#And sometimes I want to think about how in his absence she's much less able to process her emotions at all
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Pan-Pan, Boléro, and Minkowski's different responses to loss
I want to compare two key lines of Minkowski's which indicate very different responses to grief:
In Ep29 Pan-Pan, Minkowski breaks down and says "Doug Eiffel is gone! There was nothing we could do to save him. It wasn't anyone's fault. It's horrible, and pointless, and it just happened."
In contrast, after arriving at the funeral in Ep46 Boléro, she says "[Lovelace, Hilbert and Maxwell are dead] to make the fact that we're not gone yet important. They're gone... so that we never forget how important it is that we're still here."
TL;DR: In Pan-Pan, Minkowski expresses her unprocessed grief through despair and hopelessness. Whereas in Boléro, she is able to find hope in the loss and lead her crew in trying to move forward. I suggest a significant reason of the difference is the presence of Eiffel to force Minkowski to confront and process the sense of loss.
Pan-Pan: "It's horrible, and pointless, and it just happened"
In Pan-Pan, the whole episode is full of anger and despair, but Minkowski speaking about the horrible pointlessness of losing Eiffel is one of the most painful and hopeless moments. It doesn't feel like she's really speaking to the others. She's focused on her internal despair (as suggested by the fact that she goes on to talk about the cracks, which Lovelace and Hilbert aren't supposed to know about).
The only potentially positive thing Minkowski says here is her recognition that "it wasn't anyone's fault". When Hera and Hilbert have been blaming Lovelace, and Minkowski has been blaming herself, it's significant that she acknowledges that sometimes a horrible thing just happens without there being anyone to blame.
But in this context, and in the tone of voice Minkowski uses, even the lack of blame doesn't really feel like a positive thing. If Eiffel becoming stranded was just pointless and random, if there was nothing any of them could have done to save him, then the next tragedy might be just as unpredictable and unpreventable. Minkowski strikes me as the kind of person who can sometimes fall into the trap of subconsciously wishing that the awful thing is her fault because then at least she'd have control over something. In her train of thought here, the lack of blame is followed by focusing on how horrible and pointless what happened to Eiffel was. The only conclusion she can draw is "it just happened". There's no sense of hope in those lines. Eiffel being stranded just happened, and so do the cracks, and the crew are at the whims of brutal fortune with no meaning to any of it.
Boléro: "They're gone... so that we never forget how important it is that we're still here"
In Boléro, Minkowski can't even say that the tragedy wasn't anyone's fault. For each of the deaths, someone pulled a trigger. There is blame, and some of it lies at her feet. She didn't want to come to the funeral because at first she didn't know what she could say about the deaths she feels responsible for.
Yet even so, this time she finds something reassuring she can say to her crew, a grain of hope she can provide without attempting to diminish the loss: "[they're gone] to make the fact that we're not gone yet important. They're gone... so that we never forget how important it is that we're still here."
In another show, or another context, this kind of line might have had an 'everything happens for a reason' tone, which is something I deeply dislike as a response to other people's loss. But it doesn't feel like that's what Minkowski is saying here at all. She isn't trying to make any grand philosophical statement about the ultimate beneficence of the universe, or about how mortality gives meaning to human life. What she says here is working on a much more personal level. It's more about finding something other than despair that the crew can take from what has happened. This tragedy may still be horrible, but it provides a reminder that they are still alive in a context where that's far from guaranteed. Minkowski emphasises that the fact the survivors are alive matters - her crew matters. I'd argue that this contrasts with the 'it just happened' outlook discussed above.
I don't know how much Minkowski fully feels the importance of them still being there in the moment, but it's something that she can offer her crew, something that she can say in a situation that words can't grasp. I think the moment when she joins the funeral is such a key moment of her leadership. In the end, despite her doubts and struggles, she's there for her crew. Eiffel brought them together for a funeral, but he doesn't know what to say when Hera asks why they have to be gone. Minkowski enters just at the right moment to support her crew and she provides an answer to Hera's question. It's not a perfect answer, but it allows the funeral to move forward. It allows the crew to move forward (even if that emotional movement is somewhat thrown off by a dramatic change in the circumstances). Minkowski starts off the eulogies; she leads her crew in the acknowledgement of what's been lost.
Why such a difference in responses?
There's lots of ways you could interpret the difference between the outlook of these two moments, and there's probably more to say about it though the lens of Minkowski's character development than I'm going to say here. But for me, the main difference between these moments is that, in Pan-Pan, it feels like no processing or recognition of grief has really occurred. When Minkowski says "Doug Eiffel is gone!", it almost feels like the first time that Minkowski has fully confronted and acknowledged the loss. Eiffel has been lost in space for 116 days, but it's only at the end of this episode that Minkowski brings herself to say in her distress calls that he is "presumed dead". Whereas in Boléro, she's already eulogising the dead and thinking about what can be learned from the loss, not even a full day after the mutiny.
Obviously there is much less ambiguity to a body bag (or least there would be, if not for alien interference). But I can't help thinking that the difference between the attitudes towards loss which Minkowski displays in these two quotes is less about the difference in the kind of loss, and more about a situation that prompted and enabled the processing of emotions in Boléro: namely, the funeral. After Eiffel was stranded in space, I think Minkowski probably went months without looking her grief in the eye. But after the deaths of Lovelace, Hilbert, and Maxwell, Eiffel's suggestion of a funeral forces Minkowski to confront her complicated emotions and provides a space in which she can offer direction to her grieving crew.
This is a good illustration of how I think Minkowski and Eiffel complement and support each other in a really valuable way. On his own, Eiffel couldn't provide the leadership that the crew needed for the funeral to work. But without Eiffel, and his determination to recognise the emotional weight of the three deaths, the funeral would never have happened and Minkowski would never have been in a position to provide hope and direction to her crew. When Eiffel was the one the Hephaestus crew were grieving, Minkowski couldn't offer much emotional direction to her crew beyond despair. But when Eiffel is beside her in the grief, saying that the grief deserves to be felt, then Minkowski can find a way for them to move forward emotionally. It's not the deaths that remind them how important it is that they are still here. It's the grief. It's the ability to confront that grief together.
#Wolf 359#w359#Renée Minkowski#Renee Minkowski#Doug Eiffel#I know that this is a lot to say about two short-ish quotes but I think they are symbolic / indicative of broader patterns#Also some of this probably contradicts things that I've said at other points#about how Minkowski dealt with Eiffel being stranded in space#But it's complicated. okay?#Sometimes I want to think about her grieving him and what that would look like#And sometimes I want to think about how in his absence she's much less able to process her emotions at all#Either way I'm emotional about them#This wasn't even initially meant to be a Minkowski & Eiffel post tbh#I just had this thought as I was writing this#It also wasn't meant to be 1000 words but these things just happen#Btw when I say I dislike the idea 'everything happens for a reason'#I fully respect if people find that a useful approach for their own personal misfortunes#but as soon as you start saying it to anyone else who is suffering#it feels distasteful to me#Maybe everything happens for a reason but sometimes the reason is shit etc#Eiffel & Minkowski#w359 spoilers#Wolf 359 spoilers#the empty man posteth#tw death#tw grief
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how about for arthur, john, and charles: your hcs on how each would react to a shyer (not naive) reader who has a crush on him and keeps needing his “help” for various things so she can get his attention, and eventually working up the nerve to be more forward and hopefully pique his interest. who would catch on the fastest? would any of them realize before or after she becomes more forward and how would they react from there? smut absolutely welcome 🙏🏻
HC for Shy!Reader ft. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Charles Smith
HCs are so easy and fun to write
Warnings: smut
Arthur Morgan
Arthur did not allow you much time to go and ask for help given his repeated and lengthy absences from camp
But when he was around to help, he put his all into it
No matter how mundane or small it may be, he always made sure to help you until satisfaction. Similar to the way he helps random people around the map, he helps you in the same way.
But the level at which you asked for help was quite baffling to Arthur, but he never made a comment on it. He would never want to make you feel as though you were somehow less competent at doing things than the average person
He liked the way you would try to strike up conversation with him whenever he was helping you, recounting his travels to you in detail upon request
Part of him wondered why the two of you didn’t just talk more often outside of his time helping you. What he didn’t know is that you were unable to come up with a decent, not-too-forthcoming, excuse as to why the two of you should spend more time together alone
He probably wouldn’t catch onto that fact too quickly, instead thinking you were just a person who wasn’t afraid of asking for help
He’d definitely think something was up when he realizes he’s the only one you ask
Maybe he’s just a dependable guy? He thinks to himself
But when you ask him to help you go fishing, come to find out you didn’t even have a rod, it was too late to back out as the two of you were already alone down the lake at Clemens point
He felt quite touched when you told him you really just wanted to spend time together, and that you weren’t sure how else to ask
Insisted you be more forward with him to establish a level of comfort between you two, but he still found it quite cute when you would shyly ask him for help
Eventually led to you two becoming very close, noticeably sweet on each other. Even the gang was able to catch on.
NSFW
Even though the two of you had been in an established relationship, your bashfulness did not end.
Asking for help for sexual matters was something you subtly hinted at or wordlessly requested, rather than outright saying it
Arthur himself was a man who needed clear permission, and your hints would be met with crudely sexual questions asking for confirmation
“You wanna have sex? Is that what you’re saying? Or am I understanding this all wrong.”
His forwardness would have you burying your burning face in your shared cot as you nodded
Arthur was a very perceptive man, so when asking if he was rubbing your clit just right or if he needed to slow his thrusts down, you’d squeak out an embarrassed response
When you wanted him to touch you in a certain place, you’d nudge him in the direction, yank on his hand or hair, or simply just bashfully point wordlessly
Makes sure to constantly ask questions because he knows you’re not very vocal when it comes to self advocacy
Extremely tender and very patient with you, just wants to make you feel comfortable in the end to be able to vocalize your needs
John Marston (my pookie)
This man is as dense and stupid as a bag of rocks
The man himself doesn’t even know what he wants, so figuring out what you want is mental gymnastics on its own
He’s around pretty often helping around camp, and he doesn’t mind taking on the brunt of your chores as well
Doesn’t realize what you’re trying to do so sometimes he turns you down, saying he’s too busy
“Are you really that helpless?”
He’d stand there confused as you stormed off angrily, only to have him follow you around camp begging for forgiveness
“I ain’t mean that, I’m happy to help you. I’m a fool, honest.”
You’d forgive him eventually
If it’s a more tedious task you need help with, he would get into the zone. Honing in all his attention while trying to fulfill his efforts in helping you as competently as he can
Focuses so much, that sometimes if you try to strike up a conversation about his day, he’ll either shut you down, or be so concentrated he won't even register your question
“Hold on, can you stop talking for a sec? I’m tryna concentrate.”
Would be equally as confused when you huff angrily and turn away while crossing your arms
You realize yourself that John isn’t picking up any hints, so you offer your own help as a form of “repayment” for everything he’s done for you
Is also dense about that
“I appreciate the help, little lady. Though I don’t see why you’d willingly offer to help to fix a wagon wheel.”
Kinda laughable how oblivious he is
Eventually you have to muster up all the courage possible to ask him on a date to town
Emphasize the word date. Or else he’ll think you just want help with errands or something
Will accept, but won’t shut up the whole time about how sudden this is and how he would’ve never seen it coming
NSFW
Would get very excited if you even hint at something sexual
Much like Arthur, he’d ask for confirmation, but much more enthusiastically
“So you wanna fuck right? Right?!”
Kinda desperate but who can blame him, you’re equally as horny
Get so caught up in excitement he gets straight to it, has to be reminded to ask questions and check up on you
The one time where you actually feel compelled to tell him things straight up instead of just hinting at it
“For the love of god, slow down Marston!”
He would for a few minutes, then get back to it
Would still be shy with asking, but you get so frustrated with how dense he is you’re kinda forced to
His excitement rubs off on you, so he doesn’t mind at all when you just shove his face between your thighs, that does all the speaking for you
Says shit like “You like that, don’t you?” without actually waiting for a response
Gets very embarrassed when you say no and ask him to do it another way
Charles Smith
This man's love language is literally acts of service
He’d probably end up falling for you in the process of helping you out so often
Will be more than happy to take you up on every request for help
Not only does it make you happy, but it makes him feel good for being able to help someone
Literally thrives off of it
He would be the one to pick up on it the fastest, but he wouldn’t make a comment. He doesn’t want to scare you off by being too forward and therefore curtailing your requests for help
Would be very intimate while helping you
“Hey, come closer to take a look at how I do it.”
You would lean in incredibly close, so much so that you’d be able to hear his breathing
Would sometimes take your hands and make you do it as well
Hands would linger far longer than necessary while helping you
And you aren’t naive! You knew what he was doing! He was flirting with you!
From an outside perspective, it appeared as though the two of you were just sitting around together and flirting rather than doing something to help you
“Like this?” You’d ask, which was followed by a giggle
It was pure self indulgence
He would often approach you himself and ask if you needed help on anything
Other times, he’d ask if you wanted to learn something new, showing you how to make weapons or how to identify certain plants from one another
Some tasks would be found mundane by others, but it was the most entertaining thing in the world as long as Charles was teaching you
You would feel most comfortable with him with asking him out, your question sounding more like a mutual profession of love from one another
NSFW
So so gentle
Much like in your relationship, you’d feel far more comfortable expressing your wants and desires to him
But you still struggle to maintain eye contact while saying it
If you turn your face away during sex he’ll gently cup your cheek and move your head to face him
Can pick up on your body language if you don’t feel too vocal
Will slow down or pick up the pace based on how your body reacts
Your moans are also a good indicator for him to know
Will also ask you questions before and after sex, like your some sort of food critic and you’re giving him feedback on his dish
You guys will probably sit down and have whole talks about your sex life, as embarrassed as it makes you, but he finds it necessary
Guy is a huge giver, in no time, he’ll know your body and what you do and don’t like like the back of his hand
#red dead redemption 2#red dead fandom#red dead redemption 2 x reader#red dead redemption community#van der linde gang x reader#writing#red dead fanfiction#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan smut#John Marston#john marston x reader#john marston x reader smut#john marston smut#arthur morgan x reader smut#charles smith#charles smith x reader#charles smith x reader smut#charles smith smut#charles smith x reader fluff#arthur morgan x reader fluff#John Marston x reader fluff#john marston hc#arthur morgan hc#charles Smith hc#john marston fluff#arthur morgan fluff#charles Smith fluff
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Almost Part 5
Bucky Barnes x FemReader!
Angst, hurt, heartbreak
Warnings: cussing
AN: yall, I love this series so far. It hurts my heart but damn.
Enjoy ❤️
You had been back from your mission for about a month now. Whatever this thing was between you and Steve, was still happening. He didn’t seem to be in any rush to define the relationship, and to be honest you were in no hurry to define anything either. Having fun might have been an acceptable answer, since the two of you certainly had a lot of that since your return. But even despite the physical attraction the two of you clearly felt towards each other, there was also the emotional connection that you two had.
You were surprised to find out just how easy it was to open up to Steve. He was a great listener. You were used to being the listener in situations like these. You had been the listener for Nat whenever she needed to talk and you had been the listener for Bucky on those many nights that he needed someone to vent to. It was nice. Freeing in a way to be able to talk to Steve. He didn’t make you feel ashamed for talking about your feelings, even when those feelings sometimes drifted to his best friend.
You found yourself thinking about Bucky less and less. Not seeing him around as often also helped your heart heal. He would turn up occasionally of course, for briefings or training sessions with Sam, but other than that he had been an anomaly to see at the headquarters. Steve offered little insight into Bucky’s whereabouts, although you wouldn’t dare ask now. Since you and Steve were… together… In some capacity anyway, you did your best to refrain from talking about Bucky Barnes.
But still, your heart ached for him in ways that you couldn't understand. The ache didn’t hurt as much as it had that night on the balcony, but even now the absence of someone who you held so dearly hurt, despite yourself… You decided that it was okay to let go. You were happy being with Steve. He was what you needed and in return you wanted to be the best version of yourself to prove you were worthy of being with him. And you knew that that meant letting go of Bucky.
Of course, fate has a funny sense of humor, because as you were passing through the hallway one late night, a door opened up and a beautiful woman stepped outside. You had been in your sleep wear, a water bottle from the kitchen in your hand, and you damn near ran head first into the woman. Your training kicked in and with the sight of a stranger in the Avenger’s tower made you grab her arm and pin it behind her back. The woman let out a muffled scream and dropped her purse.
“I’m sorry! Please, don’t hurt me!” She squealed as you pinned her against the wall.
“Who are–”
Before you could finish your question, the same door burst open and out came a shirtless, wild eyed Bucky. He had a small pistol in his hand as he scanned the hallway.
“Nadia what the hell-” his words fell away as his eyes settled on you. He lowered his weapon immediately.
“James, help me,” she whimpered.
You and Bucky locked eyes for a moment and then it suddenly hit you all at once. You hadn’t realized that you had gone down the wrong hallway, and that you were in front of Bucky’s apartment. The route used to be a familiar trek for you, but now… This girl had been leaving his company in the late hours of the night…
You dropped her arm immediately and watched as she stumbled back over to Bucky.
Right. The girlfriend.
You felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment as you quickly bent down to pick up the purse and hand it to her.
“I’m sorry, I thought–”
“What the hell?” Bucky asked angrily, holding Nadia and soothing her hyperventilation.
The anger in Bucky’s voice hit a nerve with you. It didn’t make you emotional, like you thought seeing him, and his girlfriend together, would. Instead, you found yourself clenching your jaw in frustration.
“I said sorry, didn’t I?” You snapped, “Maybe next time get your girl here an escort out the door, before someone far scarier than myself finds her in the halls. I think Tony has a special pass for late night visitors.”
Nadia scoffed at the inflection of your tone, and your allusion to her being a hooker. She looked to Bucky for some sort of help, but he just stared daggers at you. You gave her slight smirk and you put your hands on your hips.
Nadia just snatched her purse from me and stormed off down the hallway. You watched as she huffed away, and you felt a small smirk creep up on your face as you turned to look at Bucky. At first, the only thing you could see on his face was anger, his face was a bit flushed and his eyebrows were furrowed. But you swore you could have seen a spark of amusement lingering in his eyes as he stared you down.
“What the hell is your problem?” he demanded, shoving his pistol in the waistband of his sweats.
“I don’t have one,” you said between your clenched teeth, “Like I said, it was an accident, I didn’t realize this was your hallway.”
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and you just gave out an angry huff of breath. You knew it didn’t look good for you to be so cross. Just because you had bumped into the woman that he chose over you. It was crass and unprofessional… but you didn’t care.
“Whatever, I don’t have to put up with this shit,” you muttered as you turned around to leave.
A cool metal hand caught the back of your arm, not hurting you, but gripping tight enough to stop you from leaving.
“Wait, I–”
You spun around on him, anger flashing in your eyes as you faced him.
“Oh! Are you finally going to talk to me, James? Or yell at me some more for scaring your girlfriend?”
Bucky frowned at you, clearly getting worked up as you were. You knew you needed to be careful. You didn’t want to say the wrong thing in front of Bucky, but he knew exactly how to work you up into a fit.
“You haven’t exactly been a conversationalist with me either, you know,” his voice dripped with sarcasm as he spoke. “You run away for a month and a half, not telling anyone where you’re going.”
“That’s not fair, I was on a mission…”
“Don’t use that as a fucking excuse. We all go on missions, but that was different and we both know it,” Bucky snapped, his temper rising as he was losing control of himself.
“Do you know how worried I’ve been? You, Steve, and Sam disappear after the party and fuck off to some place that no one knows where? What the hell was I supposed to think when Tony said you three had a snag in the mission. I thought you were dead. All of you.”
“We were busy…”
“Oh yeah, I know. You’ve been really busy lately, haven’t you?”
You felt your blood freeze. He obviously was referring to Steve. You weren’t sure how he knew, since you and Steve had made sure not to tell anyone anything yet. You didn’t want to announce a relationship if there wasn’t one. So how did Bucky find out? Did Steve crack and tell him? Had he been lying to you?
Heat quickly found your stomach again. You clenched your fists and met his icy gaze.
“I don’t see what business of that is yours,” you said sharply.
“He’s my best friend,” Bucky said tensely.
For a moment it looked like Bucky would continue talking, but he tightened his mouth into a line and just kept a steady gaze on you. You crossed your arms, mimicking him. You felt your temper rising to dangerous levels.
“Whatever you want to say, just fucking say it.”
Bucky scoffed out a laugh. But you weren’t laughing. You took a step towards him, willing your eyes to be sharp as daggers as you stared at him
“Say it.”
You saw the fire burning in Bucky’s eyes and he clenched his jaw before opening his mouth.
“There were other ways to get back at me, you know,” Bucky said in a deadly low voice, “But fucking my best friend is an all time low.”
You flinched as if he had slapped you.
Your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as you tried not to cry in front of him. You wanted to yell at him, scream at him. How dare he accuse you of using Steve as a weapon against him. How dare he get mad at you for trying to move on, when he didn’t want you. Rather than curse him up and down the hallway, you just took a step back from him, feeling oddly hollow and cold.
“I didn’t know you thought so little of me,” you said in a small voice, “but I guess that checks out doesn’t it? I guess you never thought much of me… ever.”
Bucky’s anger seemed to fall away instantly. He uncrossed his arms and opened his mouth to say something, but you were gone. You were running down the hall, tears blurring your vision as you ran. You didn’t stop to listen if he was following you. You flung open your door and slammed it shut as you slid down against the door immediately. Tears poured down your face as you sobbed. You wrapped your arms around your knees, feeling like that was the only thing you could do to keep yourself together.
You sat there, the rest of the night and early into the morning feeling so empty that if a breeze were to come into the apartment, you knew you would float away. Part of you wished that you would. You wondered how many times your heart could break before it was useless. You wondered why you continued to let James Buchanan Barnes break your heart, if you really had any control over that at all. You had hoped that being with Steve would help. Maybe Bucky was right? Were you using Steve to get over him? The thought made you want to vomit.
All you could be certain of was the pain. You felt it everywhere and nowhere all at once. It lived in you. Consumed you. What you hated the most was that you couldn’t distinguish love from the pain anymore. All you knew was that whenever you thought of Bucky, the pain returned with a vengeance. Now it had settled deep in your bones and it made you want to die.
Part 6
#fem reader#reader x marvel#marvel fanfic club#marvel#bucky x you#james bucky buchanan barnes#bucky fic#bucky x reader#fan fic author
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I’ve had this idea for a book a while ago, and started thinking of it again today. I don’t feel like I can write it, but I can at least present the concept in a text post.
The book begins with an underground temple of an ancient female goddess; she’s been watching the state of her wards, and she’s angry. She’s been sealed underground, but she’s been festering anger and power, and finally, her seal breaks. The night sky lights up, and consequently, every m*n on the surface on the earth finds that he can no longer move.
Some are motionless on their beds, some have fallen to the floor, finding themselves completely immobile. They cannot speak either. They’re found by their flatmates and wives who are concerned, but ultimately unable to do anything about it; they can bring water and food, but he’s not able to eat or drink. Women quickly realize it’s all of them, and it’s not an individual illness. Female researches, scientists and doctors hurry to figure out what is wrong; but there’s no cause whatsoever, they’re all just immobile and mute. They can’t go to work, they can’t eat or drink, they can’t do anything.
In absence of m*n in the work force, women are quickly forced to take over their shifts and get their work done for them; some work is taken over by co-workers, and sometimes it’s a sister or a wife who is called to guess his passwords, and stays for the job. A lot are facing unpleasant discoveries about the m*n in their life, such as their p**n habits, proofs of pedophilia, stalking, exploitation of prostituted women, cheating, grooming younger women, misogynistic ideas online. The women get even less friendly-feelings towards their male counterparts once they have access to all of their finances - they quickly figure out just how selfish and secretive they’ve all been.
Meanwhile, there is some progress in the male condition. Some males have managed to move around a little, not to speak, but some have realized that the bed/floor they’re laying on, has gotten pretty dirty, and decided to clean it. As soon as they had this thought, an ability of movement was granted to them, and very relieved, they were managing to drink water and wash themselves, only to find themselves immobilized once again, this time on their bathroom floors. Few of them have managed to get up again. Few of them figured out just why. None of them have been able to get out of the house, or to get to work.
Women taking the places of CEO’s get access to the financial records of the companies, and very clearly see just how much it’s possible to pay the workers, vs what they’re actually paid, in order to increase the profits. And women decide to put that practice to the depth of hell. New laws are made where all the profits are equally redistributed to the workers, giving them all a chance for a safe and comfortable life. And these workers, are now women only, so for the first time ever, women are the only ones with significantly big buying power.
Women generally use their money to provide food and safety for their families, so with the increased availability of food, furniture, clothes and weather-protective items, the economy is experiencing a new type of boom, where things geared towards women are now sold easily, and women are gaining the power to purchase their own land, houses, farms.
The women are also having some angry confrontations with the still-immobilized, still speechless m*n on the floor; about their misogyny, about the cheating, about the lies, sexualizing minors, leading businesses that cause massive damage and harm to the workers, about how life is suddenly, easier somehow, instead of being harder and more miserable. Domestic violence victims, for the first time, are safe to walk out of their homes, to report, to start their own lives, because now the entire earth is a safe place. Victims of pedophilia, incest, rape, imprisonment, pimping, are now free to speak up, to do in fact, whatever they wanted to the now motionless abusers who are lying on the floor, unable to hit, rape, abuse, murder, talk back, unable to deny anything.
The m*n who did realize they can move, have managed to figure out how to do it more. They won’t be able to move if they’re thinking about their jobs, or what they need to say to their wives to make sure things go their way, they don’t get to move if they want to do anything for their own satisfaction. But, they can move if they decide to wash the floor. Or wash the toilet. If they think about making a meal for his wife. If they’re doing laundry. Same as it appeared, the ability to move disappears as soon as they fail to be doing that specific tasks. They’ll be allowed to eat or drink, but only as much as it’s necessary for them to be doing the manual labour.
They women notice, and convey this information; m*n, if you want to move, think about domestic labour. Some m*n are just grateful to move, and start cleaning the houses, washing the windows, doing laundry, making meals - but they also don’t get to do meals they like themselves. They get to move if they make food their wives like. Some m*n decide this is beneath them, and refuse to do anything until they’re at the very brink of death by dehydration. Some decide to die rather than to take this role upon themselves. They go angrily, but quietly. They don’t get to yell their indignation at their housemates. The women sadly realize there’s nothing they can do at this point - the m*n have chosen their own destiny. They could have lived, if they just did a bit of housework.
The world is looking for an explanation of what is going on, and the book follows a team of female archeologists, who have recorded some explainable findings, patterns and rocks leading close to the underground temple, that we have seen in the beginning. They feel they’re onto something, and their exploration is being reported on social media, the women hoping to find out what has caused this world-wide event of m*n losing their power to move.
Some women decide this is an act of god and something that cannot be influenced or explained, and the reasoning for it is mysterious, but they’re doing the best they can to keep leading their lives, now free of harassment and sexual abuse. Some women decide, that since it destroyed their relationships and love, it must be an act of a demon or a devil, and they gather and start a cult of blaming other women for it, trying to find which horrid witch was evil enough to do this to them, personally. They’re wreaking havoc on the most vulnerable women in the population, before they’re seized and stopped in their tracks, other women refusing to tolerate the religious nonsense, and violence towards their own.
The women gain power to reduce carbon footprint and exploitation of the third-world workers and resources; now that the goal is no longer to increase profit, these issues become resolvable by paying for the resources fairly, and quitting the practices that cause insane amounts environmental damage. The women are taking several months to get it down, but within a year, practices have changed, and new laws have been put into motion to prevent the development of more harm.
It’s now months since the m*n have been rendered motionless, and some have started recovering, and walking around to some point; but never outside their house. They’ve been grateful they’re allowed to eat meals, and sleep in a bed. They’re spending their days doing housework, and they also found out, that there’s differences in what each of them has to do in order to move. If this specific one had a woman continuously cook for him, and clean for him, then these specific actions are what he has to do. If the woman has been taking care of his child around the clock, now he has to do it, in the same way she would, or he goes limp again. If he wasn’t specifically counting on a woman to do these tasks, then he’s recovering a little bit faster than the others, allowed to get some free time, only unable to tell when it’s going to end.
They discover they can talk, if they’re saying pleasing and loving things to women. They can clean themselves, as long as the soaps they use are nice-smelling to women. They can fix their appearance, as long as women like to see them like that. They can make themselves sexually appealing, but only if a woman is in the mood for that. If they reach to touch her, to make her, the ability to move is denied for days. Some of them learn the first time; some of them fail to survive this.
The team of the female archeologists, after going through multiple perils, finally find their way down into the ancient goddess temple, and they’re rewarded for their effort; they’re allowed to speak to the goddess directly. They ask, for how long is this going to last? And she replies “For as long as the opposite lasted.”
-
With a book like that, I’d want to put all m*n into a situation where all women have been at one point or another. Where their survival depends directly on being useful and convenient to m*n. Where their appearance, demeanor and behaviour is allowed to exist, only while it’s convenient and attractive to m*n. Where their only option is to appeal to m*n, offer up their labour, their time and energy, their love and compassion, to be rewarded with nothing but continued survival. Where the only place they’re allowed to exist in, is a property of a male. Where the laws are being made not for their success, but for them to be stripped from protection and rights. Where people in power have no regard for their interests.
This is not a revenge fantasy; no m*n is murdered, tortured, raped, dismembered, sold into sex slavery, or turned into a corpse against his own will, they all have a choice, and it’s a choice women have been invisibly making for centuries. I’d like m*n to be aware, just for a moment, what that position feels like, what it means looking at a life of servitude, versus ensured silence and death.
It also calls attention to how bad our situation really is, or was at some point in our lives. We had all but no choice, but to do housework for males at some points in our lives. To cook for them, to clean their property, to take care of their children/animals/possessions, to comfort them, to please them, to appeal to them, to endure whatever abuse they put our way, if we want to keep living and to be acknowledged as human beings. We don’t get rights if we don’t prove to be useful. That is painful. That feels like being motionless and useless and in danger of perishing, unless we do as we’re told, as we’re conditioned to. I want us to be aware as well, that this is a crime against our humanity. We never should have been in that position. Nobody should.
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so its the middle of the night and i'm rereading one of the earlier sections of the yuri zine and i come back to this quote, "sometimes when looking at my self is as painful as staring directly into the sun, my solution has typically been to study the reflection in the moon" and it all just sort of hit me. holy hell. inside mari. to study yourself through another pair of eyes, in her case. this language unlocked so many different ways of understanding inside mari that i just started scribbling on my ipad until next thing i knew an hour had passed and i ran out of white space and how did i even get here? anyways. here is the batshit insane looking page where i dumped all the thoughts i'm going to attempt to organize them here? this image is just so funny to me now i thought i should include it.
the horror of Looking at your own self.
a lot of yuri zine talked about reading and interacting with yuri as a form of self identification. and how those bring up both good feelings (gender validating) and bad feelings (confronting yourself and your regret and your shame for whatever reasons you may have). both as a consumer of this media but also found within the characters themselves in the stories we read. considering how the big reveal of the entire story is about how. in an attempt to identify herself, mari was forced to truly look at herself. something she literally couldn't handle. throughout the zine, the authors all in one way or another touch upon the idea of how uncomfortable it is to confront yourself. to look at yourself. its shown through jennifer and needy's relationship in jennifer's body, which i hadn't thought about but one of the essays in this zine explains it so well. it's shown through when readers see too much of themselves in certain characters. this feeling of discomfort exists both in and out of the texts we talk about. and how this sort of leads into the understanding that yuri is "the relationship to absence, to projection." the yuri that of inside mari is how she absents herself as a way to allow herself to love Yori (to love girls in general). (i want to emphasize how in allowing herself, it implying the norm for her was denying herself, stopping herself, punishing herself for feeling the way she did) because the whole time, the mari we see is just mari the whole time. not komori body swapped into mari's body. the mind warping mental gymnastics she goes through to live this sort of delusion allows her to be a boy who's just trapped in a girl's body. it allows her own self to love girls and accept this because. it's not mari thinking these things, it's komori who is a boy so. it's allowed. this also speaks to Shuzo Oshimi’s thoughts on being a girl. the ways mari goes about identifying her self while at the same time struggling with the mere act of Looking at her self is so yuri. i'm going to come back to this after i talk about Identity for a little bit hold on.
what is it that mari yearns for? what is it about gender?
mari's fragmented identity splits into three parts: fumiko, mari, and komori. her attachment to komori, the male identity she takes on stems from her hetero-patriarchal understanding of the world. she envies him for being able to experience sexuality and love girls in ways she feels she can't. but she ultimately abandons this identity too and exists as something separate from all three. or something that combines them all? the story ends with her alive and finally happy with herself. her attachment to komori's identity is less about his masculinity or maleness so to speak, but what she really desires is to love other girls in the specific (romantic, sexual) way he is allowed to in this society. her yearning is lesbian. i read her experience playing with gender not as her struggling with her own gender identity, but instead i felt that her beef was with the social performance of it all. i think she's a girl who doesn't feel connected to the daily practices and rituals that signal femininity. explaining why she sort of.. forgets how to do makeup and dress herself when she exists as the clueless komori inside mari's body. she uses him to liberate herself from these expectations. maybe i'm just full of shit. maybe her gender is just lesbian after all. another essay in the yuri zine talks about how yearning is gay. yearning is queer and yearning is lesbian. that yearning isn't limited to wanting to be with someone, but wanting to be someone. to live life the way they do. which hey. is literally what mari ends up doing in this story. what she yearns for is a reality that cannot exist (or rather, one that she cannot confront/reconcile with yet) she cannot look at herself, so she absents herself in order to allow herself to pursue her own desire. she felt like she couldn't pursue her desire in her current self, in her current standing as a girl in society.
what does it mean to feel like a person? to feel human?
i need to watch that interview everyone talks about "yuri made me human" because i already feel that truth in my core but i don't even know what the hell they're talking about in that interview. from the zine, "is the fantasy of yuri about finding a way to become a person. when you don't feel like one?" yes. but. what does it mean to feel like a person? in mari's case, which person? her First person? the one that died with her grandmother and replaced with a new name and identity by a mother she cannot understand or bond with? her Second person? mari? the person she grows to hate? the one that is forced to perform these ritualistic practices that signal femininity but is never allowed to desire it for herself? her Third person? komori? the depressed pathetic sexually frustrated hikikomori who is too stupid to see how good he has it* that he doesn't have to fend off boys who only objectify her? that he can have a girlfriend and kiss her and hold her hand in public without punishment? the komori that ultimately broke under the heavy weight of the truth that is not her. she is not him. she is no one for a while. yuri is everything and yuri is nothing. in fact, when mari is in that coma or whatever, yori desperately wants her back again, wants her awake, and she begs “don’t disappear” until she wakes up into someone again. someone for yori. but most importantly, someone for herself (the first time i read this, i felt sort of disappointed? that yori and mari didn’t get to live together forever but those feelings didn’t last long... i don’t actually want that for them. in fact i actually really love that they were able to reconcile their feelings for each other and also end on a note where yori goes to school and mari seems to actually be happy and secure with her own self) anyways. she struggles to connect to her fractured identities until through her growth as a character she not only starts feeling like a person but becoming one, probably for the first time.
inside mari is fascinating to look at and unpack from a yuri pov. i loved thinking about how this too was yuri, that she envies komori for his ability to pursue and love women. the way she projected onto him. the way she wanted something nonexistent and intangible. the way she yearned through imagining she existed as something other than herself. the way she shattered when faced with herself. the way she existed not as a participant, nor an observer. the way she loved yori so much she became everyone and no one.
in conclusion please read yuri zine and please also read yaoi zine 1 and 2 they are genuinely so good. bless the minds of everyone who worked on these.. the yaoi yuri theorists i look up to.... there's no real conclusion to this ramble. i hate conclusions. i'm done. good night...
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Grace - Chapter 9/10
Title: Grace [AO3]
Characters: Thomas, Alison, Mike, Baby Cooper, the Ghosts, the Plague Ghosts
Summary: “Mike and I are going to have a baby.”
Baby Cooper’s arrival at Button Houses changes many things, and all for the better - at least at first. Or as Mary once said: babies can see ghosts sometimes but usually only up until they can walk.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - Epilogue
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A/N: There is a little song in this chapter which I wrote for this story. If you want to know how it sounds, just click on the lyrics and you will be directed to a post with an audio file and sheet music.
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Grace
Chapter 9: The Present
In the weeks between Grace’s birthday and Christmas, a new sense of normal slowly creeps into their lives. What used to be their everyday routine gently shifts into something that still feels familiar but is also undeniably different. Alison would like to say she’s getting used to it but every now and then she feels this pang of regret deep in her chest when it hits her just how much has changed and that things won’t ever go back to the way they were before. It’s something she fears she may never quite come to terms with.
The ghosts have started to join her, Mike and Grace for breakfast in the mornings again – all of them except for Thomas, that is. His absence doesn’t exactly feel like a missing puzzle piece because he’s no longer missing, thank god. It’s more like he’s not quite fitting into the space he has carved out for himself over the years anymore. Alison knows he will again one day, has to believe that he’ll be able to find a new place and purpose for himself with time, but right now he is lost and she hates that there is nothing she can do about it.
Her only comfort is that he is not alone in his self-isolation. The villagers from the basement have taken it upon themselves to ensure that he never lacks company when he wants for it. Just before breakfast, they come upstairs to visit him, and every now and then Alison catches one of them, mostly Nigel or Jean, asleep with him in his room when she checks up on Thomas in the mornings. She hasn’t asked any of them about it – she has a feeling they stay with him on the bad days, and she’s glad for it. While her relationship with Thomas has mended somewhat since their last heart-to-heart, she doesn’t want every single conversation they have to be about Grace or grief or loss. So instead of saying something, she does her best to have faith that Nigel and the others will take care of him when it all becomes too much.
She tries to find other ways to be there for Thomas; ways that allow him to forget about Grace for a little while. On the weekends, when life is less hectic at Button House, they meet up to watch the sunrise together now. It’s a new part of Alison’s routine that she wouldn’t want to miss for anything in the world, even if it makes her late for breakfast sometimes. It’s just her and Thomas by the little well on those cold winter mornings. Thomas claims it’s the best spot to watch the sunrise but Alison suspects he chose it for more sentimental reasons. After all, they had shared their first true connection by this well. Back then, Thomas had so rarely dropped the theatrics that she still remembers how surprised she was to find him gazing at the sun instead of her and saying something truly poetic. He had simply talked in that moment – without thinking, without carefully crafting each and every word – and it had been mesmerising to see the beautiful, broken soul he always tried to hide laid bare for once.
He used to talk to Grace like this, back when Storytime was still a thing. Alison has only listened in on them a few times in the beginning when she was still unsure Thomas would be able to manage Grace on his own but she remembers being struck by the honesty in his voice when he spoke of lands far ago.
Thomas isn’t quite that open with her now when they watch the sunrise together but sometimes, when he feels particularly melancholic, he quietly talks about his childhood and the times he would sit by the window in the morning, thinking that the sun was just as unreachable and unapproachable as his parents were. More often he is quiet, though, and then Alison will fill the silence with stories about her own loneliness growing up. It’s a theme that connects them despite the different lives they’ve led, and when Thomas quietly tells her one morning about the time his mother caught him writing with his left hand and how she punished him for it, Alison thinks out of the two of them, she got the better end of the stick. She might have lost her parents but at least she never had to doubt they loved her.
Thomas is not the only one she spends a little extra time with in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Despite everything that’s going on it hasn’t escaped her notice that Julian still looks guilty whenever he interacts with Grace. There is a strain around his eyes when he reaches out to her, and an unhappy frown mars his face every time Grace inevitably giggles and says his name in response.
“It’s just not fair,” he growls out one day after he abruptly left the room and Alison hurried after him. He said the same thing before, back in the kitchen when she asked him to boop Grace’s nose, and Alison’s chest tightens when she hears the guilt in his voice, disguised as frustration. He looks like a caged tiger as he paces up and down in front of her; like he would give anything not to have his power in that moment.
“Thomas doesn’t begrudge you this – you know that, don’t you?” Alison asks softly.
Julian sighs and stops pacing long enough to turn away from her. He looks out the window and shrugs. “It still doesn’t feel right. He should be able to do this. What he had with her–“
He breaks off with a shake of his head and Alison wishes she could reach out offer physical comfort somehow because he looks like he needs it.
“Don’t underestimate how much you mean to Grace,” she says quietly, willing her words to get through to him. “Every interaction she still gets to have with you guys is precious now. It lets her know you’re still there – that Thomas is still there, even if she can’t see or hear him. You’re helping, Julian. Trust me.”
Julian bows his head. “Doesn’t feel that way.”
“I know,” Alison sighs. She wants to tell him that it will one day but the truth is she has no way of knowing if it’s going to. She has no idea if any of this will ever feel right again; if Julian will come to terms with the gift he has been given or if Thomas will ever be able to smile with genuine happiness around Grace again.
So instead of making promises she may not be able to keep, she steps up next to Julian and says, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad she’s still got you.”
————
She’s talking to Fanny about the specifics of this year’s Christmas tree – something she knows Fanny is very particular about – when Fanny suddenly interrupts her halfway through a ramble about baubles to say, “Alison, I have been thinking about the dilemma with young Grace and discovered a way to help you keep her memories of us alive.”
With a meaningful look, she nods down at the phone, the one Alison has been using to take notes on. It takes her a moment to make the connection but when she does, her eyes widen and she laughs. “Oh my god, of course! How haven’t I thought of this? I can take pictures of you and show them to her!”
“No, my dear,” Fanny says, her voice coloured with fond patience. “You can do better than that – you can take pictures of Grace and me together.”
Alison laughs again because the idea is so simple, so logical that it never crossed her mind. She’s been planning on making painting of Grace’s memorable interactions with the ghosts, thinking it’s the only way to capture those moments, but this – this is so much better. This is proof. This means Grace will never doubt her ghostly childhood friends are real because Fanny will be right there in the pictures with her, pulling silly faces to make her smile or frowning down at her writing over her shoulder once she goes to school. They will give her something tangible to hold onto when her memories fade and start to feel more like murky tales she’d once been told, and that means everything.
Alison looks up from her phone and feels her whole chest warm with the possibilities. “I honestly can’t believe I never thought of it.”
Fanny gives her a kind look. “You’ve had a lot on your mind these last couple of days.”
A few hours later, after she picks up Grace from Kindergarten Club – something Alison was adamant about the ghosts continuing, even if it’s hard for those like Pat and Kitty who can’t directly interact with Grace anymore – she asks Fanny to join them on their afternoon stroll in the garden. It’s a cold but sunny day, and with Grace all bundled up in her fluffy teddy bear jacket and practising her walking, they slowly make their way past Thomas’s well.
Grace has just found a frozen twig lying on the ground when Alison, phone in hand, catches her attention by pointing to the right and saying, “Fanny says you’ve got a lovely little twig there.”
It’s perfect: Grace looks up at where she is pointing and holds out the twig in her hand with a toothy grin just as Fanny looks down with a warm smile on her face. Alison snaps a picture of the moment and feels her heart nearly burst with happiness when she looks at it. Fanny’s form is faint but the love on her face is as palpable as if she were alive. Grace is more or less looking directly at her, making the illusion perfect.
“Look,” Alison says to her daughter and turns the phone around so she can see the picture. “It’s you and Fanny!”
Grace’s eyes go wide when she sees Fanny in the picture. There’s an adorable look of confusion on her face when she looks up and tries to spot Fanny next to her.
“I’m afraid that won’t work, my child,” Fanny says and leans closer to have a look at the picture herself. After a moment of careful consideration, she nods approvingly. “You might want to get that framed.”
Her tone makes it clear it’s more than a suggestion but Alison doesn’t mind. She already has an idea for a collage in mind, and judging by Grace’s happy babbling as she points between Fanny in the picture and the empty space next to her, she has no doubt that her daughter will love having her beloved ghosts line the walls of her bedroom one day.
“This was a great idea,” she tells Fanny quietly on their way back half an hour later.
Fanny inclines her head gracefully. “It’s one less ghost you’ll have to paint for her in the future.”
Alison gives her a warm smile. “Thank you.”
She has been working on proper portraits of the ghosts – portraits that show them smiling and laughing and glowing with happiness. The ones of Thomas, Fanny and Humphrey that exist are all … nice, as Thomas would say. Grace obviously loves them but they look too stilted and posed for Alison’s liking. She wants Grace to be able to see the ghosts the way they really are: goofy, silly and so full of love for her they often do not know what to do with it.
So one evening when she’s got a moment to herself, she sat down and started the first painting in what she calls the Ghosts Series. It’s just a small one but it shows Pat, crouching down with his arms wide open to encourage a toddling Grace to walk towards him. It makes Alison smile every time she works on it, and she hopes to fill the whole house with dozens of paintings like this one day. The ghosts deserve to leave their footprints in their home for all the world to see, and she already has ideas for the next ones: Julian gently reaching out to touch Grace’s nose, the Captain playing hide and seek with her, Robin grinning like a maniac as he raises his hands to the ceiling to make the lights flicker and Thomas–
Thomas gazing fondly down at Grace’s crib as he weaves tales of fantastic lands and unlikely heroes just for her, just because he loves her and wants her dreams to be filled with magic and wonder.
There is something else, something secret, that has kept her and Mike busy in the evenings, watching one tutorial after another. It’s meant to be a Christmas present for Grace, and while Alison has no idea if they’ll be able to pull it off in such a short time, she is determined to at least give it a try, no matter how difficult Heather’s old sewing machine is trying to make it.
“I swear that thing is possessed by a demon,” she growls out late one night.
Mike looks up from the fabric in his hand. “Is that actually a thing? Demons?”
Alison gives him a look.
“What?” he asks defensively. “We’ve got a house full of ghosts. Who’s to say demons, werewolves, vampires and all that shit can’t be real too?”
Alison lets out a tired sigh and begins to thread the needle for the twenty-seventh time that evening with a patience that’s slowly but surely running thin. “Well, if you happen to see a unicorn grazing on the lawn shoo it away because Fanny and Kitty will probably want to adopt it and I’m not prepared to build a stable for it.”
In the end, they end up switching roles: Mike takes over the sewing machine while she cuts out the pieces of fabric. Surprisingly, and much to Alison’s relief, it works. Whatever Heather’s sewing machine has against her clearly doesn’t apply to Mike. The thing does everything he wants without tearing or muddling up a thread even once, and while a part of her wants to glare at it in a very childish way, in the end Alison is just glad to see Mike holding up an almost perfect little doll in triumph.
“Not going to lie, holding a tiny Thomas in my hand feels a bit weird but he does look sort of cute, doesn’t he?” he asks, squinting at the doll.
“Yeah,” Alison says as she takes in the brown colour of the waistcoat, the silky fabric of the cravat and the brown button eyes. They have given the doll a smile and after some debate also added the bullet wound. Alison knows Thomas can be quite self-conscious about it but it is a part of him and Grace has only ever known him with it so she argued it should be there. “Do you think Grace will like him?”
Mike gives her a long look before he hands little Thomas over to her. “I think Grace will cuddle the shit out of him.”
His bluntness makes her laugh.
“Well, you better be prepared to make the other ones too,” she tells him with a grin. “Creepy plague girl and all.”
Mike looks down at the mess of fabric, thread and buttons around him and groans.
————
It’s the night before Christmas and Alison is just getting Grace ready for bed upstairs when she hears the soft sound of a throat being cleared behind her. She looks over to the door and finds Jemima standing there with her doll clutched tightly to her chest. The little girl doesn’t usually wander around upstairs – something to do with the attic and her death, Alison has heard the other ghosts whisper – so she’s more than a little surprised to see her. She wonders if it has something to do with Thomas and the moment the thought forms, her mind immediately goes through all the worst case scenarios she tries very hard not to think about every time she realises she hasn’t seen Thomas for a couple of hours.
Taking a deep breath, she firmly tells herself not to draw conclusions based on nothing and manages to offer Jemima a smile. “Good evening, Jemima.”
“Hello,” Jemima says shyly.
Grace, in a fresh nappy but still without her nightclothes, wriggles around to get a look at the door. “’mima?”
“She’s by the door and waving hello to you,” Alison explains and patiently waits until her daughter has waved back before wrangling her into her clothes. To Jemima, she says, “Is there anything I can help you with? Has Robin blown the light bulb in the pantry again?”
She tries not to laugh when Grace races her pudgy hands to the ceiling and makes explosion noises that eventually dissolve into soft giggles of amusement.
“No,” Jemima says. “I’m here because of Thomas.”
So this is about him, Alison thinks as she places Grace in her crib. Worry creeps into her bones and makes her voice tremble a little when she asks, “Is he all right?”
Jemima shrugs. “He is sad a lot. Especially today. He told me he wanted to recite one of his favourite poems for her.”
Alison doesn’t need to ask what poem she is talking about: A Visit from St. Nicholas. She has seen Thomas recite it to Grace a year ago, his face all soft and full of wonder as he smiled down at her, and she knows he’s been looking forward to reciting it to her again this year. It feels like a lifetime ago that they talked about it.
“Are you here to recite it for him?” Alison asks softly.
To her surprise, Jemima shakes her head. “No. Too many words. I came to sing a lullaby.”
“Oh,” Alison says softly and gestures for her to come closer before she looks at Grace. “Jemima is here to sing you a song.”
Grace looks away from Thomas’s portrait and Jemima takes that as her cue to start singing. It only takes a few notes for Alison to realise she has heard this song before, a long time ago when she was so ill and exhausted she fell asleep beside her daughter on an early afternoon in spring. She remembers hearing Thomas’s voice from far away, remembers him telling Grace to be quiet because her mummy needs to rest, but it’s only now that Jemima’s voice rings out across the room that she actually remembers the song Thomas sang that day.
“Good night, sleep tight
In the evening light
Good night, sleep tight,
Till the sun will rise
In the night the stars they glow
And the moon it shines
Good night, sleep tight
In my arms tonight”
It’s a quiet song, a gentle song, and by the time the last note fades there’s a lump in Alison’s throat. She looks down at her daughter and finds her gazing at Thomas’s portrait with a sleepy but content smile on her face. Grace is humming softly to herself and Alison’s heart aches when she realises she is singing along to the best of her abilities. It’s clear this is a song her daughter is familiar with. It must have been a part of her Storytime routine with Thomas, and Alison – Alison had no idea.
“Thomas thought she might like to hear it again,” Jemima says softly, interrupting her thoughts. Quietly, she adds, “His grandmother used to sing it to him, apparently.”
Alison can just imagine it: a young Thomas snuggling up to his grandmother, feeling more loved in her presence than he’d ever felt around his parents. It makes her heart feel heavy, the thought of the man who has been loved so little in his life not only sharing this precious memory with her daughter but now also with Jemima just so Grace won’t ever have to miss hearing this song.
“Thank you,” Alison somehow manages to say just as Grace closes her eyes with a happy little murmur of Jemima and Thomas’s names.
Shyly, Jemima looks down at her doll. “If you’d like, I could sing it to her again sometime? I … I like singing it, and I like to help.”
It takes everything in Alison not to gather the young girl up in her arms and hold her close, impossible as that may be. “You’re more than welcome to, Jemima. Whenever you like.”
Jemima flashes her a smile before she curtsies and turns around with a quiet, “Goodnight, Alison.”
She leaves as quickly and quietly as she appeared, and there’s a part of Alison that wishes she had stayed longer, that they could have talked a little more. Jemima has always been an elusive one, though, and Alison knows it will take time for her to feel comfortable enough in her presence to stay for more than a few moments. It’s something she has to accept, just as she has to accept Thomas keeping his distance right now.
It’s hard, though, she thinks as she places one last loving kiss upon her daughter’s brow. With a soft sight, she activates the baby monitor and gently closes the door behind herself to join Mike down in the kitchen.
————
Later that night, after most of the presents have been wrapped and more or less the whole house is decorated with fairy lights, snowflakes and reindeer, Alison takes the little doll she and Mike made and quietly knocks on Thomas’s door.
He calls for her to enter, and Alison can’t say she’s surprised to find Jemima asleep on his bed and Nigel sitting with him by the window. She flashes them a small smile and joins them with a quiet, “Hi.”
Thomas’s lips twitch in response and Nigel jumps down from the windowsill to make room for her. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“There’s no need,” Thomas hurries to say, and Alison thinks it’s a testament to how awful he must be feeling that he wraps his fingers around Nigel’s wrist to stop him from leaving. There is a moment of silence as they regard each other before Thomas drops his gaze and begs in a small voice, “Please stay.”
Nigel’s face softens.
“Of course,” he whispers and gives Thomas’s hand a squeeze.
Alison doesn’t think she imagines the sigh of relief that comes from Thomas nor the way his shoulders relax when Nigel settles back down, and she tries not to take offense. She knows this has nothing to do with her. It’s about Thomas being afraid of being alone and forgotten on Christmas; about him craving company even though he fears he will ruin the holiday for everyone else. He clearly does not want to be alone with her right now and face whatever Grace-related thing she came to talk to him about on his own. It makes Alison wonder if she is being cruel by showing him the little doll she made of him to ease Grace’s pain, knowing very well that his own heartache won’t be so easily soothed.
Still, the last thing she wants is for Thomas to find out about the doll by accident and think he is being replaced. So once Nigel has tucked himself into the small chair below the window – the one that’s close enough to Thomas that Thomas’s fingers can rest on his shoulders – she gathers up her courage and says, “I wanted to show you something. Mike and I – we have been making something for Grace, something that we hope will help her even more than the portrait does.”
Thomas, thank god, looks intrigued rather than pained. “What is it?”
Bravely, Alison holds out the little doll.
“This is not meant as a replacement,” she says quickly so Thomas doesn’t get the wrong idea. “It’s just – she can hold it and touch it, you know?”
She realises how desperate she sounds but she needs Thomas to know that she does not mean any harm by this; that while she has Grace’s best interests at heart, she wants to make sure they don’t come at the cost of his.
For a moment, all Thomas does is stare at the doll. His face is not giving any of his feelings away and it’s that lack of reaction that prompts her to say, “I won’t give it to her if you don’t want me to.”
Thomas blinks as if waking from a dream. He reaches for the doll with one elegant, long-fingered hand that Alison has always thought was made for playing the piano and stops just shy of making contact. “You poured a lot of love into it. I can tell.”
It’s not quite the reaction she expected, and she exchanges an unsure look with Nigel before she says, “Mike actually did most of the sewing work. Turns out Heather’s sewing machine and I are mortal enemies.”
Her words elicit a wisp of a laugh from Thomas. He looks up from the doll and when his eyes find hers, Alison is relieved to see only warmth in them.
“I am sure Grace will appreciate the war you’ve fought for her.” Then, very softly, he adds, “It’s a lovely present, Alison. Truly.”
Allowing her eyes to close for a moment, Alison breathes out in relief. “I’m so glad you like it. I really think it will do a lot of good.” She pauses. “Mike’s probably going to have to make everyone else at some point as well.”
Behind Thomas, Nigel’s eyes widen for a split second in pleasant surprise before his face falls and he looks down at his plague-riddled hands. It’s glaringly obvious he’s thinking everyone else only means the upstairs ghosts – it’s written all over his face and Alison feels guilt churn in her stomach. She knows the villagers love Grace; has always known that and yet so rarely taken her daughter down to the basement to see them. She regrets that now.
“And by everyone, I mean everyone,” she says softly and smiles when Nigel looks up in surprise. “If we’re doing this, we’re making all of you. No exceptions. Same with the paintings.”
“Really?” Nigel asks, his voice almost painfully hopeful. Alison nods and he smiles at her bashfully for a moment before he looks up at Thomas. “You wouldn’t mind?”
Something breaks in Thomas’s eyes, something that leaves behind a pain that has nothing to do with his own loss and grief. He places his hands on Nigel’s shoulders and gives them a long, meaningful squeeze. “Of course I don’t mind. Grace has lost so much more than me. She needs and loves all of us.”
“But she loves you a little more,” Nigel says softly.
Instead of squeezing his eyes close in heartbreak, Thomas smiles – genuinely, beautifully, tragically. “And it is the greatest gift I have ever been given.”
The words are tinted with sadness but it does not feel as overwhelming as it would have a week ago, Alison thinks. Thomas is getting better, baby step by baby step.
The irony of the phrase isn’t lost on her.
“I know you won’t join us tomorrow but – would you like to have a little Christmas ceremony with me? Just the two of us? Or do you prefer to be alone?”
She can see the battle Thomas is silently fighting in the way his eyes become strained and the corners of his mouth slightly curve downwards. In the end, he shakes his head and says, “No, it’s all right. Christmas is for family.”
“You’re family,” Alison says, her voice shaking just a little.
Thomas smiles. “I meant your living family. You should celebrate with them. I’ll be fine – I mean it.”
Alison is about to voice her doubts when Nigel says, “It’s okay. He won’t be alone. He’s promised Lady Button to visit her pets with her after breakfast and the others and I will be with him later.”
Even though that makes Alison feel a little better, she can’t help but ask Thomas, “Are you sure?”
Thomas nods. “I am. And should I change my mind, I know where to find you.”
He sounds so sure that Alison doesn’t push but she still feels bad that he won’t be there when they open presents, that he’ll have to wait for his own until nightfall when Grace is asleep and most of the Christmas lights have been dimmed. He should be with them, should partake in the quiz Fanny is going to win like she does every year and sit next to her at the piano while she plays her favourite carols.
Next year, Alison thinks hopefully as she bids him and Nigel goodnight and heads back down to the kitchen to wrap up his doll as lovingly and carefully as she can.
#thomas thorne#alison cooper#fanny button#julian fawcett#bbc ghosts#bbc ghosts fanfic#jemima the plague ghost#nigel the plague ghost#my fic#bbc ghosts babyfic
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Valyrians // Iron Islanders parallel I found interesting 🤔 and leads me to some conclusions about Valyrians (it's just my opinion though) since we know little about them ultimately
- Obviously, the both of them practiced/ still practice some form of slavery.
- Valyria was a powerful, brutal empire looking to always expand it's territories, and was feared by all ; and while a lot milder the Targaryen dynasty springs from "the Conqueror" (and several Dornish wars show that continued ambition). All the while not only did the Ironborn once conquer a sizeable part of Westeros and subjected it to their dreadful rule under house Hoare (Harren the Black), but in the current asoiaf timeline they also have conquered parts of the North, and Euron has even bigger plans. So in both cases, a big tendency to expansionism.
- They both practice polygamy to some extent. Ironborn have one "rock wife", a legal wife, and "salt wives", who are captive concubines. We've not that many info on whether or not the Valyrians valued some wives above others, since the two cases we have real info on are entirely different. But like the Ironborn Valyrian polygamy seems to be only polygyny, a marriage of one man to several women.
- So, info we've got on individual characters can imply many things for the Valyrians, especially how their society works (social strata) and their values. Some theories have it that Valyrians treated their women much better & gave them quasi-equality to men, but I kind of think the cases of Visenya & Rhaenys (and some possible cases among some previous Valyrian women like Janaera Baelaerys or the Elaena who "ruled with her brother") in the eye of the comparison with the Ironborn, kind of look like Asha's situation. Especially with Visenya. They are both women with unusual positions & who are closely associated to power by their male relative ; they are both warriors and they fight for their family, and are respected as such. Despite the Iron Islands having a pretty misogynistic culture, Asha manages to fit right in and be considered practically as her father's heir and a possible contender for the salt throne, while Visenya was an advisor for Aegon & sat the Iron throne in his absence with her sister Rhaenys. And even if Rhaenys embodied more feminine qualities and wasn't a "true warrior", she could still fly her dragon into battle with her siblings. It's possible that dragons elevated Valyrian women & their place in society, like being a warrior, a sailor & a captain did for Asha in the Ironborn society. They are useful in the same way men are, are more or less able to do the same things.
- To develop the comparison, if we look at Maegor, who was raised by Visenya, the embodiment of Valyrian female autonomy & power in a sense, it kind of is strange that he became a man who didn't respect women all that much. He abandoned his first wife because she couldn't give him children, and treated most of his other brides as potential broodmares. In both instances in the text he affirms that what he wants from his wives isn't just "a child", but "a son". How does that make sense for Visenya's son, raised by her, except if Valyrians were patriarchal but sometimes allowed women (dragonriders) to hold some power and could on an individual level be lead to see them as equals of sorts (like Balon with Asha) ? While still really valuing men first, ultimately - which is why Aegon (the Uncrowned) was made prince of Dragonstone, and not Rhaena, who was older but female. It's a culture that cares about sex & does discriminate to some extent, but cares more about strength in some way, and so gives some equality to powerful women.
- So, this lead me to tentatively infer that dragonlords possibly did "rank" their wives, and if they had dragonrider (sister) wives and non-dragonrider wives, put the first above the second in some way. (Edit : they apparently sort of did, as they could have wives and concubines, like Aenar the Exile had)
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I put so much value on romantic love, always have. Maybe that's why I feel so worthless.
The thing is I could never say i am unloved. How could I say that when my best friend of 10 years writes me sweet letters on my birthday every year? When my mom cries whenever I leave home for a long period of time? When my uncle sincerely tells me to take care of myself because while he and his wife couldn't have children they saw me as one of their own? When friends I haven't spoken to in a long time say something kind to me even when I haven't been the kindest to them? How could I ever say I lead a life with absence of love?
But the thing is, I am eighteen. I am a teenager at heart. I am stupid, and I wish for what I don't have. All I want is what I don't have. But not only that, I've always felt like I was meant for love. God. I have so much love to give. I could make someone feel so needed, because they would in fact, be needed. I could take care of someone. A man. I could. That's all I wanted to do since I was a child. I wanted the life they could give me, the company. The butterflies in the stomach. Feeling cute and nervous to do the most trivial thing like going to the supermarket. Even without their presence, you feel the butterflies, because you know out there there's someone waiting for you, longing for you as much as you long for them. Thinking of your kisses and caring touches. I feel so sorry for my younger self. I often imagine myself talking to her. Telling her of all of the incredible things we achieved. She looks up at me, mesmerized, but with eager eyes, she waits for me to get to the subject she wants to hear the most about. And then I don't get to it. I don't say anything, she doesn't say anything, but her heart is secretly shattered. And then I cry into her arms. She holds me, confused. Because she was certain we'd live a beautiful romance, she just thought every girl went through that. Every real, deserving, loving, girl of this society would live all that she dreamed of. Well maybe i'm not that loving, and therefore not that deserving. Hell, sometimes I think i'm not even living in society right. I failed her in so many ways, I failed in accepting the love we do have. And I tried, I swear. I've tried going to the supermarket without the butterflies, loving the trivial things because they were beautiful in the fact that they existed and I am able to experience them. Loving my mother's love, my friend's love with the same intensity i would've loved a boyfriend. But inside of me there is still a child hungry for butterflies. And the hungrier she gets the more she smashes my heart. And the less I believe i'll ever receive the love me and her dreamed of for so long.
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hellllllllo olivie, congratulations on like all the good things that have been happening that i haven't congratulated you on yet!!! i have an emotional issue :(
so i broke up with my boyfriend last thursday because he is unfortunately a grade A dick, and I'm not entirely sure if I'm supposed to feel more or less upset than I do? Bc I'm quite alright most of the time, and sometimes I catch myself missing him, but then I'll see him talking to people on a shared groupchat we're both in and just get taken out by feeling somehow both ignored and replaced? Both of which are huge triggers for me for a lot of reasons, but also are the reasons I broke up with him in the first place - he ignored me for two weeks and obstructed every attempt I made to speak to him, and then whenever I did see him he made really cruel comments about my mental health issues and struggles with emotional honesty (and also paid faaaaaaaaar too much attention to another person). At first it really upset me, but then after a few days I got used to it and I was able to deal with it better, but talking to my friends made me realise I realllllllly shouldn't have to 'get used' to being neglected and mistreated by someone who claims that I'm the love of his life. (Spoiler alert: I'm clearly not lol)
After a few days of putting up with his behaviour and giving him the benefit of the doubt bc he's going through some stuff with his father rn, I did break up with him, which I think I'm dealing pretty well with so far.
The relief of not having to deal with feeling like an afterthought to him is definitely getting me through a lot of it, but I still care about him and it annoys me that I still dont know what I did to make him turn against me so suddenly. Up until two weeks ago, he was almost a perfect gentleman, apart from what I've come to realise was him pushing me to be emotionally honest in ways I'm really not comfortable with.
The whole point of this rambling is basically that I don't know if he's ever going to apologise for mistreating me, or whether he even realises that's what he did, but I still feel really hurt and upset and I want him to feel the same way. I don't hate him or want him to suffer, but I want him to feel my absence if that makes sense.
At the end of the day I am willing to forgive him if he apologises, but I could only ever be friends with him after this. I sincerely hope he has a good life, but it won't be with me.
asdfghjkl reading back i have realised that I do not in fact have A Point to this ask, and yet here i am. alas, the woes of emotional entanglements lmao
i think what I really want to know is do you have any advice for either a) speedrunning the five stages of grief so im fine quicker or b) how to get to a point where i'm not deeply triggered by seeing him talk to other people
in his (limited) defence, i don't think even he knows why we broke up (his mother has mentioned that she thinks he's equally confused), but as he's not attempting to reach out and explain himself as of yet, im not going to put up with him and I stand by my decision
anywayyyyyyy
men am i right 🙄
well wishes to you and your family <33
lol 🙄 lovely to see you as always, with or with out your entanglements. answered in this video!
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a story as endless as the ocean
the lightning thief
0.1 kronos ate the kids
warnings : kronos... eating his kids
word count : 3.7k
0.1 kronos ate the kids... yummy ( ? )
-- sixteen years later
In the absence of the sun, the day could've been observed as night as dark storm clouds gathered overhead. I was glad I'd checked the weather before getting on my motorcycle— I would just barely miss getting caught in the storm.
Normally, in New York City, you only drove yourself places if you were one of two things: rich or stupid (although, to be honest, it's astounding how often those two things coincide). The traffic of Manhattan is unbearable, but if you're that much of a show off, and you really want people looking at your car, you drive. However, while I did fall under the "rich" category (thank you random casting agent in Central Park when I was 2... I guess?), I wasn't driving because I wanted people to see the Harley my mom had gotten me for my 16th birthday the August before. Being entirely honest, I just needed a break, and sometimes yelling at people about how awful their driving is can be very therapeutic.
But the clouds unsettled me in a way that I couldn't explain. A way that had me shuffling on my Harley and shifting my weight much more than my ADHD would normally have made me do. The weather had been off since I'd come back from Philly in December, so I was almost used to it at that point, but it was like a sandbag had burst open in the pit of my stomach, letting all of the particles of sand spill out, every time I looked up at the sky.
Still, there was no use complaining about the weather. If anything, I should've been complaining about the fact that I was still in the exact same spot I was ten minutes ago. Sometimes the City That Never Sleeps is really a pain in the ass.
Danny was going to give me a real hard talking to if I was late for this field trip. It was supposed to be to some Greek and Roman history museum in Brooklyn, but most people weren't going to learn— they were going because it got them out of class. We only had a few weeks left of school, but Christ if we all didn't want the year to end sooner rather than later. And Danny only wanted me to go because of a role I'd recently gotten playing a Spartan queen, Aerlla, as though me knowing more about Greek mythology was going to win me another Oscar.
I gave a sigh of relief as my next few turns weren't nearly as crowded. A bit of the traffic finally thinned out, so getting to school was much less difficult. Technically, with it being a boarding school and all, we weren't allowed to have our cars here. They figured we'd all try to leave and never come back if that were the case. It was only with a little extra money that I was allowed to be able to travel. No one else really got that privilege.
Luck seemed to be on my side that day and I got back to the school just as they were loading the bus for us to go on our senior's (which was a whole story in and of itself, as I was supposed to be a sophomore. Thank God for online classes) end of the year field trip. While it might be the most boring thing you've ever heard of (yes, I thought that at first, too), Mr. Brunner, the coolest teacher I've ever had, was supposed to be chaperoning all of us.
My luck ran out right after that, though, once I noticed our other chaperone was my insufferable AP calculus teacher from Georgia. She came to our school right after our first calc teacher had a nervous breakdown. She always wore a faux leather jacket and, although she was fifty, she looked like she'd drive my Harley into someone's locker whenever she wanted.
"Allie, there you are! I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it on time," my friend, Grover, called as soon as I took my helmet off. I saw Mr. Brunner check my name off of the roll call list from beside Grover.
Grimacing as I realized I wouldn't have time to run by my room to put my helmet up and therefore would have to take it with me, I replied, "We wouldn't be in New York if I wasn't almost late."
We both boarded the bus, Mr. Brunner giving me a small smile as I passed, and luckily got a seat together. Much to my chagrin, however, it was right in front of the resident douche and pain in the ass himself: Nathan Bobofit. He gave me a gross smile and I could only just keep myself from getting up and bolting as the bus started moving.
My teeth clenched together as Nathan reached around the back of my seat to grab my arm. "C'mon, Jackson, my lap's a whole lot more comfortable than sitting next to that weirdo."
I jerked my arm out of his hand as he tried pulling me up. "Don't fucking touch me," I snapped scathingly as I tried scooting as far away from him as I could.
I'd had my share of rejecting him, but God if he wasn't persistent. And gross. Really, really gross. It was sad to say, but I was used to it. People on the internet don't exactly hold back either. And being an actress and model with a big following... yeah, not the best mix. People are creepy, I've learned that lesson many times.
"I'm gonna fucking kill him this time. I swear to God, I'm not kidding," I grumbled as I felt Nathan's knee pressing into my seat, just enough for me to be able to feel.
"Don't. Allie, these are the last few weeks you have to be in high school. If you get expelled now, you won't be able to go to Columbia next year and you'll be repeating your senior year at a different school. Just get through this, a few more weeks, and you're in the clear," Grover warned me. I huffed and leaned back, grumbling a 'whatever' to keep him satisfied.
To be fair, he was right. Danny, my manager, would've been pissed at me if I managed to get expelled in my last semester of high school. He'd already done so much so I could graduate early and figure out a schedule for me to be able to go to some classes in person and finish the rest online. With how much time and effort he'd put into helping me get a good education, I'd hate to throw it all away because I couldn't keep my temper in check.
And I'd hate for TMZ and all the other awful news outlets to get word of me having got expelled because I fought someone. God, I shudder to think of the fire that the media would light under my ass. Though, I thought, maybe if they figured out why, at least Twitter would be on my side.
I was happy the trip was fairly short. I could only go so long ignoring the painfully obvious and gross comments about my body by the boys behind me. Grover and one of my cheerleader friends, Ivy, made sure they got directly behind me so Nathan couldn't. He'd been known to try things when left behind me and today I'd made a mistake by wearing a skirt. As we unloaded the bus, Mr. Brunner got us checked in and led the museum tour.
Mr. Brunner was your average middle-aged guy, except for the wheelchair he had to be in wherever he went. It was a well-known joke for everyone around the school to try and guess why he had to use it. As far as we knew, no one was correct. Mainly because no one has enough courage to ask him. Popular theory was that he got stabbed during one of his sword demonstrations and accidentally got hurt.
He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery. It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for over two thousand or three thousand years.
He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top and us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, Mrs. Dodds would give me the evil eye.
Finally, I got fed up, my patience run too thin, and I snapped, "will you shut up?" at Nathan, the loudest of them all. And though I had turned towards Nathan, Mr. Brunner had stopped talking and I could tell he was looking directly at me. I could also hear a few stifled giggles coming for the rest of the senior class.
"Miss Jackson, did you have a comment?" I turned back towards him and noticed his amused expression.
"No, sir," I replied, trying to keep a blush from coming to my face.
"Do you mind telling us what this picture represents?" He asked, gesturing towards a carving right beside him. I let out an internal breath of relief. Thank God it was something I recognized.
"That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"
"Yes," he frowned, and I knew he was going to ask for a better explanation. "And he did this because..."
"Kronos was the King of the Titans and he didn't trust his kids, the gods, because there was a prophecy he heard that said they would overthrow him and lead the world themselves. So he ate them. Except, his wife, Rhea hid baby Zeus and gave Kronos and rock dressed in baby clothes to eat instead. Once Zeus grew up, Rhea gave Kronos a mixture of wine and mustard so he would throw up the rest of his children." There were a few disgusted outbursts at this. "Since they were immortal, they had been growing in Kronos' stomach the same way they would have. So then there was a long war between the gods and the titans and the gods ended up winning."
I heard a scoff from beside me. "This is so stupid. It's not like our job applications are gonna have 'why did Kronos eat his children' as a question you have to answer correctly to get hired," Nathan stage whispered to his friends. They snickered in response.
"And why, Miss Jackson," Mr. Brunner said, "to paraphrase Mr. Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"
I sighed and racked my brain for at least a semi-logical explanation, because truthfully, I couldn't think of one. "There's always something that you can learn from history and myths passed down by generations. By listening to the stories, you can ensure you won't make the same mistakes— in this case, you learn not to let your own paranoia control you?"
He tilted his head as if debating whether or not my answer satisfied what he was looking for. He finally came to a conclusion. "Not quite the answer I was looking for, but full credit all the same. Your explanation was wonderfully done, Miss Jackson. After Kronos' children were released from his stomach, the gods teamed up together to overthrow their father. And they did so by cutting him into little pieces with his own scythe. Now on that happy note, Mrs. Dodds, could you escort us outside for lunch?"
I speed-walked out of there, Grover in tow, before Mr. Brunner could call me back in. If he needed to say something super important he could tell me outside, but I wasn't in the mood to get lectured right at that moment.
We all gathered in various groups on the steps of the museum. We were positioned in a way that would allow us to watch the traffic on Fifth Avenue. The weather still worried me as the clouds had only gotten darker, but I forced myself to ignore it once I noticed no one else was paying attention to it.
Most of the girls were gossiping in groups, most likely talking about how Gabby hooked up with a boy in our class, Tate Dare. I'd heard the story a million times— I didn't need the story again.
Being famous did have one major perk: everyone wanted to be my friend, which in turn allowed me to know all of the school's gossip before almost everyone else. The boys were trying— and failing— to pickpocket a few tourists who'd stopped in front of the museum to take pictures. Of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.
I threw my head to the side, a gesture telling Grover to follow me to the fountain a little ways away, trying very hard to make it seem like we weren't part of the slightly-psycho group of teens.
"Since you're my main source of news, what's going on school-wise?" Grover asked me once we'd gotten comfortable on the fountain.
I shrugged. "Gabby, you know— the Gabriella who's on the cheer team with me— hooked up with Tate Dare. Lindsay Greene might be getting suspended for vaping in the bathrooms, but that's up in the air right now considering her daddy's a teacher. Uh... oh! Victor Ryles failed a drug test, so he can't try out for any sports next year. That's it, I think?"
"Why do you know all of this? And can I have your apple?"
I handed it to him and smirked. "Most people like me— well, they like my 'status' at the very least. If I want to know the gossip, they give me the gossip."
Grover and I laughed and he was about to say something else but was cut off by Nathan 'tripping' over a crack in the sidewalk and tossing his food right on Gover's lap.
"Oops. I got a little distracted by your beautiful eyes, Allie," he said in a faux British accent, his friends snickering behind him.
The look on his face just made me angrier and he reached out to touch my face, but never got the chance. One moment he was in front of me, the next he was sitting on his ass in the fountain, spitting out water and a few coins. The weirdest part was the whispers.
"Did you see—"
"— The water—"
"— Like it grabbed him!"
I clenched my teeth as I glared at him. I would've loved to say something super badass, and the words were on the tip of my tongue, but a strong grip on my arm kept me from saying it. I turned my glare to Mrs. Dodds, who was staring at me with the most triumphant expression. She looked as if she'd been waiting for this moment all semester.
"Now, honey—" she said, using the nickname that never failed to enrage me.
I rolled my eyes and interrupted her despite the situation I had put myself in. "Oh, whatever! What's my punishment going to be? See how long I can go without eating?" I snapped.
That apparently wasn't the correct thing to say. The triumphant fire in her eyes only burned brighter.
"Come with me."
"Wait!" Grover said, trying to force himself in between Mrs. Dodds and me, giving me a why-the-FUCK-would-you-say-something-like-that look. "It was me, I pushed him."
It wasn't the most believable lie in the world, especially considering I had much more muscle than him and it was very obvious he wouldn't have been able to push Nathan into the fountain.
Because of the roles I'd done, I had to learn a whole bunch of shit I'd never use again, which include, but are not limited to, sword fighting, hitting many bullseyes with a bow and arrow, and lots of hand-to-hand fighting. From the weight training classes I take, I can bench press about 160 pounds, give or take, and cheerleading makes throw myself upside down while spinning. Grover looked like a twig compared to me (still love you, though, Grover).
"I don't think so. Miss Jackson will come with me, and you can stay right here."
She didn't have to try hard to scare Grover, considering she already terrified him. He gave a small and stiff nod and looked at me petrified.
"Thanks for trying, G," I whispered.
He just stood paralyzed and kept glancing between Mr. Brunner and Mrs. Dodds, who was already at the front door.
Wait, what? How did she get there so fast? I shook my head and walked after her.
"Don't die in there, Jackson! Me and my friends still want to fuck you before we graduate! How about Thursday?" Nathan yelled at my turned back.
I turned, gave him my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare and a middle finger, then continued walking.
At first, I thought she was just going to make me buy Nathan a new t-shirt at the gift shop, but that didn't seem to be the case. Mrs. Dodds kept walking until we'd made it back to the Greek statues and paintings section.
She crossed her arms with her back turned towards me until I'd gotten close enough. When she turned, I stopped walking.
"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said after a few moments of silence.
At first, I thought she was mentioning all the random times paparazzi would show up at the front steps of Yancy Acadamy and demand my picture, but something told me that wasn't it. I decided to go for the safest option and chose to be polite.
"Yes... ma'am?"
She started making a sound from the back of her throat, almost like growling. She tugged on the cuffs of her jacket. "Did you really think you were going to get away with it?"
I furrowed my eyebrows. The only thing I could think was, what the hell? The fire grew brighter. She looked beyond mad; she looked evil. "I'll... it won't happen again... ma'am," I shot out, saying the first response that came to mind.
Thunder shook the building.
"We aren't fools, Astraea Jackson."
I flinched at the use of my real name. Virtually no one knew it, only my mother, the principal, and my manager. And usually it was because I was in trouble. I didn't like the way it rolled off her tongue.
"It was only a matter of time before you were caught. Confess to what you've done and I might choose to be merciful."
"Okay, time for a pause. What am I even confessing to? What the hell did I do that was so—"
"Time's up!"
And with that, she started changing. Her eyes turned red, her fingernails grew into talons, and her leather jacket started melting and turning into wings.
"Holy shit!" I screamed, scrambling back a few steps as she shot into the air. Thunder rumbled again.
"Allie!"
My eyes didn't shift from the winged-bat-creature-thing my calculus teacher had just turned into, but my mind registered that it was Mr. Brunner's voice. I stepped back and turned and barely had a second to catch the sword flying towards me. Once I had it in my hands I turned back towards Mrs. Dodds, who was flying overhead like a vulture.
Finally, she swooped down for the kill and I got into the stance my instructor made me do thousands of times over. Once she got close, I didn't feel any fear. It's just like a prop, do what you're supposed to and you won't get hit.
My body did the only thing that came naturally; I swung the sword.
She'd flown down in the perfect position, and the sword hit her left shoulder and passed through all the way to her right hip. She burst into a yellow powder and vaporized on the spot, leaving only the smell of sulfur and an uneasy vibe in the air.
I didn't register the sword falling out of my hand, only the overwhelming desire to get back to my group. I felt like throwing up and like an awful migraine was about to hit.
When the doors were in my sight, I sprinted the rest of the way and almost ripped the doors off their hinges to get out of there. Grover met me halfway down the steps and started to say something, but I just shook my head. I felt like I was about to pass out from the pain in my head, so there was no way I could've explained anything that had just happened to Grover.
Just as I got off the last step, Nathan intercepted my path. "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your ass, bitch. Would've gotten you prepared for the main course," he said, still dripping from his swim in the fountain.
I was about to punch his lights out, but a piercing whistle cut through the storm, re-irritating my migraine. I cried out in pain, clutching my head. I settled for shoulder-checking past him, leaving him to follow in Grover and my tracks.
Mr. Brunner gave me a concerned look as I boarded the bus, but he didn't say anything to me. Once I got to my seat I pulled a Gucci hoodie out of my bag and threw the hood over my head. Grover sat down as I was searching for some ibuprofen. I relaxed as I found it and dry swallowed three pills.
"You okay, Allie?"
I shook my head. "Migraine," I muttered and our conversation ended there. The storm raged worse and the entire bus was silent as lightning cracked across the sky and thunder quickly followed.
* * *
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SERIES M.LIST | MAIN M.LIST | TIPS
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I feel like I've been made a fool by the author of chihayafuru or I'm incredibly stupid
What's the point of going through rejection arc of tchi when in all honesty the girl didn't reply yes or no she's shocked tht she couldn't see this coming which is the way the author wants to write chy as not knowing feelings. Then tch expecting her to reciprocate or quit the club cuz he has feelings and it's been harder for him, to have strength in love and sumire parallels of growth as love is not a one way ticket to confession or no point in it?? Then just ending with tchy which the ship fandom expected me to say foreshadowing all along then why can't I say the same abt arata or even let's miss the fact the author doesn't care abt Lgbt coding as much but why not even say shinobu lmao. For so much feminist attitude she doesn't even give chy to explore her feelings when it began for Taichi, which brings to seperation from him was unbearable but was empowering so she has ownership to those feelings and you might say that's when she felt lot more affection to tch but seperation was a trigger to chihaya growth. It happens twice when arata leaves and when tch leaves. So really where is the feelings realisation? and i came to accept most of this thanks to your analysis than the way tchy fans with RIGHT interpretations are bashing you as anons. Also i do think you overcredit suetsugu sometimes and it's all someone more open like you to interpret than think it's so deep because I'm totally lost otherwise 💀
Anyways i hope you ignore hate messages. And ships lowkey make anyone biased you weren't wrong with tht.
i mean i think taichi's rejection arc was important with respect to addressing his own attitude and the unhealthy codependency that existed between him and chihaya. regardless of whether they were going to end up together or not that was a period of reflection that he needed to undergo in order to be able to prioritize himself and not hold others guilty for insecurities and jealousies that were ultimately products of his own conscience. that's why i was ultimately okay with the way suetsugu executed him and chihaya becoming canon bc i don't really think it was about him being rewarded with her reciprocation solely bc of the fact that he got better. she confessed to him a couple of months after the finals when he wasn't even expecting it and by a point in time where their relationship and communication with each other had significantly improved
ig as to the whole absence makes the heart grow fonder concept it's a matter of personal preference. i don't think it's an inherently bad conduit through which to explore romance, bc sometimes we truly do dwell more on people we care about when they're not quite within reach, and that can make us realize things about our feelings for them that we weren't necessarily hyperaware of before. i don't think suetsugu is going quite so far as to say that chihaya has no agency in how she feels simply bc either boy leaving has to provide an impetus for those feelings to manifest. with arata leaving, for example, it was less about chihaya taking his presence in her life for granted and more about him introducing her to a dream that she valued so much, and her being desperate to continue sharing it with him. even with taichi, i don't think it was so much about her taking him for granted as her having to parse how exactly she felt about him, bc she'd never quite dwelled on the specific nature of her feelings for him before. she just knew he was someone incredibly special in her life that she didn't want to lose. so yeah there's some part to play on account of distance, but i think there were still distinct foundations present within each relationship that distance only helped facilitate the growth or exploration of, rather than it acting as the bedrock of chihaya's feelings entirely. i don't think you were stupid to have assumed one exploration was romantic over the other. i know i'm being redundant bc i've already said it enough times but i think it just speaks to the fact that suetsugu developed both relationships so thoroughly and wholeheartedly, so it was possible to believe it could go either way dependent on preference, or dependent on what you wanted out of the story on a thematic level
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john abused both dean AND sam, just differently. in this essay i will
prove that the abuse manifested in different ways for each of them because that’s how abuse works in real life. this is based on the fact that john saw dean as mary’s surrogate but once he found out about the deal and sam having demon blood he blamed sam for her death. ok let’s fucking go
dean as mary’s surrogate
there are loads of parallels made between dean and mary in early season spn and late season spn. in season 12 dean directly calls himself sam’s mother, but even earlier than that we see him doing the cooking and child rearing. compare that to all the parallels made between sam and john (both of them losing their blonde woman significant others in a ceiling fire) and it’s clear that dean was meant to more resemble mary. it’s not a stretch to say that if we can see it as viewers this is how john saw it in his actual life. i do think john loves dean for being dean but he loves him more for being mary.
sam as the reason behind mary’s death
i think once john learned that sam had demon blood, some part of him must have always been waiting for the other shoe to drop with sam, not ever fully believing this kid was human, and maybe not even knowing if this kid was HIS. a popular theory back in the day was that YED fathered sam (something they had to actually address in season 4 to stop the speculation), and if WE speculated that hard, surely john must have too. i’m sure he loves sam as an extension of mary, and keeps and raises and protects him BECAUSE he’s mary’s, but similarly (or maybe inverse) to dean, i don’t know if he ever fully gave himself permission to love sam for being sam. in fact, i imagine john harbors a lot of self-loathing for failing to save mary. if we directly parallel john and sam, that means by some extent he would also hate sam.
john trusted dean with far too much, and sam with far too little
dean knew about monsters; sam didn’t. dean had memories of their mother and the night she died, and shared that trauma of watching her die with john; sam didn’t. dean knew when john was supposed to be home and who to call if he wasn’t; sam didn’t. dean was given the money and the guns and the CAR ITSELF; sam wasn’t. dean was taught to drive; SAM WASN’T.
dean was expected to do everything john was supposed to have been doing in his absence - he was to be a mother and father to sam, he was supposed to protect sam from evil, he was supposed to see to sam’s meals and homework and getting to school on time. and he was put under an EXTRAORDINARY amount of pressure not to screw this up even a little bit, despite the fact that he was only a kid. sam on the other hand was kept on a strict need-to-know basis for his entire life, right up until season 1 when they reunite at last. john didn’t trust sam with ANYTHING, and sam knew it. this contributed to his lifelong anger issues because he didn’t DO anything to warrant that kind of mistrust and probably got gaslit about it a lot of times either by john himself or dean (unknowingly, by parroting/believing the things john said). even in the pilot sam says very casually of his mother “she’s gone,” because her memory doesn’t hold the same place of reverence for him - best guess is that john didn’t talk about her much to sam because he didn’t trust sam with emotional stuff either. in s14 we learn that dean was the one who told sam stories about mary, including her terrible casserole - and their attempt at recreating it infuriated john to the point of him throwing the entire concoction in the trash.
john relied on dean for everything, and refused to rely on sam for anything
canonically dean was the one who comforted john after a bad hunt, looked after and fed his brother when john wasn’t around. dean knew how to use a shotgun; sam didn’t. dean knew who to call in an emergency; sam didn’t. dean knew about monsters; sam didn’t. this was done under the guise of “protection for sammy” but turn it around and it’s also protection FROM sammy. think of how angry john gets when he learns sam has been having psychic visions. he’s not just angry that dean didn’t report it to him, he’s angry that the demon’s plans for sam are coming to pass, and that sam is becoming less human. again, he can’t TRUST sam if sam’s not human, and it proves to john that he was right all along to keep sam in the dark as much as possible.
john gave dean too much freedom, and sam no freedom at all
“watch out for sammy.” sam was under constant supervision by either dean or john; john made sure of it. again, it’s protection FOR sam but also protection FROM him, in case he did something inhuman or evil. dean on the other hand was left alone without any supervision at all for days or even weeks at a time - he resorts to stealing bread and peanut butter and (according to jackles) turning tricks for money. he had to make it work and got up to whatever the fuck he wanted when john wasn’t looking. sam had to LITERALLY run away from home before he got the simple pleasure of eating pizza and having a dog by himself, independently. dean was given too much independence and freedom but sam was kept on such a short leash he had none at all.
john made dean feel unworthy, and he made sam feel unclean
when dean fails to protect sam from the shtriga in the season 1 flashbacks, he says his dad looked at him differently after. he also implies that john physically beat him when sam ran away in flagstaff. whether he meant to or not, john made it abundantly clear that his love for dean was not unconditional; it depended very much on how well dean performed the multitude of tasks john assigned him. dean grew up believing that his only worth was in what he could do for other people. he demonstrates this an an adult over and over and over, from letting his possessed family members beat him up to refusing to take care of his own needs, emotional and otherwise, and snapping at people who try to talk to him about his own feelings.
on the other hand, sam talks in season 8 about how even at a very young age he felt impure and unclean, even before he knew that he had demon blood, even before he knew that there was any such thing as monsters. kids aren’t stupid, and sam picked up on the vibes john was putting off - that john didn’t trust him, might not have loved him, and might not have considered him human or even his own child. without even knowing why, he spent his entire life feeling unclean and inhuman, not worth of being loved by his own family. even dean, who we all know loves sam unconditionally, admits in season 14 that he often took dad’s side on arguments because he had “his own stuff,” further leading to the alienation that was sam’s constant companion growing up.
AND, MOST IMPORTANTLY:
JOHN’S ABUSE PITTED SAM AND DEAN AGAINST EACH OTHER
john saved dean after their shared trauma of mary’s death. dean says in season 1 that the reason he stopped talking was that he was scared. iirc john’s journal implies he was mute for over a year, and dean in season 2 says that when he was 6 or 7 his dad took him shooting for the first time. if mary died just before dean’s fifth birthday, the timeline works out to dean talking again because john took him shooting. i believe that dean hero worships his father because after mary’s death, and dealing with the terror that something like that could come in and take his family away by killing them horribly at any time without any warning, john learning to fight back against the darkness - and teaching dean to do the same - is what gave dean his voice again. BOTH of them saw and carried the memory of mary burning on the ceiling for the rest of their lives. “watch out for sammy” and “get the thing that killed mom” were dean’s reasons to get up in the morning, because they were john’s reasons to get up in the morning. these things were LITERALLY his reasons for living. john gave dean a way to fight back against fear and gave him a cause to keep him going. abuse or not, dean never stopped being grateful for that, and he was the only other person in the whole world who understood the unique horror of what john went through that night. even all the way into season 10, he tells other people that john did right by him. it’s borderline brainwashing. part of dean’s self-worth will always be based on how good of a son he was to john.
on the other hand, knowingly or not, john did everything possible to alienate sam. he kept him on a short leash while also keeping him at arm’s distance. he didn’t trust sam with emotional things like the memory of mary, he didn’t trust sam with the truth about monsters and what they did for a living, he didn’t trust sam with his plans, he didn’t trust sam with the truth about demon blood. canon STRONGLY suggests john knew YED bled in sam’s mouth as a baby, but instead of telling sam or even dean about that, sam had to learn about it in a horrible flashback recreated by YED himself. when sam wanted to go to school, john told him no, and when he left anyway, john told him not to come back.
this is an equal but opposite kind of abuse. john totally fucked up BOTH his kids in complete inversions to each other.
which means that, no matter what john did, it caused sam and dean to fight. this isn’t an interpretation. this is straight up canon.
again, dean says in s14 that he frequently took dad’s side in arguments because he had his own stuff to deal with, and he was trying to keep the peace. dean, a victim of emotional (and implied sometimes physical) abuse himself, was not able to shield sam from all of john’s bullshit. he could stop sam from getting hit and having to see john during the worst of his drunken rages, but he couldn’t trick sam into thinking john loved him unconditionally, because john didn’t love either of his kids unconditionally.
when john acted in a way that was not befitting of a parent, sam rightfully took exception, which forced dean (who was ALSO BEING ABUSED, almost brainwashed) to jump to his defense. that led to john getting to do whatever the hell he wanted and sam and dean arguing about the effects. when sam ran away in flagstaff, DEAN was punished, leading dean to resenting sam for that incursion, even though sam was perfectly right to want to get away from an abusive household. when sam did a normal thing wanting to leave for college at age 18, he left, and dean resented him for that because that meant he was alone to bear the brunt of john’s anger.
sam repeatedly made logical, emotionally healthy choices in attempting to break the family dynamic, but because of JOHN’S BEHAVIOR, not sam’s, those choices wound up causing dean harm. JOHN HIMSELF was the ultimate wedge between sam and dean growing up and beyond.
and let’s not forget the biggest sin - john spent 22 years impressing upon dean that taking care of sammy was EVERYTHING, and then without any explanation at all, he asked dean to kill him, and then he DIED, which meant dean had to carry that weight by himself (because again, he’s been trained not to trust sam with things). like of COURSE sam got angry when he found out - that’s fucking fucked up! once again sam is being treated like a ticking time bomb for absolutely no reason - he didn’t ask to have demon blood or psychic visions or a dead mom or an abusive father. nor did dean ask to be saddled with the upbringing of an entire human at four years old who he then might have to kill. because dean will always feel gratitude towards john, and sam will always feel resentment, and because based on john’s treatment of them BOTH OF THESE FEELINGS ARE JUSTIFIED, john continues to cause fights between sam and dean long after he’s dead and gone, and that will never change.
on a final note: i’d like to bring this around to season 13.
after cas, mary, kelly, and crowley all die (or are presumed dead in mary’s case) in the season 12 finale, season 13 opens with nobody but sam and dean and jack. dean directly blames jack for these deaths. he says so multiple times. he says where jack can hear him that he knows jack is evil and impure and cannot be saved and calls jack a freak. when jack tries repeatedly to kill himself dean says to jack’s face not to bother, because WHEN jack does go bad, dean will be the one to kill him. dean does NOT see jack as castiel’s child - he sees jack as someone who brainwashed cas and kelly both and got them killed. dean does not even see jack as a human person worthy of life. from the get-go, all he wants is to put jack down. jack is born into a world shaped by pain and grief and anger, where people hate him simply for what he is and who died to get him here.
and again, sam identifies hard with jack. he justifiably protests dean’s treatment of him. jack is a kid and didn’t ask for any of this. jack is terrified of dean. sam reminds dean that john said all these things about sam that dean is saying about jack. john is still causing a rift between his sons over a decade after his death.
eventually, after jack uses his powers and brings back cas from the empty, dean pulls his head out of his ass and admits that he was wrong. he calls jack his kid more than once, and jack refers to dean as one of his dads. but the damage has already been done. jack struggles multiple times with his powers, accidentally hurting people and then wishing himself dead after. he also struggles without them; even when using his powers means using up pieces of his soul, he does it, because dean taught him that he’s only worthy of being loved and trusted if he’s “good.” even when he has NO SOUL, when jack does something bad he panics about it and seeks to undo it at any cost. that’s how deep the damage runs.
i see a lot of people remarking that in the arc of 13.01-13.05, dean became john, and i agree that he did. but dean didn’t do to jack what john did to him. dean did to jack what john did to SAM.
[spn masterpost]
#supernatural#dean winchester#sam winchester#john winchester#jack kline#liz watches spn#liz's meta#liz's spn stuff#YES YOU CAN REBLOG THIS PLS DO I WORKED HARD ON IT.#WHEW. glad i got that off my chest#this is why u can't call it the widow arc#sam revisited a WHOLE childhood of trauma here#the arc is about all of them!!!!!#backtagging to add#broken road#brcu
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I just finished watching Castlevania. Well...part of it, anyway, but that's context for a different post. I'm probably going to line up a few posts on this topic. For now, I'd like to begin at the end.
Endings are a tricky thing. They mean different things to different people. It can be tragedy. Closure. Celebration. Or, in the case of this show...all of the above, in the most unexpectedly beautiful, breathtaking ways.
HECTOR & LENORE
The final episode opens with Hector and Lenore, two characters about whose relationship I've been fairly skeptical. I have...a lot of thoughts about Season 3, absolutely none of them positive. But Season 4 gives us a quiet conversation where these two actually take the time to talk through their mistakes - acknowledging the hurt, and discussing their plans for the future.
A future that Lenore can't enter by Hector's side. Sometimes love isn't enough: not when you don't fit in this world anymore. Not when the two of you weren't meant to be together - not like this. Not forever.
There's something inherently tragic in a human loving a vampire. As Hector says, his voice quiet, his acceptance already settling into place: "Recently, I've been caused to know the value...and the beauty...of things that live longer than I do."
It's his farewell. He only makes a small attempt to keep Lenore with him - to hold her back. But in the end, it's her future. Her choice. And she's entering the sunlight without him.
Why is this exchange between two side characters so important? Because it frames what follows. It poses the question: What now? When the battle is done, and the turmoil of a world at war is no longer holding you together, what comes next?
And will anyone remain at your side?
TREVOR & ALUCARD
To my complete and utter shock - as someone who was expecting nothing from the final season - Alucard finds the most extraordinary answer to these questions, while holding the most surprising person in his arms - refusing to let go. Not now that he finally has Trevor back.
And when Trevor asks him why he seems so "weirdly happy," Alucard says the line that gave this episode - the show's finale - its title.
It's been a strange ride, in so many ways, for everyone involved. But unlike Lenore, Alucard has no intention of giving up. For a while, when he was lonely and devastated and broken in his father's castle, maybe he would have chosen that same path. But now? Now...he's happy.
And while he may not know what's next, he knows who he wants to be there with him. Every single step of the way.
LISA & VLAD
And here's where this season exceeded my absolute wildest expectations. Trevor and Alucard even talking to each other again was something I'd hardly dared to hope I'd see, much less this quiet, intimate conversation between just the two of them bringing the main characters' story to a close.
But it doesn't end there. Not yet. Because after the fade to black, with Alucard still holding Trevor up - supporting him, caring for him - we discover that there's another human/vampire pair running through a rain-soaked night, finding shelter in a warmly lit room where they, too, can sit and talk.
Where they, too, can build a more hopeful future together.
Thanks to...the sort of ridiculous plot elements of this season, Vlad and Lisa are back from the dead. They have a brand new lease on life, and an endless array of options for how to spend it. They haven't ironed out all the details yet - this is still bewildering and maybe even a little bit frightening. You're not meant to get second chances, not like this.
But they're going to grab onto this new future with both hands. They're not letting go of it - or each other. And they'll...travel, maybe. Like they weren't able to the first time around. If they'd done that before...if Vlad hadn't left Lisa alone on that fateful day...maybe things wouldn't have ended so horribly.
Tonight, they're not thinking about that. They're thinking about what comes next.
The destination doesn't really matter. The fact that it's the two of them - together - is what counts.
But there is one place they can't go. Not yet.
Alucard - Adrian, their son - has been through far too much. He's had to grieve both his parents: twice. He's spent too much time framing his life around theirs - or around their absence, his world battered and broken and twisted into new shapes by his sorrow.
He deserves the chance to build his own life now, on his own terms. He should have the opportunity to find his own happiness.
What Adrian's parents don't realize is...he already has.
#castlevania#trevorcard#alutrev#trevor belmont#alucard#adrian tepes#hector#lenore#hector/lenore#dracula#vlad tepes#lisa tepes#vlad/lisa#dracula/lisa#my meta#castlevania season 4#castlevania spoilers
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decoded fate
[Jaeyoung x Sangwoo. Future fic, much fluff and love. Sangwoo calls Jaeyoung hyung and Jaeyoung calls him baby because I said so.]
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Jaeyoung doesn’t remember the last time he felt this scared. It was probably before university, most likely before he even started high school, when he broke his wrist while learning how to skate and realized fear would just stop him from getting what he wanted.
But that was almost thirteen years ago, when he didn’t know he was allowed to like boys, when he still thought falling in love with someone was stupid and entirely unrealistic. He wanted to travel the world, dreamed about becoming a world-renowned skater or a famous comic artist, sometimes even entertained the idea of becoming a singer.
That was when he didn’t know falling in love would be a mix of emotions, deep affection, yearning, lust, and more, protectiveness, worry.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that, but also makes it hurt.
“Chu Sangwoo.” He mutters to himself, “if you don’t answer your phone–”
It’s almost six in Paris, making it almost eleven in Seoul. Sangwoo hates the time-zone, complains about not being able to sleep early because he has to wait for Jaeyoung’s call, but he always answers anyway.
“Hyung.”
“Chu Sangwoo.” His legs give out and he collapses on his bed, eyes closed. “Why did I have to hear from Yuna that you got into an accident this morning? You should’ve texted me!”
“I didn’t get into an accident,” Sangwoo answers, “I fell off my bike.”
“You fell off–” Jaeyoung repeats, exasperated, “she said you were bleeding!”
“Ah, yeah. I hurt my arm, got a couple of stitches.”
Jaeyoung’s heart sinks. He’s going to kill him. He’s going to fly to Seoul and kill him, by hugging. He’s going to squeeze the life out of him and he’s going to make sure everyone knows it was Sangwoo’s fault.
“You little–” he grits out, breathing heavily, “how did that even happen, you don’t simply–”
“Jaeyoung,” Sangwoo calls and Jaeyoung immediately stops talking. He knows, he knows what his voice does to him, he knows the power he holds over Jaeyoung and he’s never been ashamed to abuse it.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder and it also does wonders for one’s dirty talk skills. Jaeyoung will never be able to hear Sangwoo say his name in that sweet, soft voice of his, without his entire body heating up.
“There was a dog.” Sangwoo continues. “I would have hurt it. Would you have liked that?”
“I would’ve liked my boyfriend unhurt.” Jaeyoung stresses, but he knows it’s a stupid argument. He can’t control what happens, he just wanted to be there to take Sangwoo to the hospital, to patch him up, kiss his injury and hear Sangwoo lecturing him about it not being sanitary.
“Hyung,” Sangwoo says, “I miss you, too.”
Damn it, Jaeyoung’s eyes begin to tear up. His boyfriend always knows what to say to completely disarm him.
“I’m going back to Seoul at the end of this year.” He announces out loud and hears a soft gasp. They didn’t talk about it before and Jaeyoung hasn’t made it official with his boss, but the more he thinks about it, the more certain he feels.
“Hyung, I’m fine. Your work is more–”
“This isn’t about you getting hurt. Well,” he adds, “it kind of is, but it’s more about the fact that we’ve been dating for a year and I have spent less than a third of it with you.”
“That doesn’t matter to me, just knowing that you think about us, that you still like me– that’s enough.” God, Jaeyoung runs a hand over his face, sighing heavily. It’s not enough to him, it will never be enough, he wants to touch him, wants to hug Sangwoo so tight their bodies will melt together and become one so they will be together wherever they go.
“Not to me, baby.” He assures. “I want you next to me, under me, on top of me now and tomorrow and always.” Sangwoo’s broken gasp is answer enough. “I want to be with you. Not just to hear your voice, but to see you as well.”
“And to touch me?” Jaeyoung hears a zipper being pulled down, a ruffling of clothes.
“Where’s your cut, baby?”
“Left arm, hyung.” He gasps again and Jaeyoung knows his hand is trailing down his chest, teasing and waiting. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Jaeyoung says, fumbling with his own clothes. “Okay, are you touching yourself?”
“I’m waiting for you, hyung.”
“God,” Jaeyoung gasps, pulling down his pants, “I’m getting emotional whiplash, do you know how worried I was? And now– fuck Sangwoo, I want to kiss you so badly.”
“Where?” Sangwoo asks, softly. “Where do you want to kiss me?”
“Everywhere.”
The first time they had sex, the week before Jaeyoung moved to France, Sangwoo was nervous, but eager. His brilliant, observant Sangwoo, explored Jaeyoung’s body with an almost clinical curiosity and, noticing Jaeyoung’s reactions, repeated every move just to drive him crazy.
The following days, Jaeyoung was constantly horny, trying to work on the final touches of their game while fighting off Sangwoo’s advances, his touches and his teasing mouth. “You’re a monster.” He had said before slamming his laptop shut and welcoming Sangwoo onto his lap. Sangwoo had laughed, delighted and made quick work on his pants.
“Hyung,” now, his boyfriend whines, “what are you thinking?”
“Our first time.” Jaeyoung answers. “You were so shy.”
“It was my first time.”
“I know.” Jaeyoung hopes he made it special enough for him. “Was it good?”
“Of course.” Sangwoo says. “It always is, with you.”
His heart picks up speed again and he melts into his bed, so unbelievably marveled by Sangwoo’s everything.
“What did you like?”
“Your mouth.” Sangwoo answers. “You kept kissing me, it made me feel special.”
“You are special.” Jaeyoung answers, getting rid of his shirt as well. His cock is hard inside his underwear, but he doesn’t touch it yet, wants to make sure Sangwoo knows how much he wants him first. “I kissed your neck as well,” he adds, “remember? You didn’t like the mark.”
“I lied.” Sangwoo confesses and Jaeyoung blinks, surprised. “I miss seeing your marks when I look in the mirror now.”
Fuck, he wanted to make it good for Sangwoo, but this is torturing him. Sangwoo has never been this talkative or vulnerable before. It’s trust, Jaeyoung realizes, his boyfriend is opening himself up to him completely, showing all of himself.
“Sangwoo.” He chokes up. “Are you touching yourself?”
“Yes.” His boyfriend answers and Jaeyoung finally reaches out for his cock. When he touches himself, he imagines Sangwoo’s hand, imagines his eyes shining with a hunger that mirrors Jaeyoung’s own, imagines they are together in bed, side by side, and Jaeyoung is telling, showing him, how much he is cherished. “Imagining it’s you.”
“Me too.” He speeds up, groaning. “Your hand, so soft, touching me–”
“Your mouth.” Sangwoo moans. “Hyung, I want your mouth on me again.”
“Soon, baby.” He will, he will touch him soon. When they finally see each other again, Jaeyoung won’t let Sangwoo leave the bed for a week. His boyfriend will complain, he knows it, but he will shut him up with his mouth. “Are you close?”
“Yeah,” he can hear how hard Sangwoo is breathing, if he tries, he can hear Sangwoo’s hand moving over his cock, fast, needy, “hyung, do you love me? Because I love you.”
Fuck, fuck, fuc– “Sangwoo, baby, baby,” his toes curl and his hand speeds up, “I love you, Sangwoo, I want you, I lov–”
Sangwoo comes first, he hears his moan, deep and ragged, but Jaeyoung soon follows, arching his back and whispering Sangwoo’s name over and over again.
*
“I made a list.” Sangwoo announces. The decision has been taken, officialized and the plane ticket was bought. He doesn’t have a job or a house, but he has a boyfriend and that’s enough for now.
Jaeyoung has his phone on the table as he works on his packing and Sangwoo huffs, annoyed. “Hyung, pay attention to me!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Jaeyoung smiles, amused. Sangwoo’s pout is still one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen. “Go on.”
“I made a list of reasons why we should move in together.” Jaeyoung blinks, surprised, watches as Sangwoo unfolds a paper and starts reading, “number 1, you won’t have to look for a new place to live; number 2, you will likely spend a long time in my apartment, so it would be counterproductive to rent another place; number 3– why are you laughing? Hyung!”Jaeyoung tries to cover his face with a hand, so unbelievably happy he can’t help but feel like a giggling high school girl.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m laughing because I’m happy, that’s it.” Sangwoo’s glare reminds him of the first time they met, when he thought the expression was annoying and Sangwoo was a kid trying to ruin his degree, before he realized that is just who Sangwoo is and fell in love. “You don’t need a list to convince me, you can just ask. And I will say yes.”
“Oh.” Sangwoo says. This time he doesn’t try to hide his smile and simply blinks at Jaeyoung, just as happy. “Really?”
“Of course.” Jaeyoung answers, smiling back. “A few more days, now.”
“Yeah.” Sangwoo nods, he never looked happier. And he never looked more beautiful.
#semantic error#jaeyoung x sangwoo#jae young x sang woo#my fic#here i am with another fic#idk whats happening either#guess i better squeeze them fics out of my brain while i can
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hi can i request a yelena belova x fem!reader for Angst. it’s prompt 8) "Don't you fucking lie to me."
and can it please have a happy ending and maybe a little dash of fluff. thank you!!
You betcha I can
"Don't you fucking lie to me."
Warnings: suggestive themes and relationship insecurities
2k words
[ masterlist ]
Buy me a coffee ☕
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Yelena was never someone who was particularly open about her relationships. She wasn't really an open person at all; you were one of the few who was blessed to be allowed access to what she kept hidden from others. You just didn't think you were one of the things she kept hidden.
You had been dating Yelena for a few months and had known her for a lot longer. You were friendly with the people she was close with, just as she was yours, but neither of you had ever properly gotten to know them.
It wasn't deliberate. It was just that you and Yelena treasured the time you got together (as it could sometimes be limited) and got so caught up in each other's company you forgot about everyone else.
But as time went on you started to think more about the kind of relationship you had with each other's friends and even family. You wanted to show her off to the whole world sometimes.
You brought that up with her one night and she surprised you by telling you she had told her friends and Natasha about you dating. You were so overjoyed at the thought that Yelena told people about you you didn't stop to question why you hadn't been interrogated by her sister or some of the Avengers. They were fiercely protective. You concluded one night that they simply trusted you and didn't feel the need to say anything. Oh how you were wrong.
You grinned into Yelena's neck as you heard her gasp from your teeth grazing her skin. Her hands gripped onto your stomach as her head tilted back more, granting you further access to her neck before you ventured lower to make marks along her collarbone. She had always been insistent that you couldn't mark anywhere visible, making up some excuse about her missions.
Both your shirts had been discarded prior when you had straddled your girlfriend's lap to advance your make out session.
Yelena's hands reached around you to unclasp your bra but froze when there was a sudden knock from the door that snapped her out of her gaze. You were a little less quick to catch on, not being that bothered about it as you were still in the safety and privacy of Yelena's appartment.
You were thankful for Yelena stopping when the door swung open and the person on the other side of the door stepped in without invitation.
You were in a slight comfused daze when Yelena pulled you rather roughly from her lap and onto the space beside her on the couch and threw your top at you as she stood up to meet her sister.
"What's the point in knocking if you're going to come in uninvited anyway?" Yelena demanded as she pulled her own top back on, her accent stronger than ever.
But Natasha didn't answer her sister or even look at her. Her eyes were locked on you with a look that could kill. You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and looked to your girlfriend for assurance except she wouldn't meet your eye.
"Sorry for interrupting," Nat said in a very unapologetic tone, "but it's an emergency." Was all she said as continued to look at you like you had just punched Yelena.
You looked to your girlfriend again but she simply nodded and got her jacket off the back of the couch and slipped it on.
"Sorry." She said to the spot on the couch she had just been. "You can stay the night still if you want." Natasha audibly scoffed and crossed her arms but Yelena continued. "Or just lock up whenever you go." She shrugged as she turned around to head out the door.
You opened your mouth to say something but instantly stopped when you became acutely aware of Natasha still burning holes into the side of your head.
Yelena started down the corridor outside the appartment leaving you with Nat for a few painful seconds. She gave you the once over with a hurtful look before turning sharply to follow after her sister and slamming the door behind her.
You sat there for a minute staring at the door before you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You tried to analyse what had happened but you couldn't figure out what the hell you had done.
*
You didn't have to wait long to understand why Natasha acted the way she did. The sane time the next day you heard a knock at your door as you were washing up your plate from dinner.
You expected it to be Yelena. You hadn't heard from her since she had to leave with Natasha.
When you opened the door you almost slammed it shut out of fear but didn't doubt that the readhead would break it down if you did so. She stepped into your appartment as soon as there was space to do so, her eyes never leaving you.
"So you...dealt with that emergency?" You asked timidly as you fiddled with the edge of your shirt.
"That's confidential." She said as her pose became more rigid. "Why were you with Yelena last night?" She demanded without hesitation.
"We were hanging out." You replied after a moment of silence. You didn't understand why Natasha wanted to know that when that was what couples generally did.
You moved over to your kitchen so you could do something and not feel as awkward standing around, the Russian was quick to follow right behind.
"Looked like a little more than that." You drained the water in the sink as you gave Natasha a baffled look but instantly looked away from her challenging eyes.
"Probably would have been." You said honestly. That clearly wasn't the right answer. But it was the truth and surely that was what Nat wanted. You weren't about to lie to the ex-assassin.
"Are you fucking my sister?" Venom dripped from her voice and you found yourself taking a cautious step back.
"Well I...I guess that that's partly..." You stammered. Natasha clearly wasn't liking what she heard and that wasn't helping your confusion at all.
"Partly. So you're fucking other people too?"
"W-what?! God, no! I would never do that." You defied as you got a spark of courage. Unfortunately Natasha didn't seem convinced. "I could never cheat on Yelena." You said as you finally met the redhead's eye.
"Cheat?" Natasha questioned slowly, her brow furrowing in the confusion you had been feeling all day.
"I wouldn't." You said again, still holding her gaze.
"Are you...dating?" She asked as her stance softened ever so slightly.
"She didn't...she didn't tell you?" You almost whispered, already knowing the answer but hoping it wasn't true.
"She did not." Nat confirmed as she let her confusion show and her interrogating stance and tone slip away.
You turned around and pretended to busy yourself with something in the cupboards as you felt tears threatening to form. Your heart stung as you realised why she never let you leave marks or have dinner with the Avengers.
"I thought she did." You said quietly, willing Natasha's presence away so you could be alone. You didn't have the energy to be questioned anymore.
"I need to go." She said after a moments silence and headed towards the door. You didn't say anything else to her as she left. As soon as you heard the door shut considerably gently you rested you head in your hands and gave a shaky breath.
Is she ashamed of me? Is she planning to break up. Maybe she's only staying out of pity. Were some of the things racing around your head as you finally began to cry.
*
You didn't reply to Yelena's texts the next day. You saw that she was okay and everything was taken care of and that was enough. You were still trying to figure out what you would say to her when you saw her again.
The absence of checking her messages meant you didn't see ones that became frantic. Those were sent after Natasha confronted her sister and gave her a talking to about secrets. Yelena was desperate to explain everything to you and when you didn't pick up her calls or answer her texts she knew she would have to talk to you properly.
You ignored the first knock at the door. You almost rolled your eyes when you thought about how things played out the last couple times you heard that sound. Hearing Yelena's voice made you react differently.
"I know you're in there." Yelena called. "Please let me explain." She continued before knocking again when she got no answer. "Y/n, please." Your stubborness was replaced by your need for answers so you got up and unlocked the door for Yelena.
She smiled at you gratefully when you stepped aside to let her in but faltered when she saw that you only looked to the floor.
"Your sister came round." You said as you closed the door. "But I guess you know that."
"Yeah, we talked." Yelena said as you moved to the couch and she followed.
"I don't think she likes me very much." You half joked as you remembered the way she looked at you two nights prior.
"No she just-"
"Didn't know we're dating?" You finished as you looked at Yelena with hurt eyes.
"She didn't, no." She admitted guiltily.
"Are you ashamed of me?" You asked as a tear formed in your eye. Yelena's eyes widened and she tried to hold your hand in reassurance but you pulled it out of her reach.
"No! Y/n, no I swear I'm not." She said quickly with a look of desperation that you just couldn't believe. Not after a day of questioning as much as you did.
"Don't you fucking lie to me." You snapped as tears streamed down your face.
"I'm not." Yelena continued to reach out for you and when you moved away she kept going until she managed to get your hand and hold it in two or hers. "Please listen to me." She begged, it was a side of her you had never seen. That alone was what made you faulter.
"I'm not ashamed of you. I could never be. I'm proud to be able to say that you're my girlfriend and I don't know how to express that I..." She paused as a flash of anxiety crossed her eyes. You sat listening intently.
"I don't want that to change. It might sound cowardly but you saw how Natasha was. I don't want them to scare you off because they damn well could. They don't realise how they are, I don't want them to be dismissive of you, not when I care so much about you. What if they make you doubt us? I don't want to loose you, I can't...I..." Yelena was breathing heavily as she stared down at your entwined hands.
"I love you." She admitted. Your breath caught in your throat as you heard her words. You searched her face for any signs of a lie and found none.
"You...you do?" You still asked.
"I do, so much." She smiled and you couldn't help but do the same thing.
"I love you too." You admitted making Yelena's whole face light up.
She pulled you towards her and enveloped you in a tight hug that she never wanted to let go. "And I'm not going anywhere." You assured as you clung onto her.
"I'll talk to Nat." She finally said and you smiled into her.
"Okay."
"And we'll do this properly." She assured as she kissed the top of your head making you smile even more.
"Okay."
#yelena belova oneshot#yelena belova imagines#yelena belova imagine#yelena belova#yelena belova angst#yelena belova fluff
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convenience store stranger | suna rintarou
pairing: suna x f!reader
word count, genre: 2.1k words, college au. fluff. another meet cute story lol.
warning: none
summary: in which your late shifts become less boring and more interesting when a cute stranger stumbles in at 2 AM.
a/n: my first time writing for suna god im scared but i really liked how this turned out!!
The first time he meets you happens on one of his late night convenience store runs. It was exams season and Suna’s been pulling all-nighter after all-nighter. To say he was exhausted would’ve been an understatement.
He’s barely making it through on the third night and if he didn’t take a break soon, he was sure he’d have passed out on his desk. With his mind hazy from reading too many words and trying to understand a semester’s worth of lessons in one night, he decides to stand up and get some fresh air.
Which is how he found himself currently standing at aisle four of the only convenience store that was still open near his apartment. He scans the rack for something that can wake him and his brain up. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing but he could definitely feel eyes burning holes in the back of his head.
He settles on a pack of jelly sticks and a cup of spicy instant noodles and heads towards the counter. You mutter a greeting when he reaches the cashier and begin scanning his items.
When he hands over the cash for payment, your fingers brush with his cold ones, making you recoil harshly as if he was repulsing.
“Something wrong?” He laughs when he sees your reaction. “I know I look like a mess now but I won’t bite you.” He bends his knees slightly, tilting his head to get a look at your embarrassed face.
“No, I’m sorry.” You avoid his intense gaze, continuing to pack his purchase. When you look at him, he’s still staring with his piercing eyes that it almost takes your breath away.
Shaking your head to bring yourself to reality, you give him his items. “Your hands felt cold and I was just shocked.” You feel that same electricity sparking between you again when he takes the bag from you. “I.. well.. thank you. Have a great evening.”
“It’s 2 AM,” Suna chuckles and you sigh before correcting yourself and bowing to him in goodbye. “See you around,” he shouts over his back as he walks out the door. It was the first time he saw you in that store and he was sure it wasn’t going to be the last.
The second time he’d actually planned it according to your shift. If his past trips to the store were anything to go by, he’d learned that you always took the evening shift. It was something he discovered after being called out by your co-worker on the third time that he restlessly looked around the store during a visit.
He should be on his bed, phone in his hand as he mindlessly scrolled until he fell asleep. But with the memory of his interaction with you lingering on his mind, he wanted to see you.
“Hey, got time for a customer?” He greets the moment he steps inside the empty convenience store. You look up from the book that you were reading and quickly stand to welcome him. “What are you reading?”
Hiding the book from his view, you retort, “Aren’t you going to buy something?”
He grins, taking in your tired disposition and the bags that had formed under your eyes before retreating to the shelves. When he returns, he slides over a can of energy drink, iced coffee, and a large bag of chips.
You assume he’d leave immediately once he’s paid for everything. You certainly didn’t expect him to take out the coffee and give it to you.
“This is for you.” He opens his own drink and leans by the counter. “Doesn’t it ever get boring here? I mean it’s midnight and you’re alone. I’m betting not many people even drop by at this time.” He faces the door, crossing his arms around his chest and staring at both of your reflections at the glass.
Worn out from your classes in the day, you take his coffee offering, instantly feeling the rush of caffeine flow through your veins and waking you up. “The job pays relatively well. Besides I can’t really work in the mornings, I have uni.”
“So you’re a college student too.” He turns around and extends a hand out to you. “I’m Suna Rintarou.”
You introduce yourself as you shake hands with him. And as soon as pleasantries were exchanged, he immediately launched into a story about how his earlier day went. He was a natural conversationalist and despite this being your first time talking with him, you didn’t feel an ounce of awkwardness. You didn’t know what it was about him but his presence made you feel comfortable.
You learned about what he was studying (to your surprise, Psychology), how he spends his weekends playing volleyball (he was a middle blocker and an excellent one at that, he boasted), and how he ended up here during the night he first saw you (the all-nighter went well and he passed all his exams).
He rips open the chips he bought and offers you some as you lay your story before him. He munches as he listened to you rant about how you loathed your course (Business Management) and the many case studies and papers you had to do each day. He nods his head in understanding as you explain why you needed this part-time job (to pay for apartment fees).
You were having so much fun in his company that you didn’t notice the time pass by. (He arrived to the store at 12:32 AM. The clock on the wall now reads 2:32 AM). And for the duration of his stay, you were surprised that no one ever came by. He only ever left your side when a taxi driver walked in.
Suna steered clear from the counter and kept his distance as you did your job. From your peripheral, you could see that he watched you like a hawk from the side and it made you somehow conscious. When the customer exited, you playfully threw a tissue at him,
“I couldn’t concentrate when you were standing there and looking at me like that!”
He went back to his position but this time, he leaned close with his hands on the counter. “Like what?"
Well how could you say to him that you thought he looked effortlessly hot in his sweatshirt and track pants? And was that an adorably messy bedhead? How could you say that you liked the teasing smile that he’d been giving you throughout the night?
You chuckle and shake your head, “Nothing.” You reach for the book you were reading prior his arrival and took your seat. “Don’t you have classes tomorrow? You should go back.”
“Do you not want me around anymore?”
“It’s not that, I…”
He cuts you off, “Good, then it’s settled. I’m not going anywhere. I like talking with you too much to go back home. Let me entertain you some more.” He sits down at the chair on one of the tables near the counter and then goes back to chatting with you.
Since that night, Suna had been scheduling more trips to the convenience store. Sometimes, he’d really only visit to bother you. At times, he’d bring his books and laptop with him so he could work on a paper while you restocked the shelves and cleaned around. On rare occasions, he’d help you out on a business plan and the customers who’d enter the store would be amused at the sight of you and him huddled behind the counter with your serious thinking faces on.
He’d become a part of your life that it felt unnerving not to have him around on your shifts. And it certainly showed on your face how disappointed and heartbroken you were when consecutive nights passed without his visits. Your co-worker even called you out on it.
“So where’s the cutie been?” She asked one time when the two of you were at the back lounge while you logged in for your shift. You groan at the nickname she gave him and she laughs at you.
“How would I know?”
“Don’t you guys talk almost every day and night?”
“Only on nights that he visits me.” You pause, thinking about the possibilities why he could’ve stopped coming. And before you knew it, you were ranting. “God, are we even friends? I don’t know his number. Did he ghost me? Is this considered ghosting? It’s been a week. I’m scared I did or said something.”
She’s watching you pace around the room. “Maybe he got bored of me. Or maybe he realized I’m not really worth his time and dipped. Sleeping is much better than hanging out with me at 1 AM anyway.”
You’re stopped in your tracks when she suddenly grabs your shoulders. “Overthinking is not a good look on you.” She makes you take deep breaths to calm down. “I’m sure he’s just busy right now. He’ll visit again soon.”
“I don’t know why I’m being like this.”
The look she gives you is incredulous, her mouth gaping wide at your statement. “Are you serious?”
“What?” You ask, not anticipating the next words that would come from her.
“It’s obvious that you like him.”
The next time you see him was on campus. You don’t know how long it’s been since he last spent time with you on your shift. (Though if you were counting, you were definitely sure that it’s been two weeks and three days since then.)
You tried not to think too much about what his absence could mean but the pang in your heart never left. Those two weeks that he didn’t show up allowed you some time to think about your conversation with your friend. You like him.
Back then, you were too quick to shut down the idea. Denying any ounce of feeling for the boy as you saw him as no more than someone who had too much time on his hands to bother you on your shifts. A good friend is what you specifically used to defend your relationship with him.
So then why was it that your heart was beating so rapidly as Suna waved at you from across the cafeteria? Why couldn’t you stop smiling as you watched him make his way to your table and sit down beside you?
“Hey there.” He slings his arms around and pulls you for a side hug. “Long time no see.”
You almost couldn’t hear him over the loud thumping of your heart in your ears. He’s still smiling and waiting for you to reply. “Yeah, been a while. I’ve gotten the peace and quiet back in my shifts.”
He breaks out in laughter while opening a snack bar. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to stop by. I just came out from a major presentation that I’ve been preparing for during the past weeks. And guess what?”
You perk your eyebrows at his question. “What?”
“Our group did great.” He raises a hand for a high-five and you indulge him. “The teacher liked our slides and our analysis of the topic. Ah, I feel so good right now!” He leans back with his hands behind his head, but he suddenly jerks.
“We should go out!” Suna grabs your hands and looks at you expectantly. “You’re free the whole day tomorrow right? You’re not working the shift? Let’s celebrate. It’s my treat!”
Feeling overwhelmed by his invitation and his overall excitedness, you laugh and pull back. “Calm down, Suna. I don’t know about tomorrow.”
“Why? Are you busy?”
“Not really but..”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.” He tucks a loose hair behind your ear, leaning close with his voice barely over a whisper, “It’s perfect. I’ve wanted to take you on a date for a long time now.”
“What?” You stare at him wide-eyed.
“Come on, you’ve never thought about us?” He finds the situation entertaining. Your flustered reaction reminds him of the night that he met you.
“Why do you think I’ve been coming to the convenience store when I could be sleeping at that time? I like being around you. My day doesn’t feel complete if I don’t at least see you or tell you about my day or listen to you rant about the latest episode of your favorite series.”
You like him.
“Go out with me.” He kisses the back of your hand. “Please?”
The corners of your lips unconsciously curves up and Suna sends your heart doing somersaults when he says something about how he’s finally got to see the beautiful smile he’s been wanting to see for weeks.
Your friend was right. You do like him.
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu imagines#suna x reader#suna imagines#haikyuucafe#haikyuucreations#suna fluff#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu fics#suna x y/n#suna x you#haikyuu x you#suna rintaro x reader#hq suna#suna rintaro#haikyuu!!
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