’t want you to be in that kind of environment.” George answered.

Though his answer was caring, thoughtful and putting you first, you were frustrated by it.

“George, I’m more than just this disease that I have. Every single day is riddled with anxiety but that doesn’t stop me from pursuing the things I love. I got a job at the ministry for Merlin’s sake, despite the constant feeling of not being good enough and that I don’t deserve it.” You started.

You paused to keep your emotions in check but George knew you like an open book.

“I want to marry you, George, I want to be your wife. But if me being so irrevocably in love with you isn’t enough and you only see my anxiety, then you need to let me go. Because this whole time I’ve been watching everyone in my life have what I want. And it’s not fair to either of us to stay in a relationship that’s come to a stand still.” You finished.

You cleared your throat and stood up from the table, heading into the guest bedroom. Locking the door behind you.

George inwardly groaned has he put his head in his hands. The truth was, he had decided he was going to propose to you a long time ago but then he had a conversation with one of his old friends from school and their words got in his head.

Your anxiety would just get worse if you had to plan a wedding and having to care and worry for a child would add on to that. But he was so incredibly wrong for letting that get to him.

—

It had been a week or so since the truth was revealed and Molly had invited you and George to the Burrow for a family dinner.

You and George hadn’t really talked since that day. He made it clear to you that he didn’t want to lose you or end the relationship that you both had jumped through hoops to keep.

The conversations were the usual, normal ones. Neither you of mentioning your previous conversation but the tension was very noticeable.

The whole Weasley family could tell something was off. The extended members included. You and George were usually the couple everyone wanted to be like and now, they couldn’t be happier they weren’t.

Before dinner was ready, Molly had asked if you could help her prepare dinner.

Now you’ve known Molly for years and she rarely asked people for help in the kitchen. The last time she did, it was holiday break and George asked you out the next day.

“Is there something going on with you and George?” She asked you. That was when you broke. No one had been upfront enough to ask you and the fact that someone had, was enough to make you let down your walls.

“I asked him if he thought about marrying me and he basically said he didn’t want my anxiety to ruin it. I didn’t think it was that much of an issue that he didn’t want to marry me.” You cried to the woman.

Molly wrapped you in a tight embrace and cooed you as you cried. “I don’t know what else I can do.” You added. The Weasley matriarch feared for your relationship.

Not only had you had a positive impact on his son but her family as well. Her and Arthur saw you as another daughter and they loved you as if you were their own. She didn’t like seeing you hurt especially at the hands of her son.

After a few minutes of her consoling you and cleaning yourself up, you helped her bring dinner out on to the table and took your ‘assigned’ seat next to George.

He could tell you had been crying. He knew that when your eyes were a little puffy and your eyelashes were damp, that you had been crying over him.

You had three types of crying; the crying over a book, which usually involves a couple stray tears. The frustrated crying, that involved you yelling and sobbing at the same time. And the crying over a boy. Which was quiet and sad, and he knew it quite well because it had been reserved for him for the past decade.

Under the table he placed a comforting hand on your thigh and he felt you tense under his touch before softening slightly.

Dinner soon came to an end, after the hour of grueling wedding talk and questions about when Fred and Angelina were having kids.

Everyone could see the distant look on your face as they talked about it. The only two people who knew what was actually going on was Angelina and Ginny.

While you were helping clean up the table with Ginny and Hermione, Molly pulled her son aside to have a much needed conversation.

“George, what is this I hear about you not wanting to marry Y/N?” She asked. “I-I know how it probably sounded to her. I made it sound really bad. But, I do want to marry Y/N, mum. I just, don’t know how to ask her.” George answered.

He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the small ring box. “I’ve had the ring for a while I just couldn’t find the right time. It has to be perfect because she deserves nothing less than perfect.” He added.

“Sweetheart, Y/N will think it’s perfect because the man she loves is asking to spend the rest of his life with her. That’s all she wants. She wants you to want to marry her, flaws and all.” Molly told him.

George nodded his head as he looked at the ring in his hand. He quietly muttered an ‘excuse me’ to his mother before going to find you. The Burrow was important and significant to the both of you and if that wasn’t the best place, he didn’t know what would be.

“Y/N, may I borrow you for a second?” He asked you. You looked from him to Ginny as she nodded her head and took the plates from your hand. George intertwined his fingers with yours as he led you outside.

The two of you walked a ways away from the house, down the path of tall grass before you had come upon the clearing. The sunflowers were in full bloom around you and the air was warm, a slight breeze blowing.

“What did you need to talk about?” You asked him, avoiding eye contact by looking at the sunflowers blowing in front of you. “Y/N, I need you to know that I love you. I have loved you since I was 14 years old and I have loved you more every day since then. You’re perfect even when you don’t think you are,” George started.

You didn’t know where he was going with his declaration of love. “It’s like that line from that muggle poem you always say, uh what was it?” He stammered. “We loved with a love that was more than love. It’s from a poem by Edgar Allen Poe.” You interjected.

“Yes! That’s it! You and I, Y/N, are the epic love story just like that. And that is why I want to marry you. All of you. I want to live my life with you. I want to have kids with you, preferably twins but I’ll love them all the same. My point is,” George paused, getting down on one knee.

“Marry me, Y/N. Please.” He finished. Your answer to him was wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He didn’t hesitate kissing you back.

The two of you parted and George looked at you with a smile on his face. “Is that a yes?” He asked. “Of course it’s a yes.” You laughed. George laughed in relief as he took the ring out of the box and slid it on to your finger.

#imagine #imagines #fred weasley imagine #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter imagine #hermione granger #ron weasley #draco malfoy #angelina johnson

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goldentournesol · 4 years

Text

Mon Lapin

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Reader owns a French bakery at which Spencer is a regular.

Length: 1.6k

A/N: the french bakery au no one asked for :) i’m aware my French isn’t perfect, please don’t roast me!! MAJOR FLUFF AND PINING

Read Part 2: Mon Cher

masterlist

The air was crisp in September and Spencer loved it. He used the weather as an excuse to leave his house more often. He liked the way the wind nipped at his nose, but when it got too much, he’d find refuge in his favorite French bakery, La Crème de la Crème. The smell of freshly baked bread and buttery pastries gave him a sense of security he longed for. There were other reasons he liked to go there as well...he liked the soft armchairs...the fresh coffee...the beautiful woman who happened to own the bakery. He also liked the way her eyes softened as they met with his upon entering the store. He’d been away, guest lecturing at different universities so he hadn’t visited the bakery in a while.

“Dr. Reid, welcome back! How were the lectures?” She asked warmly, waving at him from across the counter as he offered a shy wave back.

She had her hair tied up in a neat ponytail, with one braid across the top of her head. Her apron had minimal chocolate and coffee stains at which he grinned because he remembered how she’d been complaining to him about how many aprons she’s ruined. Spencer couldn’t help but admire every inch of her. But she’d just asked him a question, what was it?

“Oh, they were great! You know, I’ve found that college students are often at the ends of the interest spectrum. Either they’re extremely interested or they don’t even care, it’s quite amusing.” He commented, heat rushing to his cheeks.

She replied with a soft giggle and nodded. She silently cursed as she noticed a line forming behind him, she wanted to continue the conversation, “I’m sure it is! So what can I get you today, mon lapin? [my bunny] The usual?” Spencer nodded with a hum, a familiar grin adorning his face, “Alright, one coffee and one pain au chocolat coming right up!”

Spencer paid and moved to the side to collect his order, itching to interact with her even more. He still blushed at the nickname, one she’d given to him early on. At first, he had no idea what it meant, which led to a very awkward conversation with Emily, who’d since then made it a point to repeatedly ask him about the mystery person who’d been referring to the lanky doctor with such an adorable term of endearment.

He took a seat at his usual spot and pulled out the current book he was reading. As easy as it is for Spencer to get lost in the words, it was just as easy for her voice to pull his attention away from them. He glanced up at her often to watch her as she greeted customers and brought them their orders. She was entrancing, and he’d often find himself rereading pages and words he thought he missed when in reality, he’d just lost focus. Every once in a while, she’d catch his eye and send him one of her smiles and in those precious moments, he’d be glad he had enough knowledge about human anatomy or else he’d be concerned about the way his heart would swell in his chest.

Spencer looked up from his book to see a man and a woman walking into the bakery together. They looked lost and out of place. They approached the counter and the man spoke with broken English to Y/N.

“Erm, mademoiselle...we are...how do you say...lost?” He stumbled over his words. They were obviously not American.

“Oh! Je peux vous aider, je parle en peu de Français.” [I can help you, I speak a little bit of French.] Y/N beamed at the couple, happy to finally put her language skills to good use.

“Magnifique! On a vu votre pâtisserie et a espéré qu’on va trouver quelqu'un qui parle Francais.” [Magnificent! We saw your pastry shop and hoped to find someone who speaks French] the woman exclaimed, “On a veut aller au musée national d’histoire naturelle, mais on s’est perdue, vous savez les directions?” [We wanted to go to the National Museum of Natural History, but we got lost, you know the directions?]

Spencer watched in amusement as well as in awe as she gave them the directions in flawless French. Although he knew enough to get by, he was nowhere near as fluent as she was. Spencer was rarely ever impressed but the way the words left her mouth reminded him of velvet.

The couple smiled gratefully and waved as they left the store. Y/N felt elated that she’d helped someone, but she couldn’t fight the blush that warmed up her cheeks when she caught Spencer staring at her in awe. He flushed immediately and averted his gaze, embarrassed to have been caught staring. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and straightened out his tie, in an attempt to regain his composure. But all she could do was bite her lip to keep from grinning, which her dear coworker noticed and proceeded to wiggle her eyebrows at her in a teasing manner. Y/N jokingly threw a towel at her coworker who knew all about Y/N’s infatuation with the young doctor.

---

Spencer thought of a plan. Casual conversation was not enough for him, he needed a way to grab her attention while somewhat staying in his comfort zone. What better way to do that than through literature? So, there he was, sat inside the bakery on another beautiful day, holding a French book. Although he recognized some words from English, the sentence structure was throwing him off. He pretended to be engrossed in the words as she passed by his table, a tub full of used plates and silverware perched on her hip.

“Les Fleurs du Mal?” [The Flowers of Evil] Y/N exclaimed as she glanced at the cover of the book Spencer was holding. He mentally high-fived himself before directing his attention to the breathtaking woman, “You didn’t tell me you could read French, mon lapin!” she grinned as she took a seat across from him, placing the tub by her feet. Spencer let his eyes roam over her excited features as he smiled sheepishly.

“Um, well actually I’m only just getting there.” He replied, taking a sip of his now freezing coffee after putting the book down. He’d been too nervous about the plan to even think of his coffee. “Are you a fan of Charles Baudelaire’s work?”

Y/N tried not to swoon over his adorable attempt at pronouncing the French name. It was impossible not to swoon over this man in general, his round amber eyes were as captivating as one’s eyes possibly could be. His eyes reminded her of the way the sun shined through glass jars of honey. She was suddenly grateful for the reduced amount of customers in the bakery.

“Well, I’ve read the poems in Les Fleurs du Mal and I loved the whole thing. Mainly because he wasn’t afraid to be controversial, considering it was published in 1857. I would have never taken you as the type to read lots of French poetry, though, Dr. Reid.” She teased, knowing full well that he was a man of science.

“Why is that? Do I not strike you as the romantic type?” He countered with a raised brow and a lopsided smile, a newfound wave of confidence coursing through his veins.

He couldn’t believe he had her right where he wanted her and that his plan had actually worked. He had no idea, of course, that she’d been closely paying attention to the books he’s read in her shop, hoping that one day she just might recognize one.

She acted like she was thinking about it, placing a finger on her chin theatrically, “Hm, actually, you do. You strike me as the type of guy who would buy flowers for their date, but not red roses, though, too cliché for your liking. You’d probably get them lilies...or irises!” Spencer fell in love with the way she spoke to and about him. He found himself reveling in the sound of her voice and her endearing expressions.

“So which would you prefer?” Spencer asked, eyes softening at her as she brought her gaze back to him.

“What do you mean?” She asked, feeling some heat rising to her cheeks.

“Would you prefer irises or lilies?” He clarified, raising both eyebrows slightly.

If she hadn’t known any better, she’d say that Dr. Spencer Reid was trying to ask her out on a date, but she didn’t push it, in case he wasn’t.

“Lilies.” Y/N grinned. Spencer let out a chuckle and she swore her heart was about to burst.

“Alright, it’s settled.” he announced, taking one last sip of the coffee, “I’ll be getting you lilies for our date.”

She must have misheard him, “Wait, what date?”

“The date we’ll have tomorrow. At 7 pm.” He picked up the book and shoved it into his messenger bag, nodding his head once at her decidedly. “I’ll wait for you here.” He grinned at her as he got up and made his way to the door.

Y/N’s eyes followed him out of the shop. Her brain hadn’t yet processed what had just happened. She looked towards her coworker who had been sneakily watching the encounter from behind the pastries in disbelief and finally snapped out of it when she caught her coworker hugging a towel and squealing. It finally registered and she couldn’t fight the grin that threatened to split her face in two anymore.

That Spencer Reid was one hell of a man.

Part 2: Mon Cher

#spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid masterlist #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine

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thevividgreenmoss · 3 years

Text

My grandfather was awake and lucid for a longish while between late Friday night and Saturday morning apparently first time since this past Sunday when we all thought that was It and crammed ourselves seven people in one sedan that got a flat on the way over of course (as we were leaving the handle of the screen door came off in my hand as I was closing it behind me so the vibe was very on the nose things farcically falling apart that whole goddamn day lol) but then when we made it he was smiling and laughing and talking to and teasing everyone that was there, albeit with much more effort than it would have taken him even just a week earlier when he was already in a really frail state because of his hip surgery. My sister happened to be up later than she usually ever is and got to video call and chat with him for a bit I wanted terribly for my cousin in Colorado to be able to also but by the time he could get through my grandpa's blood pressure had suddenly spiked or something and he'd drifted back into that borderline unconscious state so they didn't get a chance to talk which makes me want to claw my fucking skin off of my face but who knows maybe another opportunity will present itself hopefully it does like he suddenly became really talkative and energized the other day after not having said more than maybe a couple sentences over the few previous days like I was there with him for several hours on Thursday and the entire time he didn't say a word and only opened his eyes once for like half a second and even that I might have been imagining after sitting there sleep-deprived and holding his hand trying not to cry because then my mom would start crying and then my aunt and on and on and if he's conscious at that point he'll start to get worried and his heart rate will destabilize but after that for this one stretch without anyone expecting it he was really talkative and alert and joking around with the nurses and doctors and all that for a while but then later yesterday afternoon he started to get disoriented and drift in and out of the present in between dreaming and waking again at one point apparently he kept saying 'look at my shoes' to my mom and her sisters and they thought it was just just the medication/pain-induced delirium talking but he kept insisting and eventually said 'you're not taking me seriously' and I guess gave up? Or said it a few more times I'm not clear on the course of events I only heard all this secondhand when my younger aunt, who also got diagnosed with cancer late last year but thankfully is more or less in the clear now, got back home last night and she and I went into his room and took all the shoes out of the cabinet he keeps them in and like looked inside and turned over and examined the soles of every pair, took the cushion insert things out of the ones that had them, checked for scooby doo-esque hidden doors, all that but there was nothing there just shoes. Her kids flew back out yesterday morning, the older one's tentatively returning to Toronto in the next week or so she had a painfully rough time in some ways her first couple of years and then abruptly had to be uprooted and leave because of covid then everything with her mom and in time honored eldest daughter tradition bearing the brunt of the familial frustration and insanity associated with that and now everything with our grandpa I really really want her senior year to go smoothly and be enjoyable and memorable in a manner opposite to how this past year+ has been I'm so worried about her and her little sister's starting freshman year there in the fall and I'm terribly worried about her in a whole different way like she's still really attached to her parents in this innocent way that still strongly resembles like a baby's adoring my mom hung the moon type attachment and it can be especially hard being away for the first time ever when that's the case...like she's hyper hypersensitive even by my family's standards lmao but she does have this sort of self-possession and inner groundedness that no one can quite pin down but it's

definitely there and maybe that

could carry her through I really hope so...they were saying to come up to visit them in the fall hopefully I can find a job soon after returning to Texas and like be able to afford to do that and also like keep paying the bills and shit lol in either case I hope so so badly that they'll be okay like I think they will be the women in my family are all really strong but they've also had to be because of various fucked circumstances and I don't want that to keep having to be the case...my grandpa's a Strong Woman in a certain way also honestly lmao like my mom's aunts have always been like your father raised you in a way beyond even most mothers which like who fucking receives let alone genuinely deserves that kind of praise from their in-laws lmao let alone a man from a notoriously patriarchal culture of a generation when fathers from any culture barely had any involvement in their children's upbringing at all which I mean most still don't but even more so back then and like literally everyone we've been hearing from or seeing drop by at the hospital has a story of how at one point or another my grandpa was there for them when no one else was like distant cousins variously removed and loose family friends all with something about how he comforted me when no one else could, I remember word for word what he said to me when I suffered some loss of my own, he's the strongest man in our family, the best times we ever had were when he was near us, when he'd take us out, his youngest brother's children saying he cared for and spoiled them as if their were his own after their dad died suddenly when they were just kids, my mom's third cousin whose own father was with her till a late age saying that he was even more of a father to me than my own father, his other brother's son who was ostracized for decades by his immediate family on some straight up racist ass bullshit on the part of his mom and older brother because he married a black woman but my grandpa stayed in touch and made sure my mom and uncle did as well and made sure we all got together when he'd came to the states, like even now lying there on what very well might be his literal deathbed when he can barely talk he was telling my uncle he's worried about him and he needs to go home and rest, asking who's taking care of the house, are the kids all okay even at this point his thoughts are for others. After I put his shoes back in the cabinet I closed it and opened the one beside just in case I guess just in case what I don't know but it was just like standard cabinet stuff clothes a shaving kit and a couple of what I assume are photo albums that I didn't feel like I should open for some reason and a few old books, a collection of Ghalib's which I can't really read very easily if at all because it's in Urdu lol, a history of government college of Lahore where his father was teaching at the time of his death and the two philosophy textbooks my great grandfather had written himself, Inductive & Deductive Reasoning, and inside the latter I found a handful of yellowed pages torn out of an old notebook upon which mostly seem to be translations of french poems and I think maybe a song or two? I guess old coursework or just for funsies I'm not sure whether written by my grandfather or his own father. My khala was mentioning just the other day that she'd kept one of my grandpa's old notebooks marked as having been designated for biology but inside it were no actual notes just urdu poetry which she wasn't sure whether it was his own original tossed off work or something the lifelong frustrated creative transcribed while bored in class. The night I got here I was looking through his bookshelves after everyone had gone to bed and then a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the living room by myself watching archer when my cousin came and sat down next to me upset and unable to sleep on her own first night here and I held her and tried not to cry and then went through the same bookshelves again, this time with my cousin who we came to Pakistan for the first time after moving to the US

to see being born who turned three

the day we arrived on what until this current trip was the last time I was here her little sister having just been born earlier that same year (whose life I may or may not have saved when I caught her after she was dropped by the person holding her (the fact that (parentheticals within parentheticals!) I may or may not have been the one who dropped her in the first place is immaterial imo not that I'm the one on trial here but what's important is that I caught her and if anything this would be an even more athletically impressive and frankly heroic incident if I'd been the one that was holding her to begin with since I was 8/9 years old at the time and there wasn't much of a distance for her to fall and yet I kept her from hitting the ground like talk about reflexes like that's what's important and what's more important than even that @ my year older cousin (whose younger sister was the first baby in the family after myself whose arrival in this world when I was three had me positively giddy in the way that young children get when witnessing the miracle of even younger children, who's the only other one of the cousins that's been here during all this, just me and the three I got to see as darling little babies) who was the only other person in the room with me at the time, is that we take this to our fucking graves no one can hear a word of this least of all any adults in the house who like not that they're the ones on trial here either but like who allowed for this scenario to transpire in the first place where two children and an infant are in a room by themselves unsupervised in retrospect that's somewhat irresponsible not that I'd ever hold it against them or even mention it because then they might get mad and not let me hold my little cousin anymore and I do love holding my little baby cousin and carrying her around everywhere, mostly without incident)) neither of whom I'd see in person again until we visited them in Canada the summer after I graduated college the trip during which I finished the last of the Neapolitan novels the day after landing and turned 22 the day after their mother, my younger khala, turned 43, looking through my nana's bookshelves with my baby cousin no longer a baby but a U of T classics major entering her senior year, noting the overlaps with our own, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, George Eliot, the same exact copies of Cheever and Kafka's collected shorts, Umberto Eco, Proust, wondering what the various titles meant to him or what they might say about him, wondering how much of even the version of him that can be hypothesized based off his library I'm missing now that I'm limited to the much reduced version of what had been in his old home in Lahore (when he visited us after my junior year of hs and my mom was trying to convince him to downsize and move in with my other aunt with whom he's been living the past several years, the one who most resembles my grandfather the only one that has his cheekbones my khala whose eyes have sunken all the way into her skull before my eyes with exhaustion and grief over the past two weeks, when my mom was like what's the point of just hanging onto a bunch of books that you've already read: I look at them [dramatic pause], and I feel happy [my mom sighing equally dramatically in.exasperation, me cracking up in the background]) the city I was born in the house where I spent the first almost five years of my life before we moved to the US to join my dad who'd moved back shortly after my mom became pregnant with what turned out to be me, abu nana's house with the garden we'd walk through every morning holding his hand and following along as he puttered around with his plants in the garden in the house in the city he had to leave to move into my khala's house in Islamabad where I've been the past almost a month now where two weeks ago he suddenly came down with pneumonia and had to be dragged to a hospital in Rawalpindi where he's been since, not in his house, my nana's house, with the garden in the city I haven't seen since the last time I was in this country the

summer I

turned nine the day after my khala turned 30 the day before my other khala turned 32(?) the summer I first remember obsessive compulsive disorder becoming an overwhelming aspect of my consciousness although it was there before, the first summer of the Iraq war and being terrified watching the Iraq war unfold on the BBC evening news my nana would turn on

at dinner time and hearing for the first time or maybe just the first time I remember the night we left the phrase 'the rich will get richer and the poor will get poorer' from my younger khala talking to her sisters and some family friends that had come over to see us off feeling terrified and cold then embarrassed because she noticed my face visibly fall from across the room and told my mom and I was like godammit everyone knows I'm scared now smhead then crying the entire flight back home because I missed everyone and maybe had a little kid premonition that I wouldn't return to my nana's house and I would be years and years till I saw any of them again some I still haven't or maybe there was nothing premonitory about it but in either case that's the way it turned out. I do feel grateful I got to see him again at all, when he last came to the US late 2016-early 2017 I was sure it would be the last time we would be in the same room. I'd make breakfast for us every morning and we'd eat together and the entire day I'd sit next to him inhaling secondhand smoke and talking and reading. I was in the midst of my initial aborted attempt to read Swann's way when he arrived. I'd gotten to Guermantes way last summer but I couldn't find a secondhand copy so I had to read it via ebook and that didn't feel right so I abandoned it until now I've been reading a copy pulled from his bookshelf. Last he visited was the first time I learned we were both Garcia Marquez-heads which I'd kind of assumed before and I showed him Mad Men which he heavily fucked with and also every John Le Carre adaptation I could track down online. From the first time I read one hundred years of solitude the summer after freshman year of college the passage describing Colonel Aureliano Buendia's death already absolutely and unbearably heartwrenching enough immediately brought thoughts of my grandfather, aching aching sorrow over the solitude that he himself existed within in all the fucking pain his life has been inordinately filled with grief over the knowledge of this inevitable final separation from him after so many years and so much distance already having separated him from the people he loved and cared for and he loved and cared for so many people so deeply with such sincerity and beauty and endless endless warmth and compassion and humor when Gabo wrote of the colonel trying to reach back through to his memories and being unable to after previously recalling that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice even years later, as he faced the firing squad, at the moment of his death like a 'baby chick' my poor frail beautiful grandfather appearing exactly the same way when he'd take off his dentures and curl over to the side to sleep, then when awake but still half asleep hearing your voice having brought his apple cider vinegar and garlic concoction or a cup of tea or just coming by to hold his hand or play with his beard the way all of his grandchildren have at one point or another and smiling with his eyes still closed smiling bright and wide the expression of a precious little cat purring as you scratch under its chin always the most beautiful smile and even as his hair turned white and his body withered and wrinkled and shrunk his cheekbones while still not bad long ago ceased being the way they were in that picture from his wedding day back when he he looked like young Robert De Niro's much much prettier Kashmiri cousin from then until now always that same radiance and those same quick-witted and kind and bright bright bright sparkling eyes. The past month and a half I've been feeling like I'm seeing my own mother dying before my eyes along with her father, my adorable beloved abu nana, I can't even begin to comprehend how she must be feeling right now I feel like I'm witnessing her death in advance through all of this and losing the part of her that is him even though I know that's not actually the case. Things have been so fucking painful and complicated between us but the one thing we've shared that's never

been painful is our love for him. When he left after his last visit four years ago I spent the next two days barely able to even talk. Compliments or like any positive comments directed in my directions have almost always caused me this reflexive discomfort and uneasiness but whenever he or anyone else would say that I'm his favorite grandchild I'd want to hold on to that as closely as i possibly can. I don't want him to leave us and more than that I want for whatever happens to at least happen with him back at home but neither of those things seem likely right now although who the fuck knows. I hope his last thoughts can be of flowers, like Kafka's, and Lispector's, or of love, wherever he is I hope it's not asking too much to hope for that at least. For someone that spent his life so deeply immersed within that Garciamarquesian solitude he never made those around him feel any way other than at home, safe and warm and loved and adored and adorable and lovable and at home not because of a place not even the garden at the house in Lahore but with him always always I've never felt more at home than during the times I spent near him, and his love and his flowers

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nocturnaljunipers · 4 years

Text

OKAY EVERYBODY HERE WE GO, HARGREEVES BORNDAY HCS! WOOO! Enjoy ;)

Though it’s all of the siblings’ birthdays, they decided to focus on in the morning Five as a sort of ‘thank you for saving our asses from the apocalypse and getting us home thrice’ type of deal

Five is sorta weirded out by how nice they’re all being towards him but he shrugs it off because they’re always weird.

Klaus buys him a stupid shirt that says something like ‘I’m really 18 but I have 42 years of experience so I guess that makes me 60’ The letters are all in contrasting fonts and colors and it is the ugliest garb he has ever seen, but he’ll wear it so Klaus doesn’t whine. (No he isn’t secretly touched because someone is acknowledging his real age for once, shut the fuck up)

(Klaus also has an equally stupid shirt that says ‘31 means flirty fun!’ That Allison plans to burn as soon as it’s out of Klaus’ sights)

Five kinda forgot it was his birthday at first, well not exactly it’s just that being in the apocalypse messes with your sense of time and therefore dates don’t feel as important to you, BUT! He makes the effort to buy each sibling really personal and well thought out gifts that have been distributed to them each throughout the day. Five just awkwardly goes “Here..this is for you.” Then blinks off because y’know

Feelings are icky

They throw the party at the house, inviting over various friends and family. (all the drinks are non-alcoholic, much to Five’s chagrin but Allison refuses to let Claire see any drunk family members, so he can respect that for now)

Klaus decorates with many contrasting balloons, (some of them aren’t even birthday related, Allison caught one that said ‘it’s a boy!’ ) streamers, and glitter, oh so much glitter.. (there's still some in everyone's hair days after the party ends)

Vanya is a bit shy about helping at first since she's used to mostly just staying out of the way, but with some coaxing from the family she begins making some party snacks and grooving to music. Eventually leading to a dance off between Luther, Diego, Vanya and Allison with some narration from Klaus. (Five thinks their dancing as a collective is awful but if he had to pick a winner he’d say, Allison or Diego)

The party goes well with only a few hiccups and they end it with icecream, chocolate cake and a movie that Claire falls asleep to.

After the movie ends, Allison puts Claire to bed and the siblings disappear (Five assumes that they went to bed or to the bar the have a drink) Five skips out on alcohol and opts for just going to his room to sleep.

He opens the door to his room and flicks on the light to find

Suprise! There are a stack of presents on his bed.

He’s a bit bewildered, but he closes his door softly and begins to go through them.

Some of them are obscure, impractical little trinkets bought by Klaus(usually relative to inside jokes, or things five said he liked offhandedly)

Some of the things are more on the useful side, ( tailored clothing and shoes from Allison and Vanya, An engraved pocket knife from Diego)

Some of the objects are a little out of touch with Five’s wants and needs, but still sweet (An almost life sized stuffed golden retriever, with a little plastic tag that say ‘Mr. Pennycrumb’ Courtesy of Luther) (and maybe it’ll sleep on his just, just this once)

There are a couple of presents left.

One is what seems to be a framed collage. It has poems, stories, doodles, some iconic (as Klaus would say) quotes of theirs and some photographs, all of which seem to be taken pretty recently. (No his eyes ARE NOT WATERING HE ISNT CRYING his eyes are just dry bc it’s late and he’s a little tired.)

The last thing is a fantasy book, it’s old and the spine is worn down but it seems to be in relatively good care. Upoun opening the cover he finds

‘This book belongs to: Ben Hargreeves :)’

His hands are shaking a little.

In smaller, more recent looking writing it says. ‘I found this old book of Ben’s while tidying up, I assumed he would’ve wanted you to have it. Happy birthday -Mom’

As Five turns the pages he finds Ben’s little notes in between the lines and in the margins of some of the pages. ‘Is this something that happens in real life?’ ‘Note to self: ask five about this’ ‘Vanya might like this quote, I should show it to her’ ‘so cool!’

His hands are shaking a whole lot more

Though he isn’t a big fan of fantasy, he finds himself reading the whole book cover to cover.

Though Ben has moved on, this is the closest he’s felt to him in years.

Once he finishes the book, he sets it on his bedside table carefully, changes into pajamas, and cuddles up to his new stuffed dog, flicks off his light.

And dreams of dragons and birthdays, faraway lands, and his family.

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Green Eyes

*Thanks so much for reading! c: There are now several parts you can read here: 2 3 4

I’m so happy to share that I won a fiction writing award for this short story through my college’s art journal! c:

Blurb Synopsis: You had been subbing for Mr. Styles for the last couple of months, but you’ve yet to meet him. The notes you leave for each other have sparked a friendship, leading you to want more, and you wonder if he does too.

Genre: Teacher Harry, lots of fluff, friendship, and maybe even some romance? ;)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5.5k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Green Eyes by Coldplay (click to listen)

His shelves were full of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Rumi, and Charles Bukowski. His desk was covered in scribbled Post-It notes, Bit-O-Honey wrappers, and empty mugs of tea.

This is what you noticed the first few times you subbed in his classroom.

These were the only details you knew about the man whose face you’ve never seen. As you gradually began to substitute for his high school English classes more and more, you learned about him more. This was due to his students, and his personal belongings.

What he didn’t and didn’t like: all the way from no fringes on a notebook paper, no red pen ever because that was his grading color, no using the word ‘can’t’ in his class, and students can eat all the snacks they want as long as the trash goes in the bin where it belongs.

The CDs in a stack on the shelf told you which ones he actually listened to because they were the ones that were on top and without dust.

You learned that the pristine book on his desk was never the one he was reading. No, it was the weathered and used copy beside his mug with dog-eared pages and penciled notes.

His drawers told you another story with their contents: boxes of teas ranging from peach to vanilla macaron, journals filled to the brim with words, adult coloring books with tv show themes, and books on Van Gogh and Monet hinting at his artsy background. His students slowly warmed up to you, and through them, so did he.

At this point, you’d only been subbing for Mr. Styles the last five months, racking up around two and a half weeks worth of subbed days. He always left precise and concise lesson plans for you. The books were where he said they’d be. The webpages he mentioned were bookmarked on his desktop. The teacher copy of the textbook and current group book were on his desk. At the beginning, his desk looked like a professional organizer had gotten their hands on it. Slowly, as you came to sub more for him, it grew messier, albeit you kept it tidy during your appearances. As the first few months passed and you became one of the few subs in his room, you started to find notes. They weren’t just any notes. They were more than the straight forward sub notes for the day’s agenda. No, they weren’t that simple. You can still remember the first one you found on a Post-It note - it went like this:

Y/N, peanut butter on your waffles or syrup?

It took you by surprise, but nonetheless, you answered his call. Each time, you’d find a contrasting pen color and scrawl your answer underneath his. Then leaving it somewhere he would find it the next day. They were one-liners at the beginning, and always interesting. Walking to his classroom from your car on those mornings, you’d fill with excitement at the anticipation of finding the next one. Sometimes it took you the entire day to find where he had hidden them.

In the closet.

In a nook in a drawer.

Under the chair.

On the backside of one of his books.

Hidden in plain sight amongst his current choice of notes and lists.

They never failed to spark a smile on your lips, whether it was quirky, confused, astounded or humored.

Guitar or piano?

FRIENDS or The Simpsons?

Vanilla or Chocolate?

Would you rather become a superhero or a wizard?

The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Slowly, the questions became more personal, and more than just ‘this or that.’ His questions became longer, and so did your answers.

What was the moment that made you decide to become a teacher?

Is Donny a good student for you, or is he lying to me about that?

What color are your eyes?

What book/film do you believe had the largest impact on you while growing up?

What is the one meal you always order at a restaurant?

Do you have a family?

Should I splurge and buy a new desk chair?

What book should I buy for my classroom you think I need to have? Why?

Why don’t you have a classroom of your own?

When is your birthday?

Star Wars or Lord of the Rings?

They were never a chore for you, or tedious. No, they were fun and you felt as if you saw a little sliver of who he really was with each note. After a while, you started to write and leave your own notes for him to answer. At first, many of them were similar to ones he had left you, because you wanted to hear his responses, too.

The newest one stares back at you, his half-cursive registering in your eyes.

What’s your favorite part about subbing in my classroom? Don’t say the students, that’s what everybody says.

Giggling to yourself, you reach over to his Pink Floyd mug to pull out a green pen. You take a moment to think of your answer. This time you found the note peeking out from behind the smart whiteboard. The sounds of the end of a school day tickle at your ears as you scribble down your answer. Pressing it to an open square of wood on his desk, you turn back to the royal blue pad of Post-Its. Peeling one off, the green pen hovers over the paper, but you can’t get yourself to write the question you’ve been wanting to know all along.

He didn’t have a Facebook, or an Instagram.

The high school doesn’t have a wall of staff pictures like others you’ve subbed at do.

It’s late winter, so yearbooks are still a ways off.

For all you know, you could have seen him here before in the halls when you subbed in another classroom.

Exhaling, you press the pen to the paper before you can convince yourself to stop. Unlike the many times before when your fears got the best of you.

What do you look like?

With a proud but nervous smile you stick it to the desk, layering the first note on top. It sticks to your lips as you bend down to reach your hand into your bag. The glossy bag greets your hand, and you pull it out to set down beside the note.

A small bag of Bit-O-Honeys.

Looking up, your eyes scan the empty classroom. Few footsteps, voices, and lockers slamming trickle in from the halls. You suddenly realize that this is the same view he sees, these are the same sounds he hears, and the same place he sits in every day. Well, when he’s not away on personal days, sick days, on holiday, and at workshops, hence your appearances. The thought knits something together inside of you, making you feel just that bit more closer to him. Something that’s been slowly happening over time since you first stepped foot in his classroom.

One of the first things that did this was the posters scattered across his walls. A poster from the 2013 remake of The Great Gatsby, The Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover, a cartoon of William Shakespeare, a unifying print of Keith Haring’s art, and several posters of quotes from famous books - To Kill A Mockingbird, the Kite Runner, Of Mice and Men, The Life of Pi, and even The Hunger Games. It delighted you watching him add some of them to the walls since your time here, and you’ve been itching to purchase him one as a gift. You’re unsure of what he would like though, and the fear of failure has held you back from doing so.

A bleep! catches your attention. Casting your eyes to the dormant desktop screen, you wiggle the mouse. A red circle has appeared on the title of a tab opened to your professional email. Clicking over to it from a YouTube video he had you show the class, you find you have a new message. At the sight of who sent it, your heart skips a beat: harry.styles@isd . . . . . . .

Hi. I reckon you’re still sitting at my desk this moment, now that’s a funny thought. I wanted to ask you a question while I remembered. I have to go out of town on Friday for a funeral. Believe me, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to, but these things are a must. I apologize for it being short notice, but I thought I’d ask you if you would like to take it before I posted it to the sub database. Please let me know either way by tonight, so it has a few days to sit on the website to be claimed. Also, I wanted to say thanks for everything you do. My students really love you, and it makes me wonder what I’m missing. Enjoy your night!

Sincerely,

Harry Styles

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows will fall behind you. - WW”

A smile warms your cheeks as you finish reading his words, and the familiar poem that ends every email of his. You quickly type up a response to him, agreeing to take the job on Friday, thanking him for thinking of you. A new email appears in your inbox shortly after from another colleague, which occupies you before you lose yourself in your thoughts again.

Perhaps your favorite addition in his classroom is the Fender acoustic sitting on a stand in the corner. Of course, you’ve yet to see it move in the last five months. The stories his students have told you in a way have given it legs of its own in your mind. Much like the little notes you’ve been leaving for each other, something you dread ever ending.

It was a Wednesday. You’re convinced that Mrs. Watson’s Pre-Calc class is surely the bane of your existence. You keep cursing yourself for taking sub assignments for math classes. Seeing that you’re terrible at the subject, you vowed you’d never take one of her assignments again, but you have to pay the bills somehow. You found your respite in the cozy staff lounge. Couches lined two of the walls, along with an arrangement of tables on the other side of the room.

As you walk in, you see that one of the ancient history teachers has nodded off again on the plaid couch. Otherwise, the room is empty, and all to yourself. If that didn’t make you happy before, the assortment of food on the counter definitely does.

Voices float in through the open door as the plastic lid to the cupcakes opens with a pop!

“Ah, looks like ya got tha last chocolate one. I was savin’ that one fer me,” a voice comments from behind you. Turning, you find a tall man in his late 20’s walking towards you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you can have it,” you volunteer, holding the blue-iced cupcake out for his taking.

His blush lips curl up with an amused smile. Dimples fall neatly into his cheeks covered with thick stubble. Its deep brown color matches that of the short quiffed curls atop his head. Misty green eyes stare back at you in the middle of his round, but sharp face. “‘m only joking. Go ahead and have it. I already had one earlier. They’re quite good actually, but I dunno ‘bout tha vanilla. Never really cared fer tha flavoir when it comes t’ cake and ice cream,” he comments, passing you to stop at the nearby sink.

“Yeah, I like to forget vanilla exists half of the time,” you remark, peeling away the paper liner of the cupcake.

Leaning against the counter, you watch as his ringed hand grabs a red coffee mug from the cabinet. “So do I. ‘s ratha boring, if I do say so meself.”

Nodding to yourself, a silence follows your words. The sweetness of the cupcake is shocking when you take a bite. It makes you wonder how you devoured these sugar bombs as a child. A few beeps and a hum from the microwave echo throughout the room as you check your phone.

“Y’know, I haven’t seen ya here at tha school befo’. Are ya new dis year or a sub?” he asks, bringing your eyes back to his lean figure. He pulls a yellow square packet from his tight-fitting black slats, a blush button-down tucked into its waist.

“I started subbing here this year,” you answer before taking another bite of the cupcake. Half of it consists of the sickeningly sweet frosting that makes your teeth ache.

“Mmmm I see. How d’ya like it so far? Are ya a new teacher, ‘s that why yer subbin’?”

“Yeah, I went back to school kinda late in the game after doing something else. I figure I’d sub for a little bit for some experience, because what’s another year of waiting by this time?” you comment, observing how he fiddles with his black tie while searching in the refrigerator.

“Well, congratulations. ‘s a big step t’ go back t’ school fer sumthin’ ya love. ‘s a good profession, I reckon. I’ve been teaching fer 7 years, and here at dis school fer 5. Sumtimes schools even hire subs they’ve had when a position opens, so keep yer eyes open,” he tells you, turning to you with a smile, a yogurt in his hand.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, returning the smile. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Sure thing. I know it helped loads when I was a newbie. ‘ll see ya around, I gotta get back t’ class befo’ me students do first. Have a good one!”

Walking towards you with the steaming cup of tea in his hands, he pats your arm with his other hand on the way out. Nodding at your ‘thank you’, a small ‘you’re welcome’ falls from his lips before the door closes behind him. Eating the last bite you can muster of the cupcake, you toss its remains in the bin. A thought worms its way into your mind as you sit down at the table.

Wow, I wonder who that guy was? And is he married, because shit, he was handsome.

The smell of orange essential oil greets you when you stepped foot into his classroom the next time. The state of his desk made you frown, and made you want to scratch the itch to clean it. You resisted it and didn’t, and that thought was taken away when his students began to find their desks.

Another day of 7 classes came and went. 2 classes of Introduction to Creative Writing. 3 classes of American Literature. 2 classes of World Literature. Amusing YouTube videos broke up the monotony of your day, and those of his students. The lesson notes he left for you had become more concise as the months have passed, and as you learned from each other. The same couldn’t be said for the dish of Bit-O-Honeys on his desk that he’s kept stocked for your appearances. You’re just glad he’s put the bag you left for him to good use. All throughout your day you had been looking for his newest note, but this time it wasn’t in any of his usual spots. After correcting some quizzes from today, you finally found it in the bottom left-hand drawer of his mahogany desk. Stuck to a tall can of Coke, your favorite drink of choice.

I’m sorry it’s warm, although I’m not sure how you like to drink it. I just find warm soda to be rather nasty. The answer to your question is I have green eyes, brown hair, I’m rather tall, and I like to dress up. Is that good enough for you? Now, what do you look like, love?

Your insides melt at the sight of his answer, but then you groan at the vagueness of it. Off the top of your head, you know there are at least 10 male teachers here at this school with brown hair, maybe more. Maybe even with green eyes, too, and you know that because you’ve seen them in the staff lounge or in the halls. The thought only grows worse when you lose count of how many teachers there are here at this school. Let’s just say, there’s a lot. Yeah, that sure helps a whole lot. Annoyed, you pluck a pen from the green mug and answer his question with as little detail as possible. Two can play at this game, you think to yourself as you sigh.

If you could have a jam session with any musician, dead or alive, who would it be?

Sticking the new note where its corner peeks out from under his tabletop calendar, your eyes return to the Coke. It’s undeniable, you feel a little less perturbed at him just at the sight of it. Only a little bit, that is. Sure, you’ve subbed for a countless number of teachers at this school, and more so in this school district. A few of them are even friends or relatives of yours, but you’d never connected with one before like you have with Harry. You just wish more than anything you could find out what he looks like and what he’s really like. Continuing to take his sub jobs doesn’t really help with that. It only drives you crazier wanting to know the other side of this fascinating human being.

There he was, snoring on the couch again, tv remote in hand. The weather channel is playing, surprising you very little. Snickering, you yank open the door to the black refrigerator. After retrieving your striped black and blue lunchbox, you place the container of leftovers in the microwave. A laugh is heard over your shoulder, and when you turn, you find Green Eyes from the other day.

Tittering as the door closes behind him, he says, “No fail, John ‘s always passed out on dat couch, I swear.”

“I know, it’s every time I’m here. Maybe he should just retire already so he can take his naps at home. Then maybe we could watch something on the tv for once,” you comment, shaking your head. Unpacking your lunch box, you take out a clementine, vanilla yogurt, and silverware.

“Nah, he loves it too much. I don’t see him leavin’ anytime soon,” he remarks, walking past you to search the shelves of the fridge. “What’re we having’ t’day? Couldn’t find any cupcakes dis time?”

“No, those ones were too sweet anyways. They gave me a stomachache,” you complain with a grimace. The beeeeep! of the microwave interrupts your thoughts.

“Mmmm, I dunno, I thought they were pretty good.” Rubbing his tummy, he pulls a breathy laugh from your lips.

Your steaming container of leftovers almost burns your hands, and you dread trying to eat it within the next 10 minutes. Setting up for a lesson in Mr. Harrison’s classroom was a pain, making you wonder why you take any sub jobs besides Harry’s anymore.

“No free food fer us t’day,” he pouts beside you, closing the fridge door before venturing to the vending machine in the corner. Your eyes drift to his outfit choice today - a white button-down topped with a buttoned vest the shade of ochre, all tucked into brown slacks.

“That’s why you pack a lunch. I thought you’d know the drill by now, since you said you’ve been teaching for a while.”

“I do, but sumtimes I forget. Yer already ahead o’ me with dat part, love,” he who doesn’t have a name answers with a short laugh. Sliding a leather wallet from his pocket, you see him type in a number before you sit down at the table. “Who are ya subbin’ fer t’day then?”

“I’m on the west side in the Science wing for Harrison. Bloody Bio.”

“Ugh, I neva cared fer science. Where were ya a few weeks ago when I last saw ya?” he questions, sliding out a chair across from you. An assortment of vending machine food hits the table with a slap - peanut M&M’s, a nutrigrain bar, and a bag of Sun Chips.

“Upstairs in Watson’s Maths class. Remind me to never sub for her again, because I can’t understand Pre-Calc for the life of me. I never could in high school so I don’t know why I thought I could know,” you chuckle. A warmth fills your cheeks at the sight of his lips spreading into an amused smile.

“Yeah, I neva cared fer Maths meself eitha. Numbas neva made a bit o’ sense t’ me, words were always betta,” he explains. You nod along with his words, your mouth occupied with a bite of spaghetti and meatballs. “What subject would ya like t’ teach once tha year’s ova an’ ya go searchin’ fer a job o’ yer own?”

“Um, probably something in English since that’s my focus area. Dabbling in History has been fun, though. I enjoy learning about it myself, and I always have a better time subbing in either of those classes,” you reveal.

“I see,” he replies, his head going up and down. The crinkling of the granola bar wrapper fills the silence between you before he takes a bite. Crumbs pepper his chin, but he wipes them away from his thin beard. “How often d’ya sub here then?”

“I’d say probably 3 days a week typically, but some weeks are 4. Otherwise, I sometimes sub for a friend or somebody I know over at the middle school.”

“Ah, so yer license is sumthin’ like 8 - 12, ‘s it?” he inquires, picking up the black mug you hadn’t noticed he had.

“Yeah, I thought that would give me a good range for those grades. With my experience now, I think I’d like to stay at the high school level though,” you continue, twirling you fork around in the noodles covered in tomato sauce. Crossing your legs, the satiny fabric of your black dress pants moves with you.

“We could always use anotha good teacher here. Ya neva know what’ll happen,” he smiles, standing to his feet with his snacks held in his large hand. Returning his smile, he adds his mug to that hand, patting your back once on his way out. “See ya next time, love. Keep yer head up, it’ll get betta.”

“Thanks,” you automatically respond with. When you go to say his name, you’re lost for words, because you suddenly remember you’ve never gotten it. Now, he’s already too far away to ask for it.

Shrugging your shoulders, you stab a meatball with your fork, wondering when the next time will be that you’ll see him again. Because, he sure is nice to look at, and he’s nicer to you than anybody else here.

Stevie Nicks or John Lennon, it’s a tough call. Okay, I’m doing two questions from now on, because you ask such good ones :( Who would you jam with then? Question #2: What was the last concert you went to?

This time, you found the Post-It before the school day even started. It was on the seat of his chair, making you think he wanted you to find it right away. You’re thinking maybe he remembered one of the last times you complained about how hard he had made it. Sometimes you worry about how excited you get to look for these each time you sub in his classroom, but then you remember it’s only once every few weeks.

That can’t hurt, can it?

That day the hallways were louder than they usually were after school. You attributed that to the boys’ semifinals basketball game set to be played tonight in the gymnasium. The school’s home team against a nearby rival school. Students couldn’t stop talking about it all day, and many of them shared they’d be sticking around after school to attend. Checking your watch, you note that you should have enough time to stop at home to eat dinner before coming back for it. Even though you hadn’t even known about it before today.

The Sufjan Stevens song floating from his desktop fills the room as you get out books for tomorrow. Your hands are full with copies of The Kite Runner, making you feel grateful again to Harry- Mr. Styles for picking a decent classic for the class to read. Although you’d only read it a few years ago yourself, and it broke your heart, you’re excited to sub next time to help his World Lit class with it.

“Oh hey, be careful there, yer gonna slip and fall with all o’ those,” somebody says from behind you, distracting you from your mission of bringing the pile of books from the closet to a desk.

Don’t I know that voice? Turning your eyes to the doorway, you find Green Eyes walk in with a coat slung over his arm. Wait a second.

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter, but your actions that follow negate your words. Your eyes run over his familiar features, and slowly the puzzle pieces start to click in your head. Harry? A thought bomb explodes in your head, and the books tumble from your arms. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yer okay,” he murmurs, stopping in front of you. Kneeling down, you both begin to pick up the books, stacking them on top of each other. “Thanks for gettin’ me set up fer t’morrow though. I appreciate it.”

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can say, because any words that want to come out can’t get past the lump in your throat. One that’s there because of the realization you just had.

Green Eyes and Harry are the same person.

How did I not figure this out sooner?

“So, ya must be Y/N, huh?” he giggles, his head bent down as he helps you pick up the books.

“Y-Yeah, surprise,” you admit, and your laugh soon joins his. Before you know it, the both of you can’t stop laughing.

“Here,” you hear him say. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you holding his hand out for you to take. A cozy looking maroon sweater covers his upper half, and blue jeans don the rest. “Fancy meetin’ you here,” he jokes in between laughs.

“You’re right about that,” you answer, taking his hand. He helps you to your feet where you smooth down the violet skirt of your dress. “I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots.”

“Yer not tha only one, love,” Harry comments, bending over to grab a stack of books. He begins to set one on each desk as he walks down the aisles of them. “But I s’pose there wasn’t any way t’ know.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t find you on Facebook,” you confess, cursing yourself for the slip up a few seconds later. Lifting your head from the book you just set on a desk, you find his amused eyes on you across the room.

“Ah, so ya were stalkin’ me, were ya?” he smirks, his delightful laugh following his words.

“No, I wasn’t! You’re just one of the only colleagues I’ve subbed for who I’ve never met, or like don’t know what they look like.”

Your small stack soon disappears and when you return to the pile at the back of the room, he does too.

“So, what d’ya think? Are ya disappointed then?”

“No,” you say automatically, lifting your eyes to his green ones that land on you. His cheeks lined with a thick, neat beard crease with dimples as he smiles at you.

“Neither am I . . . . Ms. Vance Joy fan,” he returns, holding your gaze. The sincerity in his words gets under your skin, going straight to your heart. The sarcastic joke inside of them makes you giggle.

Clearing your throat, you look away with what you’re sure are blushing cheeks. Most likely, an entire blushing face. “What are you doing here, anyways, if you were gone for the day?”

“I can’t miss me boys’ big game, a few o’ me students are on tha team. I thought I’d catch up on sum emails and grading befo’hand, but didn’t know ya’d still be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just leaving, anyways,” you mutter, your movements stilling.

“I didn’t mean it dat way, love. ‘m glad we finally met, it was about time, anyways,” Harry insists, and you nod before continuing to place a book at each desk. “Hey wait, you said you were short and all plain in yer note. No, yer not, ya fibber.”

“Oh like your description was any more accurate,” you scoff lightheartedly, setting down a book before grabbing another from your dwindling stack.

His rich laugh meets your ears, and you can’t resist looking over to him. “Ya didn’t give yerself enough credit, ya know,” he almost coos, and you swear your heart melted into a puddle right then and there. That’s if it hadn’t done so already when you realized he’s Green Eyes. Swoon.

It’s hard to hold back the excitement curling at the edge of your lips. Soon, you run out of books again and when you take a peek at him, so has he.

“Were ya gonna go?” he questions, and you deal him one when you look at him confused. “T’ tha game, I mean.”

Your body feels like jello, and that any move you make would be sloppy. Embarrassing. That’s the last thing you want to look like in front of him. With his dazzling smile, adorably dimpled cheeks, and the cozy vibes he’s giving off. Not to mention, the clean citrus scent wafting off of him. A smell you certainly would be okay with smelling for hours on end. If only.

“Well bloody Rob around tha corner bailed on me, so I have an extra ticket now. Would ya like t’ join me? I was thinkin’ o’ grabbin’ a sub from ‘round tha corner befo’. Concession food ‘s always too expensive, and never worth tha lines at halftime,” Harry suggests, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. One corner of his mouth climbs up his cheek, making you feel like maybe you’re not alone in these jumbled feelings. Or in the fun you’ve had carrying on this blind relationship with him.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better than the few words Post-It notes can hold.”

Slowly, the other corner of his lips curls upwards, making the dimple fall into his cheek once again. Nodding, his lips split into a full-fledged smile, singing with a chuckle. “I’d really like that,” he reveals before venturing to the door and shutting off the light. Extending an arm, he waves a hand towards himself.

“Hold on, let me get my things.”

“No rush. ’s not like ‘ve waited seven months fer dis or anythin’,” he quips. By now, you’re certain your face resembles a tomato. You hope that in the muted light, perhaps he won’t notice.

Hurriedly, you slip on your light coat and drape your bag over your shoulder. Your eyes catch something as you’re tucking your phone in your pocket. Grabbing one last thing, you turn to find him watching you from the lit doorway.

“What?” he wonders aloud, still with that smile etched onto his face. One you’re fairly sure you could get used to seeing.

“Here,” you tell him, placing the Post-It note in his palm. His fingers dotted with dark hairs brush against you, just for a second longer than need be.

“Ah, can’t forget dis now. Important stuff here.”

“Indeed,” you note, stifling a laugh as the sarcasm floats in the air.

You observe his eyes flit across the paper holding your cursive as your steps echo down the empty hallway.

“Hmmm, funny. It says ‘would you like to meet up sometime’ on here,” Harry reads, casting his twinkling eyes to you. Green eyes. “I was jus’ ‘bout t’ ask ya tha same thing on me next note. But I had sumthin’ that woulda took tha cake fer sure.”

“What’s that?” you remark, wondering how that could be. Those thoughts fly out the window when you feel his arm come around your shoulder. A squeal sounds inside of your head, but hey, at least that’s far less embarrassing than doing it out loud.

“I was gonna tell ya dat Tracy across tha hall from me ‘s leavin’ afta dis year, and I may have recommended a certain sumbody t’ tha principal t’ replace her,” Harry hums, a knowing glint dancing in his eyes as they hover over you. “What d’ya say t’ bein’ colleagues instead o’ bein’ me sub?”

“I think I could get used to that,” you answer, letting your smile take over your entire face.

“So could I, love. So could I.”

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years

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hey, me again (the person you typed as SFP). Thanks for your respond. First of all; you are certainly right about me using fi-te, thats actually i am quiet sure about by now (even though i had some trouble seeing myself as a feeler at first because it is usually described that feelers are in general more empathic and i can assure you no person i know would ever use the word "empathic" to describe me)...

You sound like an NP in what you wrote here, yes.

Fi's appear stoic on the outside, but are a swarm of specific emotions on the inside. They are self-referencing; if something doesn't ignite an emotional response in them, they don't care and aren't particularly sympathetic from "the outside," hence why people call them "cold." But they are very easily insulted, if they're INFPs. Much more so than an ENFP, who will consider it through Ne/Te more often than Fi.

#question

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ifeveristoday · 3 years

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I got out my DVDs for this rewatch (that’s not actually a big deal. I only have season 3 on DVD. 😂) so let’s get to it.

I forgot they did a cold open for this episode!

I know it’s for ambiance but man does Angel have a lot of candles displayed. Probably too ‘mainstream’ for his taste but the thought of Angel furtively going to a Bath and Bodyworks in the mall during their semi-annual sale and just buying out their whole candle selection gives me the purest joy. Let’s be real though, Angel would shop at some boutique/hole in the wall owned by a wizened old character with a twinkle in their eye and everything marked up 20%. Or it would be a steel and glass monstrosity with a collection labeled Candles for Men. That’s the range.

Back to the enormous fire hazard that this scene is -

Wait. Does fire burn on stone?

Shout out to the stunt doubles.

I think that Angel getting food for Buffy for a sort of alfresco picnic while training is really sweet, actually. Also, can't miss the opportunity for both carbs and phallic symbolism ala bread.

Everyone is so embarrassingly horny in this moment. I'd say get a room except they're in a whole giant mansion.

Always remember the bread! What did Angel do with the food after Buffy fled? Fed the no-doubt cursed pigeons that live in Sunnydale.

Thanks for the workout (insert stereotypical dirty laugh).

Oh yes, the awkward 'let's talk about your birthday without mentioning the last birthday you had at all because it's horrifying' chitchat. God, the anxiety Angel is radiating here and Buffy trying to smooth it over. You can't unfrost that trauma cake!

Angel, you utter dork. You're lucky Buffy finds you pretty. Very powerful himbo energy here. And it's nice to see some light-hearted flirting/banter between them.

How do you know when someone's aura's dirty? Buffy is only asking the reasonable questions everyone has.

Do you hear yourself, Giles. "I'm aware of your distaste in studying vibratory stones..." I can't imagine what that section of the Slayer handbook looks like. Are there pull-out charts?

Faith being conveniently gone for this episode. Boo, hiss.

That workout really did a number on Buffy. I see what you're doing with those crystals.

One of the sad parts of rewatching Buffy is that you just don't have the first time discovery feels of watching it - that magic is gone, but even though I know why Buffy's wobbling in her fight, the reveal is still upsetting. Thinking about how in Season 5, when she does get staked, just as she's questioning her powers - and here, where she's losing them.

Also, obvious observation is obvious - the sexual violence imagery is really, really blatant here - with the vampire crouched over her with the stake aimed toward her heart, just as she playfully staked Angel earlier in a more romantically set scene.

AND THEN THE THEME KICKS IN. Like, damn! Three minutes and you can pretty much tell what the plot is going to be - Buffy and Angel's UST is getting out of hand, Buffy's lone Rangering it, and something is wrong with her. And it's her birthday.

And Buffy's resourcefulness saves the day.

Perhaps you shouldn't be throwing knives in the library, Buffy.

Did they do a geography lesson on Cuernavaca? It's also just fun to say. Like La Cienega. Brief moment to ponder yet again about a show set in Southern California, actually shot in Southern California, with the huge Latine population we have and the Spanish-influenced names and culture and - getting sidetracked by all this casual 90s racism.

"We do it every year for my birthday," except your seventeenth, presumably because of the murderous ex-boyfriend stalking the town you live in and all your loved ones. [Or, he did take her and it was not shown on screen!] Sometimes I wonder if the continuity editors just go, you know, I'm going to let this one go for the 'emotion' and not just so years later, a Virgo with a deep-seated need to obsess over throwaway details will go into a thought spiral to make it make sense.

I think this is also the last time Hank Summers was spoken of with any real affection because then he was Deadbeat Dad for the remainder of the show. Oh, look. The Scoobies are surprised about the traditional birthday ice show that I'm going to nitpick about forever.

Oz is so supportive, and then the clunker of a 'deep' line of ice being cool because it's water then it's not. I do like the Whedonesque school of dialogue, but sometimes you gotta reel it back. I remember the dialogue on Dawson's Creek was getting pinged for the teenagers talking like grad students.

Quiet reflection. Oh you poor girl, you have no idea.

Quarterly projections - is a convincing filler phrase for when you don't need to know what the job is, because it's boring but sounds vaguely official. What does Hank actually do? Who cares! He's an asshole.

Sunnydale Arms, because of course, Sunnydale has a broken down abandoned murder hotel.

Quentin Travers. Boo. Hiss.

The scary music is very scary. Also one of the Council flunkies looks like a very young Vincent D'Onofrio.

This scene with them in the library is so bittersweet because Buffy is fishing for Giles's attention as a father figure substitute ("very sophisticated people go!" breaks my heart) and he pointedly is rejecting this for training talk.

Look for the flaw at its center. THE FLAW IS YOU GILES. YOU YOU YOU.

it's just so terrible, this scene because of how methodical and clinical it plays out. And Buffy is just not there, and then Giles smiles like nothing has happened.

Buffy makes it through another night - next day (another reason why this trial is so horrifying is that it takes place over several days - it's not on Buffy's birthday but leading up to it, so the idea of her getting weaker and weaker and unable to fight to make it to 18 in the first place) and it's time for the Cordelia has had enough of toxic masculinity scene!

Also, Willow blithely ignoring a person's feelings and treating Amy as just a rat is played for laughs and cuteness, but yeah...you can't treat people like puppets or rats [law and order sound]

I love Cordelia's coat. And also, while it does suck that she stood him up, he's not entitled to her time or attention and certainly not to threaten her. Go, Cordy! Fight like a girl! Yes! Pummel him into the hallway.

I also love Willow's outfit here because I think the colors are so complementary and warm and it's a cute outfit. Okay, the knit wooly hat is a bit too Blossom-esque, but whatever.

Buffy is tiny, we all know this, but I do think they purposefully dressed her in larger than her size coats in this episode to make her look even more tiny and vulnerable.

Giles is TOO BLASE for this scene also shut your mouth about throwing knives like a girl

"It's an archaic exercise in cruelty." SO WHY DID YOU GO ALONG WITH IT, BRAIN TRUST. (I am going to be very mean to Giles this whole rewatch, deal with it.)

"But I'm the one in the thick of it." No, you're not. You are going to be adjacent to it, at best.

Hey it's that guy!

Okay, in better lighting, flunkie does not look like Vincent D'Onofrio.

It's impossible to pin down one type of Vampire in the Whedonverse, except for the delineation between Grunt Bait Vampires, and Special Guest Star/Master vampires, but Kralik is the only other example of a vampire with mental illness besides Drusilla, yet he's medicated. Makes me wonder how exactly they got Kralik...he was a monster before he was a vampire, but who vamped him? I don't put it past the Watchers to have vampires created for this purpose.

Curse against lawyers!

Xander and Oz bonding over comic books is so fun. I regret they didn't really get closer until after Xander and Willow cheated because Oz was the one male friend Xander had.

They mentioned her birthday! Thinking about Buffy's love of poetry later on, this is a nice little detail, and it *is* a thoughtful, sweet gift. Also those poems: horny. Oh yes, maybe in a restrained way, but Elizabeth Barrett Browning knew what was up.

The Buffy and Angel relationship in season three is full of these starts and stops that I can see why and agree with others about how it's frustrating on a number of levels. They know why they can't be together, but they still try to find a common ground because they want to need the other one. They still have their identities to figure out - Buffy as the slayer and a young adult, Angel as a person, separate from Buffy and being Buffy's ex sort of maybe.

But this conversation in Helpless is genuinely sweet and a glimpse at what a normal couple at the crossroads would talk about - I think I'm also being soft on this because the other Important Male Figure in Buffy's life in this episode lets her down so spectacularly bad, that Angel being supportive and kind in his awkward way is a nice respite. It's good to be away from the angst and the horror that their relationship has had.

And the self-aware puncturing of the Moment between them is something Buffy does very well. "Taken literally, incredibly gross - I was just thinking that too". Look, it's cute and soft and I will allow it.

The horror of this episode (and there are so many) is that we have to watch Buffy become the helpless blonde in a slasher flick who is being chased by the monsters and she can't do anything about it - that she has to be rescued or die. That the real world with men catcalling and bystanders who ignore women's cries of distress is far scarier than the literal demons that inhabit the town - and Buffy brokenly saying she can't just be a person, she can't be helpless like that [like women are, still, today] is a gut punch. It's uncomfortable and unhappy because Buffy is supposed to be the hero, the [sigh] strong female lead who can kick ass and take names, and this episode is all about finding who Buffy is, separate from her super powers. Also an exercise in emotional torture, but must be Tuesday.

The physicality - the weakness that both Buffy and Giles display in this scene is so, so good. The way Buffy's hand trembles toward the needle in the case and the dawning realization of what Giles has done, has chosen to do - and he bloodlessly tells her what the Cruciamentum is.

Her tiny little "Liar."

GOD WHY DIDN'T SHE GET AN EMMY (rhetorical we all know genre tv only matters if it was Game of Rapey Thrones)

"You will be safe now, I promise you." LIAR.

Another puncturing a heavy moment - Cordelia as cavalry - I love it. Cordelia taking the most obvious approach to the situation - 'oh Buffy might have lost her memory, well he's Giles,'

I can't believe they robbed us of a conversation in the car scene with Cordy and Buffy.

Kralik had to have found a polaroid camera and a metallic sharpie for this whole scenario -- OH I KNOW WHO HE REMINDS ME OF. The Night Stalker and any number of serial killers that terrorized SoCal. Is the show being self-aware of the problem with mothers and parents in general?

Probably a glib accident.

I don't have much to say about the part where Buffy hunts Kralik because it's so masterfully done with the atmosphere and music.

Nice of Giles's backbone to enter the chat now.

This is not business. Ooo.

Buffy's "I thought I killed a man" emo overalls!

Like it's shadowy, but there's still enough light to see facial expressions. Lighting guy, I salute you.

Little red riding hood metaphor. Oh, that's so her stunt double.

CREEPY SEXUAL VIOLENCE REARS ITS DEFORMED HEAD AGAIN

Jump stair scare. I remember the first time I saw it, I jolted in the living room.

Serial Killer Shit. Why are vampires such drama queens?

THAT'S RIGHT, BUFFY DID THAT

The ending scene in the library is cathartic in that Buffy gets to stand up for herself finally, and recognizes what Giles gives up by helping her, delayed as it was, also there's the feeling of hate punching Quentin Travers via your eyes.

Still don't think she should have forgiven Giles so easily, but we don't get to see a lot of aftercare for Buffy when she gets hurt, and it is a very tender scene.

The Scoobies are being way too upbeat if they knew about the fact that Giles poisoned Buffy, which is why I'm assuming she told a very abbreviated version of events ending with Buffy killed the bad guy and Giles got fired, oops.

Xander's big strong man comment and then looking immediately to Willow to open the jar and not Oz...

I could watch this episode again with episode commentary from David Fury, but another day.

#a bit later #but here it is #saff rewatches buffy

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