#I actually got a little bit uncomfortable while writing and thinking through in the implications of the incident on Eris and Lacuna's trust | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luimagines · 3 years

Note

Do time or the other links smoke? Or drink? Or do some kind of drugs? I mean when your out heroing you're going to get alot of traum

Something they all at least somewhat have to try and take the edg off or do they have other ways of coping? I am sorry if this sounds like an ask,i was more along the lines trying to get your speculation on the matter

Masterlist

I see what you're saying and I do think that some of them would have had bad habits in the past but yeah-

They do need some time to take the edge off and refocus themselves in the present, but how do they do that in a healthy and safe way?

Let's talk about that.

I don't think I have all the necessary tags so go forth at your own discretion.

Time

Time would have definitely had a drinking problem that would have started in his Termina days.

He's never really felt the need to drink though- he only found that it would have kept him from going crazy.

But as he got out of there and talked more to Malon (and have his supply cut off- (just because he knew where to get it in Termina doesn't mean he knows where to get it in Hyrule, (nor would they give it to him, even if he did))), I like to think that he would have had to find other ways to calm himself down and think rationally through his thoughts and desires.

It happens by accident.

He was working at Lon Lon Ranch when he needed to go chop some wood and he found the repetitive and strenuous work, soothing.

He felt good. Accomplished even.

And a little disappointed when he was finished.

But he started doing that whenever he could and it became his main way to not only blow off some steam but to also calm himself down.

It helps with his anxiety and his need to help feel useful even when nothing is really happening that would require his assistance.

Twilight

Twilight finds that manual labor actually makes his anxiety worse.

He can't really find it within himself to get lost in it because he's already programmed for that to be a part of his day to day life anyway. So his brain can still go on and on even as he gets his chores done.

Twilight finds that a secluded spot with little distraction works best.

He's never really dabbled in other ways to deal with it nor has it come to his mind.

All he knew one say was that everything was too much and that he needed to be in a different area entirely.

No people, no noise.

He likes to hang out by small creeks or by the lake and fish if he really needs an excuse to do something.

Bonus points if he can rest with one of his favorite goats nearby, but that's few and far in between.

It's less meditation and more taking in the moment and letting time slip by for a change.

No to do lists, no action, no survival, no need to be on the run.

Just breath.

Warrior

Warrior would have smoked during the war but I don’t think he’d actually tolerate it all that well. I feel like he’d be more inclined to drink away his problems but with shortages left and right, and all efforts going into the war, there just wouldn’t be enough to go around.

So he’d smoke and hate it.

But it worked in a pinch.

Afterwards, whether through Mask’s and Wind’s influence or the end of the war, he’d want to find a way to quit.

It wasn’t easy but I feel like Warrior would attempt to quit cold turkey. Just drop the habit completely and what does he do when he feels the need arise again?

It’s actually little said than done, but he paints.

It’s less with ink and paint and more so, just moving his hands and a brush around.

If he happens to have a canvas it’s better but again, not easy to come around.

So what Warrior ends up doing most of the time, is taking a brush and some homemade ink from berries and brushing it over his scars. His favorite spot is the massive burn covering his left arm left behind as a gift from the Dragon Knight.

It feels tingly and electric, static follows the brush and the muscles clench with energy from the contact but while it’s uncomfortable for a while, it’s also not entirely unpleasant and it’s soothing to watch and feel. And it grounds Warrior in the moment until he no longer feels the urge.

When the urge is gone, he still does it when he feel anxious and concerned. Late at night is typical time for him to do this, where no one would see him or his scars and judge him for it.

Sky

Sky in the beginning would have slept more than he did before.

He was already inclined to fall asleep easily before all of his trauma, but afterwards he seemed to lose motivation to continue with the idea that things would go back to normal. There was still a lot of expectation placed on his shoulders and it was frankly not something he wanted to deal with.

So he sleeps.

Now this turns into more of a problem with being able to stay awake and to stay concentrated. It’s hard for him to pay attention to anything beyond him and that won’t do, considering me still has to finish his schooling.

What Sky does more often than not to keep him tethered to the present moment is work with his hands. He’s already had the tools for wood whittling but he was never allowed to use them in class and it ends being a bigger mess sometimes than he’s willing to deal with in general.

Sky also has some small pockets of clay that he fidgets with to keep his hands moving and he can keep it under his desk so that it’s not that distracting in class.

It helps him focus and when he thinks about what he’s been through and what he plans to do next, it keeps him from getting overwhelmed.

Wild

I think Wild would have just gone silent and unmoving when he’s having a bad day.

Kind of similar to how he gets when’s trapped in a memory but for longer and he doesn’t eat or sleep. It could last days at a time. He doesn’t even move unless he’s prompted or dragged to the spot.

The lights are on but no one’s home you know.

There’s not a lot he can do when it happens. Everyone just has to wait for it to pass and hope that it passes quickly.

But Wild gets better with time to know the signs when of one of those days is coming.

It’s not much, but Wild like to hop on the back of his horse and just take off.

Feel the rushing wind on his face and through his hair. He’s a full gallop for a while until the poor horse gets tired. At that point he just goes to the nearest stable and exchanges horses to do the whole thing over again.

Sometimes, when that’s not enough, he’ll go base jumping from as high as he can get even using Revali’s Gale to get higher and free fall. Wild is pretty good at catching himself with his paraglider at the last moment and he likes to see all of Hyrule when as he reaches the ground again.

It reminds him that he’s done a lot of good, that he’s capable of doing more good and that life isn’t over just one ended.

Four

Unsurprisingly, sometimes Four gets too lost in his own for his own good.

He’s got a lot to think about and very little way to get it out.

Four would actually throw himself into his work to try and distract himself from the memories, the anxiety, and the guilt of not being enough time and time again even if he saved the day in the end.

This doesn’t help.

He gets so lost into it, in his attempt to stop thinking all together that he completely goes into autopilot and over works himself. Not in the sense that he pulls a muscle and has to take it easy or end up sore and tired and regrets it. No, no. What I mean is that he’ll keep working for days on end.

No sleep.

No food.

Little water.

No fresh air.

It ends up being a hard habit for him to break. Especially since he finds himself continuously trying to fall into a blank mindset even while he actually works to get commissions done.

So what Four has to do is find something else to do. Four more or less always has to have his hands moving, so it’s hard for him to put something down and not working on it.

He likes jigsaw puzzles, he likes to read, but he also likes to make stuff.

So in the end, when Four feel a little overwhelmed and feels himself slip into a self deprivational state, he’ll stop and goes inside his house to do a smaller project.

So he bakes, he knits, he does his puzzels. It’s enough for him to feel productive still but quick enough for him to stay present and make sure he’s still taking care of himself until the restlessness passes.

Wind

Wind doesn’t really have bad habits. He’s still young and processing his adventures.

I’m sure there’s alcohol on the pirate ship because pirates. But I don’t think he’d like it as much as some people want to write him.

Like, sure, a cup or two ain’t bad but I just can’t see Wind having a drinking problem. At least not now as everything stands.

In a few years it’s might be something he would need to be on the look out for if he’s aware enough but he was quite grasped the full implications of his position and trauma yet.

Because he’s just a kid.

He won’t know how twisted what happened to him was until he gets older and can he the age outside of his own mindset.

Wind has nightmares though and they’re ties when he gets memories that he doesn’t want to deal with at the moment- or ever again.

In the moment he thinks of his home, his grandma and his sister instead.

He thinks of his friends, both old and new.

The chain help with distracting him and he’s not above using them for the distraction when he feels that he needs one.

Wind also stretches a lot.

When he was with Warrior, he got into some of the drills they were teaching the soldiers and for some of the nimble ones, they had to start with stretches and he likes it.

So when it gets particularly bad, he throws himself through the motions and holds the poses for a bit longer than necessary.

So yoga. He does yoga.

And it centers him, it clears his head and he feels better after.

Legend

Legend screams.

Legend cries.

Legend will go on a rampage and destroy a whole forest if he’s having a particularly hard day.

Sometimes he’ll go find something big and scary just to fight it.

Blacksmithing is more a hobby for him at this point because it’s not something he can actually see himself doing in the future. It’s just to pass the time and help the day’s go by a little faster.

Legend likes to draw and when he’s tired after throwing whatever tantrum has taken over him, he’d go to a quiet spot and draw whatever he sees.

Sometimes, when he’s paying more attention to himself and he can feel himself getting frustrated and anxious, he takes a few days off.

He leaves his house and his items and goes up a mountain to think with some food, a notebook and some pencils.

He takes up map making.

Legend doesn’t think he’s any good at it, but with al the places he’s been, he tries to make a map for them by memory incase anyone he knows or will meet decides to visit.

His most carefully crafted map is of Koholint for... reasons.

It’s takes him an age and a half and he’s still not done with it, trying to get as much of it onto the paper as he can remember before he grows old and loses them entirely within his memory.

It’s a calming project he finds. He doesn’t feel sad when he does this for Marin for the people and their memory. It keeps them alive in his heart and sometimes he draws something on the map that doesn’t quite fit into his memory about the island but something tells him to keep it because it was there. Because he was only a visitor to their home.

The locals would know.

He feels good keeping them alive in some way.

It’s what she they would have wanted.

It’s what she they deserve.

She They always wanted to travel and it’s better to have a map to do so.

He takes up map making.

Hyrule

I don’t think Hyrule’s... Hyrule has a lot of these methods to go around. He wouldn’t have been exposed to drugs or alcohol simply because there’s too little people for him to interact with.

And if he was, I don’t think he’s use them as a coping mechanism simply because they would be too difficult obtain and gather to be sufficient.

I think that Hyrule would actually hang out with a Great Fairies by her pool when times got particularly rough.

There’s something about the place that resonates with him and feels calming, safe and relaxing to him.

As a bonus he’s always welcomed so he can pop in and stay for days at a time if he ever needed to.

He does not stay there for days.

But he appreciates the offer.

Hyrule doesn’t stay for more than few hours at a time because he doesn’t want to attract any monsters to his safe spots but even if the fairies don’t use any magic on him, he’s always rejuvenated afterwards and he feel like he can take on anything.

And given the world he comes from- it’s needed.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #I know this wasn't really a request either #and I did say they were clsoed #but this was already going to get long #and it's more headcanons again #so into the queue it goes #bad habits #tw alchoholism #tw anxiety #tw smoking #tw addiction #pinky replies #pinky answers

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anawkwardlady · 2 years

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Number 8, for the writing prompt

As a side note, I hope you’re doing well :D

Hi, I'm good, thank you for asking you're sweet :)) I hope you're also doing well !

From

8 : fake smile

Ciel looked outside of his bubble, noticing Alois getting drowned in flowers, and since it wasn't a novelty of the party at this point, he got back in and focused on his drink.

"Are you enjoying your night Phantomhive ?" the blond boy asked as he paused the running left and right.

Ciel mindlessly raised his glass as an answer.

"I am. Isn't the star tired of getting praised at some point ?"

"Well" As Alois started to crumble down on the chair in front of Ciel, a pair of gloved hand caught his shoulders to keep him straight and disappeared. The blonde didn't react but something did feel odd.

"Did you like the representation ?"

"So you're not tired of praise. Yes, you're talented, happy ?"

"Very much so"

The hall slowly started to feel empty, and with that Alois too. Servants started to clean up. As much as the younger one appreciated his friend, he hated his place, which always felt hostile under a veil of warmth and sumptuous colors. He got interrupted by Alois trying to love himself against him and did let him cuddle a bit.

"God my cheeks hurts, I thanked so much people"

He was messing with a flower with his hands and rambled about all and nothing.

"Everyone loves to ask me if dancing is painful. I think it's interesting because... I mean, do people ask you if violin is painful ?"

"Hm."

He put his finger inside the flower and slowly tore it down in two.

"Me, I tried it violin you know, a little, and it's fucking painful, for your shoulder and fingers... it just doesn't really look like it."

Picked each petal.

"So I think, I think it's funny, because it's a part of the show then. They get off on knowing my whole body hurts like a bitch to do the things I do and... It's pretty because it is, but it's beautiful because suffered through it and look like you are loving every moment."

Picked and ripped one, an other, an other.

"They love to ask about the details, I have a cousin, he was drinking my words when I explained the whole shoe with steel toe pointe thing... I first thought he was just interested but, I got tricked, I should have known better, obviously he's a sick fuck."

At this point he was just crushing it in his fist.

"Now I think about it. How it's really about that. And I do love every single moment, maybe I'm a bit sick too, I mean who knows."

Laughed, let them rest on the floor.

"And you wonder, "what am I congratulated for ?" I guess. If I follow you right."

Ciel asked, finally out of his silence, now that he made sure whatever was once in Trancy's hands was finally dead for good. His friend looked at him with a bit of surprised.

"No ? now I will. I think about how Claude likes to watch me too. It's the only thing I do he seems passionate about"

"Well I like it too !"

The blue haired boy responded spontaneously.

"I mean... Not the weird sadistic thing you went on about." he corrected himself.

"Oh sure, Ciel Phantomhive is looking at me different from everyone else. You are going to make me blush."

He chuckled as Ciel mumbled something about his words getting turned against him. The blond one kissed his cheek and thanked him for the compliment.

"It's okay darling, actually I would be offended if it went over your head. I mean be implicated for god sakes, the things I do for you to look... You never really dance alone"

They talked for a while and the earl Phantomhive went home. On the way he thought about what they discussed and felt uncomfortable, as he was curious himself but hoped to be different. Still does and will look at him again, like he begged for.

#answered #prompt list #alois trancy #ciel phantomhive #cielois #hmmmm idk about this one but hey #tell me if you liked it lol #kuro writing

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fific7 · 3 years

Text

Into the Darkness / Part 3

The Darkling x Reader

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s literally just lemon zest 🍋 ... I have a vision of Ben Barnes in his black Kefta and riding boots permanently stuck in my brain right now. Attempting to write it right out of there.

Warnings: 18+ please due to NSFW content. Some dom/sub interaction, being restrained, coercion, questionable consent (thankfully it takes place in a fantasy universe), sexual content including oral, rough unprotected* sex. I don’t mention her actual age, but Reader is not underage.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

[My GIF]

“Moi soverennyi... why have you woken me?”

“Why do you think, little dove?”

You realised that this was to be your life from now on.

His hands pulled you up from your prone position, and you found yourself crushed against his body. You knew this was done on purpose - firstly, so that you knew he was naked and secondly, so that you felt his erection against your thigh as he did so. Which you did. How long had you slept? It was probably longer but you felt as if it was only a few minutes, and yet he already wanted to - what had he called it? - fuck you again? You were still sore from earlier; your throat and between your legs felt rubbed raw.

“Turn around and get on your knees.” His voice sounded harsh for some reason, so you rushed to obey although you wondered at his tone. Maybe he didn’t like appearing needy for you, this would after all be the third time he’d had you in the saints knew how many hours. As you were thinking this, your head was pushed back down into the pillows, meaning you were now balanced on your knees and elbows with your bottom in the air.

A long finger was pushed inside you from behind and you cried out in surprise. Another finger joined it immediately and you yelped again. “Be quiet! You make too much noise, woman.” You felt his thumb moving onto the area he’d concentrated on before, rubbing circles onto it, and once again you felt pleasure rippling through you. His fingers started moving in you; coupled with what his thumb was doing, you couldn’t deny that it was enjoyable. You were breathing very shakily.

Suddenly it all stopped, only to be replaced by his hard length abruptly sliding into you without any warning. You screamed, but he’d anticipated this and had pushed your face right into the pillow, virtually silencing all your cries.

He began thrusting into you, grinding against you without mercy, the fingers of one hand digging into your hips, while the other hand kept your face buried in the pillows. You felt him remove it, “Keep your head down,” he said as he did so. His hand went to your breasts, squeezing, massaging as they hung heavy above the mattress, pulling at your nipples and making you squeal. “Will you be QUIET!” he hissed in your ear.

It felt incessant to you, was he never going to stop? He was loudly grunting this time with the effort of pounding into you. He got to make noise, but you didn’t?

You heard his long-drawn-out groan and felt relief, knowing what it meant. Once again, the warmth spread inside you and he pulled out. You felt his juices running down your legs this time, cooling as they hit the air and your skin. You slowly stretched out your back and leg muscles, and lay down gratefully on the bed. The sheets were sticky, you noticed with distaste. You felt the mattress lift slightly; he’d got up and was heading to the door.

You caught a glimpse of his naked body as he walked across the room - tall and lean but nicely muscled. The door was unlocked and he left the bedroom; you supposed he was going to re-dampen the washcloth. He returned, and sure enough you felt the warm washcloth making its way over you. He’d also brought a second washcloth and was attempting to clean up the sticky areas on the sheets.

Perhaps the action of washing you had sparked something; just as you were relaxing into enjoying it, he put his hands under your knees and pulled them up, opening your legs as he did so. You’d started squirming, feeling very exposed and uncomfortable, when you were dealt a stinging blow onto your right thigh. “Stop moving!” he ordered. Gasping, you looked into his angry face but ended up giving another longer, louder, gasp as he quickly shoved his now-erect-again cock fully into you.

You hadn’t even noticed him getting hard again. How long did it take for this to happen in men, you wondered? There was so much you didn’t know. Then you realised that he’d lifted your legs right up and placed your ankles on his shoulders.

This gave him a whole new angle to thrust into you from; he was making the most of it, his pace so fast and each deep thrust forcing a pained moan from you. You were still very tender, but that didn’t seem to have any impact on Kirigan at all. He was obviously extremely keen to continue his ‘training’ of you to accept him at any time, at any place.

For some reason, this time he didn’t finish inside you, leaning back so that his cock slid out of you, spilling onto his stomach instead. However it soon became clear why, when he told you to clean it all off him. You’d reached for the washcloth but he shook his head at you, so you dropped it back onto the bedside table.

Instead, as he’d intended, you’d used your tongue to lick him clean, meaning that all you could taste was his now-familiar salty/musky tang as you lay under the covers, staring up at the ceiling with him lying beside you.

Listening to his shallow, even breathing, wondering again why you’d ended up in his bed as his only ‘companion’.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d eventually fallen asleep, and when you were shaken awake again some time later, you weren’t surprised this time. You looked at him as he leaned over you, and were surprised when he kissed you, tongue easing into your mouth.

He pulled you onto your side, and you felt his cock between your legs. He thrust into you, one hand going to your breast and the other to your thigh, pulling you against him. He moved his fingers to where he disappeared inside you, finding that spot with his thumb and rubbing it over and over, making you jump. His pace was slightly slower this time, his thrusts less punishing. Once he’d released inside you, he continued rubbing at you, massaging your breasts and kissing you until you climaxed. You remembered to thank him as instructed, and he’d stroked your hair as if you were a pet.

This time, as soon as he slid out of you, he more or less fell asleep immediately. It took you longer, as you now had an extremely painful ache between your legs which was difficult to ignore. In the space of a few hours, you’d gone from untouched virgin to having been fucked five times in a row without respite, and it was taking a terrible toll on your body. Your throat still burned, and your hand went between your legs trying to soothe the heat which burned there, and you finally drifted off to sleep.

When you next opened your eyes, it was brighter in the room. He was still fast asleep, but almost as if he’d sensed you were awake, his eyes flickered open. He gazed at you, reaching over and stroking one of your breasts, before rolling your nipple between his fingers. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning over and letting his tongue lazily run over the nipple and surrounding area, before starting to bite at it. Then he moved to your other breast, beginning the same ritual.

You jumped again as he bit down. “Would it be correct to say that you like my breasts, moi soverennyi?” you asked, staring back at him. “A lot?”

He laughed. “Yes, it would be.” He sat up properly, placing both hands on them and grasping greedily at them. “In fact, I’d go so far as to say I’m obsessed by them. They’re so... full and soft, and a perfect fit for my hands. They’re partly why you are here.”

You sat up a bit. “I’ve been wondering about that... why I’m here, I mean. I did not know you before I was brought to your quarters.”

He toyed with your nipples as he said, “Ah, but I happened to see you in the Camp about a month ago... coming out of your tent in the early morning. In just your trousers and undershirt. You were not aware I was watching you. And I would be lying if I said I didn’t study your body closely in the dawn light, through your thin shirt. Your breasts - what I could see of them - looked perfect that morning. I couldn’t get that vision of you out of my head. And now I have you, in every way. I can touch you, kiss you, fuck you, whatever I want.”

Grabbing one breast again, he kissed your nipple, lapping at it. He looked up at you, grey eyes looking softer than usual. “I’d say that makes me a very lucky man.”

You were silent, absolutely amazed that you’d caught his eye over all the other Grisha women.

He continued, “I’d sent the Oprichniki to bring you here the morning you deserted. I’d decided by then that I needed to make you my companion, only to find that you’d disappeared. But luckily you were in the first place they looked.” He laughed, “You didn’t make it particularly difficult to find you.”

You’d been turning over all he’d just told you in your mind. “You said ‘partly’ why I was here?” you queried.

He nodded, “Yes. I also checked your medical records. You are young, healthy and fertile.”

Your mouth dropped open at the implication.

He said, quite matter-of-factly, hand sliding from your breast to your stomach, “In addition to fulfilling my needs, you’re going to have my child.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were in his tent at the Camp, several days after his revelation. Things had progressed pretty much as they’d started. He’d schooled you in various other sexual positions, had eaten you out several times, and shown you various other things he liked you to do while you were sucking him off. He’d praised you as a quick learner, and continued to take you pretty much whenever he pleased.

He’d finally noticed how chafed you were, and had brought you a balm from the medics. It had helped a little, although not with your sore and over-used vagina and throat.

There were no shackles now; he knew you wouldn’t jeopardise your family by trying to escape. You were even allowed to venture outside. While you were in his tent, you wore a linen robe or more likely nothing at all. But you’d been given a black Kefta to wear when you did leave the tent, the Grisha woman who’d brought it to you giving you a strange and - possibly jealous? - look.

The black Kefta had confused you and so you’d questioned him about it, about why it wasn’t blue.

“Because you belong to me,” he’d answered shortly. “This proclaims that you’re off limits to other men.”

Now it made sense. You’d seen the stares and side-long looks as you walked through the Camp, had heard the whispers. One thought came to you, so you voiced it.

“Your little Sun Summoner had the same, I hear.”

He laughed, “Are you jealous?”

You vigorously shook your head, “No!”

“She wore it for the Winter Fete, that’s all,” he shrugs. “You get to wear yours all the time. And it’s different to hers. Much more splendid. Everyone now knows who you are.”

You glared at him, “And who am I exactly?”

“My consort.” He began undoing his fly, “Come here and kneel down.”

You knelt in front of him. It had taken very little time for you to learn that he liked you rather than him to free his cock from his trousers before you sucked him off, which is what you did now. He slid it into your mouth, as usual keeping his hand firmly on the back of your head so he was in control of you.

You’d also quickly learnt to make almost no noise, as you were no longer servicing him in private.

He moved back from you after a few minutes, leaving your mouth unexpectedly empty. However you’d noticed that in the past couple of days, blow jobs now usually ended in sex. He moved to the large chair in the corner of the tent, sat down and beckoned you over to him.

You went to him and he gestured to his lap. You obediently straddled him, taking his cock inside you as you did so. Moving on him, you saw his head going back, his eyes closing, jaw clenching and hands groping your breasts. He came fairly quickly, no doubt due to the partial blow job, and you slid off him, walking to the other side of the tent to pour a basin of warm water from the large metal jug sitting on a low flame, and a washcloth.

You ran the cloth over him, tucking him back into his uniform trousers before seeing to yourself. As you stood to take the basin away, he caught your wrist, looking intensely at you.

“You’ve learnt well, in a very short space of time. You’re being a very good girl.”

“I thought I was a woman?” you snarked, and he laughed, “Fine...woman, then.” He ran his thumb over the skin of your wrist, “You’ve been taking my cock so well, and you like it rough now, don’t you?”

You nodded dutifully, “Yes, moi soverennyi.” In fact, you didn’t particularly, but you had to keep this dangerous man happy.

“When is your monthly cycle due?” he suddenly asked you. Blushing deeply - this was not something you usually discussed with men - you answered, “About 10 days’ time.” “Make sure to keep track,” he instructed you, “it shouldn’t take long for you to get with child.”

You could believe it. Since you’d been brought to him, he’d been on you constantly. You felt as if you were permanently hobbling around; in addition to oral sex, he usually fucked you three or four times a day, which, according to more gossip you’d heard in the past, was not usual except maybe between newlyweds on their honeymoon. Which you & he definitely were not.

But you’d surprised yourself by having some kind of feelings for him. You were in fact jealous of his ‘little Sun Summoner’ as you called her, although he’d confided to you that they’d never had sex. He also told you that while he had felt a connection with her, she’d ruined that when she’d run off and disappeared from his life.

You’d asked him what he’d do if she returned, and he’d shrugged, “Nothing. She is dead to me.” But you wondered if that was true, or if you’d be cast aside for her.

You seemed to have accepted that you’d be with him for a lot longer than you’d initially expected. Especially if you did become pregnant. He had become more tender with you lately, kissing you when you least expected it or running his fingers down your cheek. One morning, you’d awoken to find him gazing at you and stroking some strands of hair off your face.

But he could still be arrogant, harsh and demanding, meaning that you did your best to keep him pleasured. He would still take you without warning; he’d once shoved you up against the wall of an empty corridor in the Little Palace, undoing your trousers, moving your underwear aside and pushing inside you right then and there. He’d been thrusting into you like a madman, and as usual you felt like it went on forever. You were petrified that someone would see or hear the two of you, in fact you still weren’t sure they hadn’t. But you’d acquiesced as always, and let him have his way with you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Ten days later, he asked if your period had started. You confirmed that it had, that morning. “Well, we shall have to try even harder, shall we not?” Inwardly, you groaned. You definitely wouldn’t be able to walk if that was the case.

He didn’t leave you alone even for those few days, just carried on fucking you when the notion took him. His stamina was quite impressive. He’d even left a strategy meeting he was attending a mere half hour after he’d had sex with you, spent 10 minutes rutting on you, before fixing his slightly dishevelled uniform and returning to his meeting.

He’d also had you brought over to the large tent where he and his senior men held these meetings. One of his men took you to a side entrance which led to a little area screened off from the main space, containing a plain table and chair.

He’d arrived a few moments later, striding over and bending you over the desk, putting his hand over your mouth and pushing roughly inside you from behind, grunting quietly and thrusting into you for some time. His mouth was next to your ear, and he gave his signature long low moan as he came. Then he was gone without one word spoken, before you could even stand up and turn round.

A few minutes later, the same Oprichnik who’d brought you over to the tent arrived, smirking, to take you back. His eyes had run over your body quite blatantly and when you arrived at your tent, you’d said, “Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell General Kirigan how interested you were in my well-being.” The smirk and roving eyes were instantly replaced with fear, and he hurried away from you.

You couldn’t deny Kirigan made it plain that he found you totally desirable, which understandably did wonders for your self-confidence.

However, this back-fired on you. You were now on nodding terms with Ivan, Kirigan’s second-in-command. He was another dangerous man, who you also wished to stay on the right side of. One evening, you were sipping at a small glass of kvas when Ivan came into the tent. He was looking for his commanding officer, who was in one of his interminable meetings.

You asked if he wished to wait for him, as he shouldn’t be long in returning. He accepted and also took a glass of kvas with you, growing more conversational as the time passed. He regaled you with tales of some of his & Kirigan’s exploits, and you’d been laughing at one he’d just told you when the Darkling came striding into the tent. Ivan leapt to his feet and stood at attention.

As he took in the scene before him, Kirigan scowled ferociously at both of you, barking out, “What’s this! I leave for an hour, and you’re sniffing and drooling round my woman like a dog in heat, Ivan?”

Ivan’s face reddened, and he shuffled his feet guiltily. Like most of the men, he found you very attractive. They all knew that Kirigan was fucking you, and he had in fact been thinking what a lucky bastard he was when the man himself had arrived.

“No, moi soverennyi! I assure you... I was waiting for you and I merely spoke of some of our past campaigns.” Kirigan sneered, “Which caused her to laugh? Is what we did so amusing?”

His glare turned to you, “Is it?!” You shook your head, “No... well, it was just Ivan mentioned that you happened to rip your trousers once when you...” but you stopped talking when you saw the expression on his face.

Ivan hastily took his leave, saying he would update him in the morning instead.

The Darkling looked at you with icy eyes. He took off his Kefta and threw it onto one of the chairs, and began unbuckling his trousers. “Take your clothes off, and get on the bed.”

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#the darkling x reader #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #shadow and bone #ben barnes #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #the darkling imagine #the darkling fanfiction #the darkling into the darkness

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whosscruffylooking · 3 years

Text

Instinct Part Two: Interrogations and Intrigue (Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader)

A/N: I'm super excited for this part. Spencer and Reader’s relationship finally has some foundation!

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings! Mentions of suicide and manipulation.

(Reader’s POV)

I tap my foot anxiously as I peer around the bland and intimidating interrogation room. It looks like something out of a mental asylum in a 1980's horror movie. They want me frightened? They got me.

Count Dracula barges in abruptly and sits opposite from me. I wince at the sound of the metal chair scraping against the cement floor.

“My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner. I'd like to take a moment to get your description of the man who broke into your apartment," he shows no emotion.

I nod, "Well, he had his hood up and a bandana on, but from what I could tell, he had green eyes...maybe blue...or hazel. I'm sorry, I'm not a hundred percent sure. He was just a little bit taller than me, so maybe 5'8 or 9. He climbed out of my window, so clearly, he's at least slightly athletic. He disguised his voice; he made it sound almost like Batman."

He writes down some notes. A statement that the other agent presented to me at the crime scene puzzles me. I decide to inquire for myself.

"The other agent..." "Dr. Reid?" "No, Emma? Emily?" "Yes, Agent Prentiss." "Yes, her. She told me at the ambulance that I might be the key to solving this. What did she mean by that? This wasn't just a one-off robbery? How could it involve me?"

He purses his lips, obviously pondering the right response, "What do you know of the Nomad Boys?"

My heart rate rises, but I promptly disguise my anxiety. "You get straight to the point, don't you," I quip, "I know that they used to operate about a block from my old neighborhood growing up. A lot of people have lost their lives because of them. Both figuratively and literally."

"Are you aware of your brother's involvement with them?" Agent Hotchner examines me.

I gasp. What kind of game is he playing here? I shift uneasily in my seat, "Excuse me?"

"We have significant evidence that your brother Jeremy was involved with the Nomad Boys from 2015 until his death."

I slam my fist on the table, "How dare you. How dare you bring my brother up and implicate him in illegal activities that he had no part in. Is this what you people do? You're so desperate to close a case that you can't admit defeat in then you pin it on people who aren't even here to defend themselves?"

"You seem relatively defensive yourself. Care to explain why?" The emotionless man taunts.

"Two hours ago, I was the victim of a failed robbery, and now I'm being interrogated by the feds about my dead brother? Is that not a good enough reason to get defensive?" I clamor back.

Tears sting my eyes and threaten to spill over as I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand, trying frantically to suppress my growing rage. He watches me like a predator to its prey. The sound of my rapid heartbeat muffles my hearing. I can feel my skin heat up with anger. I stare right back, eager to display my disdain for his treatment.

"If you'd excuse me," he gathers his files and leaves the room. I exhale shakily and hastily wipe the stray tears from my eyes, desperate to gain my composure.

(Spencer's POV)

Hotch exits the interrogation room and clutches my shoulder, "You're up. She knows more than she's letting on, even if she doesn't realize it. She will feel more comfortable with you." "Hotch...I-I feel like maybe Emily or Morgan should go in. Not me." "Why?" He glares at me. I swallow the lump in my throat.

I have a job to do.

"Forget about it," I say, stepping past him into the dimly lit room. She looks up at me with pleading eyes, silently begging me not to put her through what Hotch did. I sit across from her, noticing her obsessive picking at the skin of her fingers. Her knee bounces and lightly taps against the underside of the table.

She takes a deep breath and breaks the stillness, "Whatever it is they are thinking, it's not true. None of it is true. They're wrong."

"Y/N, I appreciate your willingness to cooperate and come back to the precinct with us and sit in here to be interviewed."

She throws her head back and laughs, "My willingness to cooperate?Interviewed? You mean interrogated, right?"

"I know this must feel like an ambush," I say, and she jeers, "but I promise if you just hear us out, the sooner we can rule you and your brother out of this."

She sits up, eyes wide, her posture defensive, "You just said my brother and me. Am I a suspect too? For god's sake, I don't even know what we are suspected of! Do you think I'm apart of the Nomad Boys too?"

Strike one, Spencer. Don't screw up again.

"I didn't mean it like that, y/n."

"But you said it," she crosses her arms.

"I need to ask you some questions about your brother's death."

"I'm going to be sick. Screw you, Dr. Reid."

I can't manipulate her. I don't want to. I can't use months of researching her to achieve our agenda.

It doesn't feel right. Why doesn't it feel right?

But for the efficiency and success of this case, it's required.

"Every day, you wake up in fear of the nightmares that haunt you each night. You live with the images of your brother engrained in your mind. The patterns he used to follow every day have now been adopted by you, most likely in an attempt to keep his spirit alive somehow. You are constantly looking over your shoulder because, still to this day, aspects of his death leave you unsettled and uncertain. You opened the door today because you were under the impression that the person on the other side would be able to offer you insight into your brother's death. He couldn't because he had another agenda, but I can. I can give you that insight; I just need you to work with me."

I watch as she struggles to fight the pain that comes from masking her fear. I got to her.

Why do I feel so guilty?

Her lip trembles as she begins to speak, "I know he didn't kill himself. That's all." "What makes you so sure?"

She releases a sob and then grapples with composing herself, "B-because he loved his family. He loved life. His girlfriend was pregnant; he was going to be a father. What kind of man who was so family-oriented and had such a bright future ahead of him would do that to himself, to his future child?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize he had a child." "Aren't you guys supposed to know stuff like that? Shouldn't you come in here armed and ready with any ammunition needed to break me down?" She cocks her head. "We do. We try to find out all vital information on our suspects and those connected with them." "That's how you know that I follow the same routine as my brother? Have you been watching me?"

I can feel a bead of sweat drip down the back of my neck; I reach my hand around to pat it off and to buy myself time to come up with a sufficient answer. She chuckles, "You don't have to answer that. I've seen you and Count Dracula in there tailing me."

My heart stops, and I swallow unexpectedly, slightly choking in the process. "For professionals, you sure don't take into consideration the fact that most people are suspicious of black SUVs now...mainly because of tv shows. Black Suburbans with tinted windows are either law enforcement or a celebrity. And judging by the fact that no celebrity would ever willingly set foot in my town, I was quickly able to determine which I was looking at every Monday and Friday from 10am to 5:30pm. You should really try getting some red cars, maybe blue, just try and blend in a bit."

"Actually," I begin falling back on my knowledge as a way to diffuse the situation, "Any vehicle, when suitably modified, can be utilized as a police vehicle, but the most prevalent are those produced or altered by manufacturers for the role of being a police vehicle."

"Validation and dissemination: am I making you uncomfortable, Dr. Reid?" She raises her eyebrow. I adamantly shake my head, "Not at all. I was merely dissecting your point and proving it to be a failed tactic to intimidate me."

She looks at me keenly, but not in the way she had looked at Hotch. No, she peers at me as if striving to convey a message, an offer to be her ally. While locked into her gaze, I can't help but study her. Contrary to all of the times we followed her, hidden within the shelter of our car, I can now learn her up close. She is attractive in a flawed, approachable way. Her vulnerability camouflages a might that even she doesn't perceive exists.

(Reader's POV)

I study him thoroughly. He baffles me. A man in the station he is, maintaining the job he has, and bearing the weight of both victims and perpetrators on his shoulders, should be coarse, bitter, emotionless, much like the first agent who grilled me. Yet, here he is, eyes lighting up when he starts to spout off facts. His nervous ticks overflow, making it seem like he is incapable of withholding the truth of what this job does to him. He doesn't want to put me in this position. He's not like the standard brute that treats this job, and it's prey as if they are nothing but a bridge to walk over to get appreciation and approval.

"I want to help you," he proposes in a hushed tone.

"I know," I whisper, easing back in my seat.

Unexpectedly, he offers me a wink and then stands from his chair. Stepping over to the door, he clasps the doorknob but delays for a moment. I look at him in anticipation. Looking back at me, he declares, "I'm going to get you answers. I promise you that." And with that, he's disappeared behind the two-way glass. A feeling of being left alone in an alternate universe overwhelms me.

Spencer is somewhere out there on the side of the good guys, his reputation untainted, with the certainty that he will be going home tonight. I, on the other hand, have lived in uncertainty since my brother died. Here I sit, on the side of the glass that is riddled with darkness and evil. Spencer lives in a world of heroes. But I have been subjected to the world of criminals. I have a feeling, though, that I won't have to navigate it alone.

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gaycrouton · 3 years

Text

Fox Mulder’s Senior Thesis

Scully reads Mulder's thesis to get even since he read hers, but she wasn't expecting just how much autobiographical insight she would gain into her new partner.

5k - MSR

Ao3 Link Here

Scully felt the indignant burn of embarrassment on her cheeks every time she thought about those words coming out of Mulder's mouth. "Einstein's Twin Paradox, A New Interpretation. Dana Scully Senior Thesis. Now that's a credential, rewriting Einstein." Worst of all, he said he'd actually read it. She didn't know him well enough to be able to tell if he truly liked it, but regardless, the fact he'd looked at it embarrassed her. She was a certified medical doctor, she'd written plenty of articles she was genuinely proud of over the years, yet Mulder had chosen to read her undergraduate thesis from the University of Maryland. She was only 22 when she wrote it, and she was pretty sure coffee and sleep deprivation contributed more to the final product than she did.

When she got home after that first day of work, the words still danced around her head "I read it. I liked it." Out of curiosity, she went through some old boxes to find a copy she knew she'd hidden away with a bunch of other college knicknacks, and just as she'd expected, it was full of errors and the misplaced arrogance of youth. The knowledge that Mulder had read it and formed an impression of her based on these old musings made her uncomfortable, and an irrational part of her wished she could go back in time and make it better.

It wasn't like it was an invasion of privacy, but to read her writing from years ago felt like a level of intimacy she wasn't ready to share with a near-stranger.

It had been a few months since he'd mentioned it, and they'd been working together just fine, but the thought that he'd seen this small side of her, Dana-the-co-ed who wanted to impress her professor so badly that she tried to rewrite Einstein, nagged at the back of her mind. Did he read her vulnerability, the way her words begged for her professor's praise? Could he read the pride she'd felt at the time for having taken on something so advantageous? Did he ever consider how forward that was, how off-putting to have one's thesis dug up from the grave?

But she knew that was exactly why he'd done it. Mulder wanted to make her uncomfortable. Not her exactly, but the new partner assigned to invade his space. She wasn't the profiler, but she knew he did it as a defense mechanism. Mulder had done it in front of her a few times now: if he acted as spooky as people thought he was, they would make fun of the caricature of himself he was playing, not the real, vulnerable Mulder.

Scully wondered if the thesis had any part in endearing herself to him, or did he look at it through a lens of judgement, finding every flaw and analyzing what he'd use to tease the new partner coming down to see him.

"I read it. I liked it."

It was one of the many times she'd started to spiral while thinking of how he thought of her. The spirals were usually brought upon anytime he ditched her during a case or when he investigated something on his own. A nagging feeling would grow in her abdomen that asked "Why doesn't he trust me fully?" And she would think back to that embarrassing insight he had into her. A few times she considered sending some of her other work, some of what she was more proud of to him, before ultimately realizing that he'd probably seen the titles and gone with the one that intrigued him most. The one he was probably most ready to laugh at, her brain would supplement.

Then she decided it would only be fair to read his.

She'd read his monograph on serial killers and the occult as part of her profiling training at the academy, but she knew there was probably an embarrassing thesis floating out there somewhere.

After the seed of an idea was planted in her mind, the roots started to overgrow all rational thought. She was fueled by a curiosity of what Oxford educated psychologist Fox Mulder sounded like in his early twenties. He was a bit arrogant now, though it wasn't repulsive in him like she found that quality to be in most men, but arrogant nonetheless. She could only imagine what a 22 year-old version of him sounded like.

Scully wondered what that must've been like, what the look on his advisor's face was when he inevitably postulated some intergalactic theory. Or did he choose a more mammalian creature to examine? Perhaps little grey men were too extreme, and he scaled it back to the cultural differences between Bigfoot, the chupacabra, and a yeti.

Luckily for her, she had a friend in the archival department who was able to locate his thesis for her with the payment of a coffee. It was dropped on her desk in an inconspicuous manila envelope, and she was able to sneak it into her purse before Mulder had a chance to notice.

Scully waited until she was home before tearing into it. It was about 60-pages, a nice length for a bachelor's thesis. She'd prepared for the event with a glass of wine and some snacks. A highlighter and some pencils were scattered around her in preparation for her night of learning more about her enigmatic partner. Despite the frivolity of it, she felt her heart thrumming in her chest, excited to meet this Mulder even if she intended to make jokes at his expense tomorrow to his older self.

She smiled to herself as she tried to have a last minute guess at what phenomena he'd focus on before a gasp tore from her lips at the reality.

Shared Grief and Repression: An examination of the psychological long-term impact of parental invalidation regarding familial trauma on childhood development

Fox Mulder - Senior Thesis

Oxford University

May 15th, 1983

Scully felt numb with the implications of this, but she couldn't help her curiosity. She read the entire thing in one night, unable to put it down. She barely knew Mulder well enough to distinguish if there was an autobiographical hurt child ghost-writing these hypotheses or if it was mere speculation, Mulder being desperate to understand himself. For all she knew this could have been a result of Mulder assisting a professor in their own research, the ties to his own past merely coincidental. Somewhere in her soul, she knew that despite her hesitance to admit it, she'd just learned far more about Mulder through this than he had learned about her through her nonsensical ramblings about Einstein.

What she did know, unquestionably, was that she would never tell him. That night she placed his thesis on top of hers, and hid their past selves in a box deep in her closet. She couldn't bring herself to throw his words out, so she would just have to live with them.

She didn't have Mulder's eidetic memory, but lines of his thesis stood out to her with the same clarity in which he'd recited hers. She never called upon them, they just came like a bolt of lightning that left a charred mark in its wake. It was as if she was the scientist observing if his hypotheses were true while Mulder acted as the living case study.

1993

"Adults who lacked comfort in their youth are prone to seek human connection out through other, non-conventional means, (Jenkins, 1945)."

While part of her acknowledged this was Mulder's office, the other part of her knew this was also the official office of the X-Files, of which she was an equal part. She hadn't felt this way since the last time she moved into one of her boyfriend's apartments. A few sweaters left in the closet, food in the fridge that was only for her, messages for her left on the answering machine - things that accumulated slowly until she decided it would be stupid to re-sign the lease at her own place.

That was effectively what she'd done here. She noticed that two women from the financial crimes unit were being forced to share a space, and, being she couldn't remember the last time she was in her own office, she decided to give it to one of them. Now, despite the fact Mulder was the only name on a placard outside and she was still trying to elbow space for herself on the other side of his desk, this was her office now too.

The space heater at their feet was hers, she'd brought a plant that was thriving in the annex of the office, she'd even managed to put a TV Guide clipping about Alf amongst all his other ones to see how long it would take him to notice. Even though those small things made her feel more 'at home,' she still wanted to claim a little more space for herself.

One day she decided to arrive before him, a box of her office supplies in hand, and take over one of the drawers of his desk. Just one - for now.

Scully plopped down in his chair, amazed at how much larger the indent he'd created was than her diminutive frame. With a sigh, she decided he'd probably be less inclined to be irritated if she took one of the bottom drawers. Pulling one out, she had to suppress a gasp of surprise.

She'd caught him reading nudie mags before, claiming they were for the abduction stories in the feedback sections, but this was… a lot.

Snowed in! Plowed out!

Shared Space (And a tight one at that!)

Years of Waiting, Big Explosion!

The titles made her grimace, but they weren't as bad as some she'd seen in her brothers' room growing up. The VHS tapes were lined up in the drawer in alphabetic order and their neon titles stuck out brightly to her. Pausing to listen for the sound of the elevator, she grabbed the one labeled Years of Waiting.

The summary on the back alluded to a couple who'd been in love for years finally consummating their shared attraction. It was surprisingly less crude than she'd anticipated. She picked up the one with space in the title and saw it was about two friends who had to share a room together while on vacation, and after a while, they can't keep their hands off each other.

She felt a furrow in her brow in confusion. These tapes all had similar descriptions to the dimestore paperback romance novels she'd buy from time to time. It seemed the story was just as important as the sex itself. One of them even had a cover of two people cupping the other's face as they leaned in for a kiss. Of course, the photo on the back was a naked sexual position that made her back hurt, but it overall wasn't as crude as she'd anticipated.

Mulder was into softcore, oddly sweet pornography?

She wasn't quite sure what to do with that information before she heard a ding come from down the hall. Scully quickly stuffed the VHS in her hands back in the drawer without looking, and instead moved to the bottom drawer on the other side of the desk. She was relieved to see it was some of his spare clothes and she dumped them on his desk before relocating her stuff into the drawer.

1994

"Children mimic what they see demonstrated in front of them (Smith, 1975). When a traumatic event occurs and parents cope without any outward displays of emotion, the child learns the expectation is that emotions are hidden. A potential development due to this is that the child understands how negatively invalidation felt, so they try to overcompensate when offering comfort to others, appearing unrelenting in their efforts to provide the comfort as the act itself is a comfort for them as well."

She stood there sobbing into his arms until she felt numb, soothed by the way his hands rubbed circles into her back as he whispered "You're alright. You're alright," into her hair, as if to assure himself as much as her.

The flash and subsequent whir of a crime scene camera made her jump and Mulder tightened his grip on her. "Can we have a minute?" he snapped, his voice coming out so harsh and stern compared to how he'd just talked to her.

She turned her head and saw they were in a room with at least ten other law enforcement officers - all with varying levels of pitiful expressions on their faces as they couldn't help but look at the embracing FBI agents.

Embarrassment flooded her and she withdrew her arms from around Mulder, bringing them together near her abdomen as she tried to take a step away. Mulder looked down at her in worry, cupping the side of her head with his hand. "Scully, don't push yourself," he lamented.

Scully shook her head and brought her hands shakily to the back of her neck, suddenly feeling choked by the table runner that had been used as a gag.

"Ma'am, we need to take a picture before yo-."

"I think we have enough evidence, don't you?" Mulder snapped, stepping forward in front of her like he was about to fight anyone who so much as looked at her.

She felt the crime scene analyst take a step away as they apologized to Mulder, but Scully was too busy fumbling with the tie at the back of her neck. She was starting to feel like she couldn't breathe and she was worried she was somehow tightening it. "Mulder?" she gasped.

Scully instantaneously felt his hands cover hers as he deftly untied the fabric, throwing it on the ground before brushing her hair back to make sure she was okay. "Breathe," he whispered, pulling her back to him so he could rub her shoulders.

"I'm fine," she whispered, her eyes focusing on the portrait of a Pfaster that was hung on the wall next to them.

Mulder stepped in front of it, replacing her line of vision with himself instead. "Please don't shut me out, Scully," he pleaded, his brows furrowed in concern. Mulder had comforted her a few times before in the past, but usually it was just a word or two of affirmation. Right now, he felt like he was the sole thing keeping her from drowning.

She glanced around and met the eyes of several people who instinctively looked away. "What do you need, Scully?" he prompted.

Scully looked back at him and noticed that he looked like he was going to combust if he couldn't do something to help her. She could pretend she didn't want his help tomorrow, for tonight, she'd allow them this symbiotic comfort. "I need to leave," she whispered.

"Will you let me take you to the hospital?" he asked.

She nodded once in response and that was all he needed. Without conferring with anyone else, he wrapped his arm around her and took her away from this nightmare.

1995

"Parents in these situations often do not realize the damage they are causing, nor are they actively trying to cause harm. Familial trauma effects all involved and, more often than not, the inattentiveness to the child's feelings is a result of parents being unable to handle their own."

Scully thought when she finally met Teena Mulder that a vital piece to the Mulder-puzzle would fall into place. She'd imagined a witch of a woman devoid of smile lines and with a tongue that could cut like a razor. The jagged-edged puzzle piece that would shift and create the perfect match to the soft edges of her partner who carried a burden from childhood that drove his every move.

Instead, she was met with a rosy cheeked woman who looked at her son's grave like she was contemplating if there was room for two.

It wasn't the piece she anticipated, but the puzzle shifted into place nonetheless, and she saw why Mulder could never admonish his parents while Scully had held so much resentment. Mulder was the sweetest man she knew. He could never find a place in his heart to resent a childless mother, even if she did have a child right next to her waiting to be loved.

Scully couldn't imagine the pain of losing a child, but she could empathize with this woman's pain at losing Mulder, even if only temporarily. Deciding it would be appropriate to go and talk to Mrs. Mulder now that the service was over, she steeled herself to tell the woman a sentiment she must have wanted to hear for decades.

"Your child is still alive."

Just not the one she was used to mourning.

1996

"Some children deal with internalized guilt because of the event. If parents or healthcare professionals neglect to discuss the event candidly to the child, this can cause them to believe they have done something wrong and that is the cause of the omission. When a memory of the event is triggered and the subject is reminded of the event, this can send them into a depressive state because of their guilt."

Mulder was contemplating dealing with Roche. She knew it without him telling her, not that he was saying much of anything in the first place. He hadn't been himself since this all started. No - he was being himself, and that's what was so painful about this all. Scully could see the guilt written all over his face, a guilt and a sense of responsibility so strong that her normally affable, goofy partner who always had something to say was resorting to one word responses and pensive stares. She was seeing the twelve year old little boy who blamed himself for his sister's disappearance, and it took everything in her not to bring him into her arms and tell him it wasn't his fault.

She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to erase the look on his face when he dug into the dirt of the forest with his bare hands, the desperation in his voice when he said "Help me, Scully." She was still deeply touched that when he was faced with the potential of finally finding his sister, he asked for her help. It sounded animalistic coming from his mouth, like his very soul was begging her. It felt like such a private moment, she was certain this was a part of Mulder he never showed anyone.

Finding out the truth about Samantha was the core being of his mission, his life's work, and being this close to the potential truth had left him bare like exposed nerves so oversensitized that he was numb. She'd never seen him so withdrawn and it killed her.

After they met with Roche and he'd teased Mulder, yet again, she drove him home. As grateful as she was he'd accepted, she was worried that he hadn't even refused in the first place.

"Mulder?" she tried, looking at him as they hit another red light.

He was staring at the dashboard as if the answers to his problems would manifest in front of him. Mulder didn't seem to hear her, so she tried again. "Mulder?"

"Hmm?" he hummed in response. If she hadn't heard it, she wouldn't have believed the sound even came from him as he didn't even slightly move. It was like a Mulder deep inside this shell answered, though his mouth couldn't form the words.

She put her hand on his shoulder, her thumb touching the exposed skin of his neck. He blinked and she took that as him acknowledging her. "Mulder, I'm worried about you," she whispered.

He finally turned to look at her and she saw exhaustion painting his features. "I have to know, Scully," he sighed, looking through her.

"He's using you, Mulder," she lamented, desperate to appeal to the part of him that begged for her help in the woods. The part that knew she was there for him, even if that meant telling him what he didn't want to hear.

Mulder shrugged lightly before turning to look ahead. "Probably," he sighed, resigned. He sounded used to this, used to being disheartened.

"I-" she started before a car honked behind her, making her hand shoot back to the wheel. They were only a block from his place, and he was getting out of the car before she had a chance to try talking to him again.

"Do you want me to come up with you?" she offered, reaching for her seatbelt.

He shook his head as he put his hand on the frame of the door. "I just need to think," he murmured, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

"Please, try to get some sleep, Mulder," she pleaded, only for the words to reach the interior of a closed car door.

1997

"Adults who have gone through this experience may find forming attachments difficult. It is not that they are emotionally stunted, but they've been primed through the childhood trauma to question if showing their authentic emotions is appropriate or not since they never received emotional validation. This desire to appear stoic is a defense mechanism that may seem like callousness, indifference, or flippancy in those around them. Because of this, when they do form bonds, they may be perceived as overbearing or clingy to the person they are close to."

She awoke to the sight of her own vigil taking place.

At first the only thing she was able to piece together was that the top of her hand was warm and wet. Then she smelled Mulder's hair and realized he was crying against her hand. For a moment she almost considered turning her hand so that her palm could press against his cheek - anything to comfort the man mourning the loss of his best friend.

"I'm still here," she wanted to say, but her throat clenched and her eyes burned as Mulder's choked sobs reiterated what they both knew: "For now."

She knew she meant a lot to him, but she never imagined herself being the person he bowed his head to in silent prayer.

1998

"These children may exhibit a pattern into adulthood of accepting behaviors and attitudes that others would refuse to put up with. As they are less likely to have positive self-worth, they may see themselves as deserving treatment that reaffirms these negative ideologies of self."

Mulder smirked. Fowley said they were allowed to investigate the X-Files as an indulgence, making Mulder seem like a child being pacified to keep busy to a room full of their peers, but since she said she held interest in his work, he smirked.

Now Mulder was talking to Skinner in his office while everyone else was told to step out into the hall. Most people in the room were content with going on a small walk, stretching their legs, but two people were left in the anteroom of the office poised in an awkward stand-off as they waited for Mulder to emerge.

His partner and his chickadee.

Scully sucked on her top teeth in annoyance as she glanced at Diana, watching as the woman appeared unfazed at the situation. Scully wished Arlene was here - anything to distract from the metronome of her aggravation.

Indulgence.

Chickadee.

Indulgence.

Chickadee.

The Gunmen hadn't explained why they broke up, seemingly shocked they did in the first place, and somewhere deep in Scully's soul she knew it was Diana's doing.

Was that why Mulder acted like that around her? Desperate to get some sort of validation, despite the fact this woman seemed to treat him poorly. Protectiveness flared up in Scully's chest and it threatened to choke her. At least, she wanted to blame it all on protectiveness. Acknowledging the part of herself that felt the bitter sting of indignation as she was condemned for wanting to make sure they were taken seriously while Fowley got a smirk for belittling their work.

"Things got a little heated in there. Didn't they?" Fowley called out, her voice sounding calm and collected as ever.

"I'd say so," Scully bit in response, sounding quite the opposite.

The door swung open and Mulder stepped out, looking around the room at the two women before telling Agent Fowley that Skinner was calling the Attorney General now.

Another smirk.

1999

"Because of childhood trauma, it may be harder for these individuals to let people in. They may be honest about their trauma, but when it comes to letting people see the intimate details of their life, they might be shrouded in mystery (Evans, 1969). Traumatized individuals will only share personal information with people they believe will not hurt them."

The young boy had to go home after thirty minutes of loading balls for them to hit, but Mulder didn't seem to be ready to call it quits yet - and, to be honest, neither was she. It was so rare that they got to spend time together that didn't involve a case. Even rarer was time spent together with so much levity.

Mulder paid the boy some extra money before picking up two mitts that were lying by the machine. "Here," he yelled before throwing one to her.

She caught the worn leather in both hands with a laugh that caused Mulder to smile. "What're we doing?" she asked, instinctively putting her hand in the oversized glove.

"Ever play catch, Scully," he replied, throwing a ball at her.

"I was never invited," she called out, shifting her feet against the sand underneath her to feel how it shifted. "You're my first."

"Mm," he hummed lewdly, causing her to blush at the way she phrased that.

"Underhand can be easier for amateurs," he replied before throwing the ball at her lightly from a few yards away.

Scully caught the ball in the mitt, smiling when he praised her. Then, mimicking him, she threw it overhand to him.

Mulder lifted his arm and caught it with a small jump. He looked at her with raised brows and a boyish grin that made the sensations she'd felt with him behind her stir back up in her abdomen. "You husslin' me, Scully?" he replied, tossing the ball at her with a little more speed.

She caught it with ease and shrugged. "What can I say? I learned from the best," she teased before throwing it back.

Teased. Scully didn't do that often, but she was starting to think maybe she should based on the way his lips curved up shyly. He'd been teasing and gently flirting with her since she met him. She was starting to see the appeal.

"I hope I didn't ruin any evening plans," he replied, throwing it at her.

It was always expected for Mulder to make himself sound like an inconvenience. Even after she just spent thirty minutes giggling in his arms and 'accidentally' moving her body against him in ways that she was sure to revisit when her hand was in her underwear, he still managed to convince himself he was a burden.

"I haven't had fun like this in a long time," she replied, bending to catch a lowball. "Besides, you let me listen to my music on the last road trip even though you didn't like it just because you wanted to hear what I like. I like learning what you like too," she replied sweetly, throwing it back to him with more speed.

Mulder smiled, playing with the ball in his hand before joking, "I just think Alanis Morissette needs to date better guys."

"Like you?" She didn't say it outloud, but she thought it. She jumped to catch a high ball he threw at her, causing him to burst out laughing.

"I'm serious though, Mulder. I like learning more about you," she replied.

Mulder ran to the side a bit to catch the toss before smiling shyly. "I want to learn more about you too."

She caught his next throw as she contemplated her next words. Deciding to take a page out of his book and be bold tonight, she asked, "I think… I think it would be fun if we spent more time together. Maybe we could have movie nights at each other's place or something?"

A smile erupted on Mulder's face before the ball hit him square in the nose - too distracted to catch what she'd hurled at him.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry," she chuckled sympathetically, running over to him and putting her gloved hand on his shoulder.

"I'd love that," he replied, his nose as pink as his cheeks.

2000

"It is not until the individual manages to come to terms with the familial trauma that healing may take place."

She never imagined what she might feel like in this moment because she never thought it would come. A potential romantic relationship with Mulder seemed like it was slowly migrating from the periphery into the foreground, and she was starting to come to terms with the idea that she may forever share the foreground spot of Mulder's sight with the memory of a little girl.

He said he was free, and he'd never looked more so. She had been worried after Harold Piller took off, but Mulder seemed nonplussed, just staring into the sky as if he was looking at an old friend, a small smile of acknowledgement on his lips. "Are you sure you're okay, Mulder?" she asked, reaching out and entwining her fingers in his.

He turned to her and, to her surprise, placed a kiss to the top of her forehead. She looked up at him with wide eyes and saw he was looking at her in adoration, as if nothing existed in this moment except her.

"Let's go home, Scully," he murmured, brushing a tendril of hair behind her ear.

2000

"Adults dealing with residual trauma crave the emotional validation they did not receive as a child. Words of affirmation, consensual physical touch, and other forms of direct reassurance help the traumatized adult feel more self-assured with how they are being perceived."

This one comes to her, like most of these recollections of his thesis do, in the most random of moments. She was standing in his kitchen, wearing his shirt that acts as a dress on her, while she watched him make breakfast. For background noise, he just pressed play on the VCR and the Caddyshack tape from last night started playing over again. Maybe now she'll find out how it ends.

She'd been so desperate to know more about him during that time years ago when she'd read his thesis, that any line she read seemingly became permanently filed away in the Mulder folder of her brain. So now, as she stood here taking in all the new information about him that she was newly privy to - his inability to whistle despite his valiant efforts, the fact he can crack an egg with one hand despite having seemingly basic culinary skills, how he often takes moments to look at her as if he wants to make sure she's still here - the process of filing away the new information caused that little tidbit from seven years ago to leak out.

Deciding to test 22 year old Mulder's hypothesis, she walked over to him with her bare feet padding along the tiles of his floor, and wrapped her arms around his waist so that her chest was flush to his bare back.

"Is this about to be a culinary version of that scene from Ghost?" he asked, his muscles moving as he flipped a pancake over.

"I like being here," she murmured shyly, her words sounding weird from her cheek being smooshed against his back.

It felt weird, but not horribly so. They didn't communicate verbally all that well, it wasn't their thing, but if little moments like these held a chance of letting Mulder know how she felt, then she could overcome her own hang ups. It was a lot easier than mustering the courage to say the three words they already knew.

She felt Mulder's back twist, as if trying to look at her, before he turned back, likely not wanting to dislodge her. "I-I like you being here too," he stammered. While he also was clearly unused to this type of openness, the upward lilt of his inflection told her she'd made him happy.

She liked it.

Squeezing him once tightly, she added, "I'm glad I get to spend the day with you." They were sentiments so PG and mundane that she'd probably even said them to her mother before, but within this special context of her and Mulder's relationship - it felt like a huge step.

"If I knew making you breakfast would have gotten this reaction I would have done it years ago," he joked, though his words were laden with sincerity. She felt him pause for a moment before timidly moving one hand to rest on top of hers.

She smiled into his back and pressed a gentle kiss against warm flesh as Mulder's own version of those three words wrapped around her heart.

#x files #fanfic #mulder #scully #character study #trauma #angst #fluff #ust to rst #irresistible #blessing way #paper hearts #the end #the unnatural #closure #je souhaite #x files fanfiction

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notnctu · 3 years

Text

under the mistletoe | l.ty

lee taeyong x fem!reader genre - fluff, barely humor idk, very little bit of angst details - enemies to lovers!au, childhood friends that have been apart, high school!au warnings - explicit language, one mention of death, there’s a kiss scene lol word count - 2.7k synopsis - the holiday season brings a change of heart this year. you see your old friend, now enemy, Lee Taeyong at Mark’s Christmas gathering and through snowman shaped cookies, you two re-kindle your old friendship.

a/n - this is for @neoculturechristmas ‘s secret santa collab! this piece is dedicated to @soliverse :) hello lovie!! i’m your secret santa!! i hope you like it and im sorry that it’s not funny LOL thank you for letting me participate in such a fun holiday collab! im so happy to be able to write a fic for another writer:)

Through the heavily crowded Christmas party, through the people that dare walk in your way, you still see him in the midst of the chaos. Lee Taeyong stands only a few feet from you, in a ridiculous Christmas sweater and messy frosty hair. The universe is absolutely obsessed with placing you two in uncomfortable situations, as if the fuming feud between you two is not enough.

His absentminded actions cause him to foolishly knock over someone’s drink, what a fucking clutz. Rolling your eyes, you wander off in search of your good friend to announce your departure for the night.

“Already? Y/N, you got here like, five minutes ago.” Mark mixes the glass bowl that is filled to the brim with red sugary punch. Any forceful spin will have it spilling from the rim, and that won’t be the only mishap of the night that you witness. “What’s the rush? It’s Christmas Eve!”

And before you can utter the blacklisted name to explain your sudden change of heart, the culprit walks in with his stunned puppy eyes that grow sharp and a frown at your appearance. There is a small spark in the shared eye contact until it completely drops and he returns to ignoring your presence.

“Mark, where are your napkins? I spilled something in your living room.” It had to be a whole year since you’ve last heard his voice and you still remember his low cadence whenever he was trying to be cool. Cool and mysterious Taeyong, and how he lives up so perfectly to his title. However, there was a moment in time that you knew him for more than that. He was warm and comforting Taeyong.

While he tried so hard to be winter on the outside, spring bloomed blossoms on the inside and a bright sunshine radiated enough for you to witness its glow. You wished to stay with his spring for as long as you possibly could, but like the changing seasons, Taeyong eventually changed with it.

“It’s in the upper cabinet.” Mark does not realize the initial situation in the room, merrily going back to his large bowl of delicious liquid. It takes one big sigh from you for your friend to finally realize the elephant in the room and the unknowingly stiff tension in the kitchen. Mark’s eyes grow a bit bigger and as subtle as he tried to be, he clears his throat, “I think Christmas is all about joining together and being in each other’s company. Stay, Y/N.”

Mark did not choose his words wisely as Taeyong peeks over his shoulder, catching the last words of his sentence. “You’re leaving already, Y/N?” That is the first time he’s acknowledged you in the past few years.

There is an internal battle of whether or not you should acknowledge him back. Crossing your arms, you grumble something underneath your breath. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” Taeyong says sternly, making sure he asserts his nonchalant attitude. “Just sucks that Mark threw such a happy Christmas party for his good friend to leave.” He slings an arm around Mark’s shoulders, snuggling his face into the side of Mark’s chocolate colored hair.

And Mark dares to show a small smile of affection back. “Sorry that Y/N is always walking out on things. She does that quite often.” Before you can give him a piece of your mind, Mark shoves a snowman shaped biscuit in your mouth.

Taeyong gets away laughing, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride as he walks to clean up his other mess. You groan, biting the head of the snowman off and glaring at Mark. “Why did you let him get away with saying that to me? And when did you become friends with him again? And why are your cookies so hard?”

“Taeyong lost a friend, like a month ago. Just be a bit empathetic, please.” Mark wipes his hands on his apron and continues kneading at a random ball of dough. If it’s one thing that Mark always does too well is overachieving at his holiday gatherings. There is a reason why he’s head of the Prom Committee and student officer for event planning at your high school.

Washing your hands, the cold water bites at your skin. It’s been a really cold winter this year. When you dry your hands off, you scoot Mark over to make room for yourself to help with his endless amount of holiday treats.

“We’ve all lost friends, Mark. Sometimes people don’t work out with others and that’s just how it goes.” There is an underlying bitterness that does not seem to fade when you speak.

“Speaking from experience, maybe?” Mark chuckles, but dismisses the brief second of giggles to a more serious and low tone. “Not that kind of lost, Y/N. He lost a friend forever, like this person is in a forever sleep.”

The moment the words hit the air, a chilly draft sweeps at your ankles and you freeze in your place. And as you stand with dry flour on your hands and a person you thought you’d never become warm to again stands in the next room over, your heart softens at the information and immediate guilt preoccupies your system.

“Oh… well you should have started with that, then.” You slightly graze a finger across your nose at the faint tickle. Your mind is running at high speed, merely wondering about all the pain that Taeyong possibly felt this past month and remembering how it’s difficult for him to process his feelings.

“He actually wasn’t going to come tonight, until I mentioned you were coming.” Mark unloads a batch of fresh cookies from the oven and replaces it with another tray. The aromatics take you back to Christmas many years ago and the memory of Taeyong getting frosting everywhere you could remember. It took weeks to get the red and green stains out of the carpet, but the laughter made up for every clumsy mistake.

Not completely sure where the melancholic spirit erupted from, you rinse your hands and grab two cookies off the still hot tray without another response. Hurrying off, Mark yells out, “Wait-- those aren’t decorated yet!” but you choose to ignore his pleas.

Why is it harder to find him in a crowd when you are actually looking for him? Perhaps the saying, the best things in life come when you’re not looking for them, holds some truth to it. But your feet take you directly to him; he sits at the leather couch with the burning embers from the fireplace reflecting in his eyes.

Your abrupt appearance startles him a bit, but his face falls sullen when he sees that it’s you. Shoulders touching, you’ve missed the intimacy you two use to share. The blank snowman shaped cookie feels warm in your hand as you thrust it into Taeyong’s face. “For you.”

Taeyong scoffs, pushing your hand away lightly and looking away from the pitiful undecorated treat. “This feels like a trap.”

“No trap. Just a truce. Remember the time when I got upset at you for forgetting me in the parking lot and I told you the only way to fix it was to buy me food?” Your hand begins to drop, but Taeyong catches your wrist and takes the cookie from your possession. He gently places your hand back onto your lap.

“I know no other love language.” You explain the reasoning behind the old memory.

“Pretty sure food isn’t a love language.” Taeyong chuckles, like Christmas carols to your ears, he sounds like home.

“It’s not, but they all require me to be too emotionally vulnerable and you know how that makes me feel…” Your voice unintentionally trails off the end of your sentence. Does he still know how you feel?

Taeyong’s eyebrow raises subtly, catching your implication. “You’re still the same person you were three years ago?”

Three years, has it really been that long? You nod without needing to ponder the thought. There is a stark difference between change and growth. You are who you’ve always been, that is never going to change, but you’ve grown to be stronger and a little more independent.

“That’s not surprising.” Taeyong bites at his cookie, turning the figure in his hands as he stares off to reminisce about the past. He thinks about his pain. He thinks about his own self growth. “I’ve been thinking about you recently.”

The bold comment causes your chest to burn and your throat to grow a bit dry. Taeyong finally looks up at you, eyes dropping between your own and your lips. He doesn’t shy away from staring, taking in how much you’ve changed appearance wise since you two used to be friends. His eyelashes dance against his skin every time he blinked and the white strands of his hair fall around his crown like snowflakes.

“Why?”

“I learned how important it is to have friends around you. You never know when you’ll never see them again. The falling out we had should not have ruined the friendship we built for so long.” It’s difficult for Taeyong to continue with his feelings. It’s not a secret that he’s liked you since you two were close, probably half of the room is well aware of it. But there has never been a moment where he was out right too vulnerable to you, he was and is afraid of showing his feelings.

It’s an immediate body reaction when Taeyong leans in to you and you defensively back away. The confusion shows on your face very blatantly and his dreamy laugh rattles your bones. Taeyong’s hand softly caresses your cheek as his thumb brushes the tip of your nose. “You have some flour on your face.” This skin to skin leaves you speechless as his hot hand holds your cheek so delicately, making your heart race rapidly.

“Your Christmas sweater is ugly.” That’s all you can utter, out of pure panic too. Your eyes dip away and he retracts away from you, elbows on his knees as he leans forward and ducking momentarily to examine his choice of festive clothing.

He laughs, “it’s called an ugly Christmas sweater for a reason. It’s better than wearing a lame red sweater and calling it festive.” It’s surreal how quick things settle back into being the way that it used to be. As if the last three years of silence and constantly pretending the other didn��t exist disappeared. Taeyong is back, he’s yours again. And you hope that he’ll be by your side for longer than you had let him go.

“Red is not my color, I agree, but green is definitely not yours.” You joke back and Taeyong ruffles your hair, just like old times. The holiday spirit practically wraps its arms around you two. The holidays are really about being in each other’s warmth. In this very cold winter, you’re happy to have found an old flame that kept you from frostbite for many years.

“Y/N, we’re putting up the mistletoe.” An acquaintance interrupts you and Taeyong, quickly grabbing your arm to follow her. Your eyes dart between her and Taeyong. One thing you know no doubt about is that you aren’t leaving Taeyong alone again, so you take his hand without another second thought and drag him along with you.

You’re all ushered into the foyer and Mark is on a step ladder under the frame of his door. He notes Taeyong by your side and discreetly smiles to himself. He securely pins it to the wall and claps his hands together to gather everyone’s attention. “We’re going to blindfold two people and they’re going to have to kiss underneath the mistletoe.”

Your hands grow sweaty at the thought of such a risky game and immediately, you two let go of each other’s hands without realizing the clutching feeling of each other’s anxiousness. “I don’t think I’ll be chosen.” Taeyong mumbles to you as Mark and a few other people unravel the blindfolds. Nevertheless, he doesn’t sound very confident and you notice Taeyong’s shifty eyes.

“Right. Me either.” You shrug off, trying to hide slightly behind Taeyong’s stature. However, Taeyong instantly catches the uncertainty in your voice as well.

“Aren’t there four couples in the room?” Taeyong whispers over his shoulder at you.

Crossing your arms, you roll your eyes at his obvious thinking. “Yeah, but Mark isn’t going to choose a couple to kiss. How boring.”

Taeyong chuckles out of disbelief at your comment. “I’ll volunteer you if you want to really spice things up.”

And your eyes grow wide at his mischievous suggestion, pinching at his arm lightly. Underneath the fleece, Taeyong feels sturdy and strong. It’s only another reminder that you two aren’t kids anymore. “Lee Taeyong, do not. I don’t want to kiss anyone in this room.” That might’ve been a lie, even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself that you are just a little curious how Taeyong might have matured.

“Everyone close your eyes.” Mark excitedly smiles and everyone obliges. You gulp the pooled saliva in your mouth, trying to manifest every possible hope that you aren’t chosen in this room of twenty people. Mark wouldn’t screw you over like that, would he? The more you pondered that thought, the more you believe that he totally would.

Then, you feel a hand on your arm and you’re being guided somewhere. A cloth covers your eyes and you’re quick to snarl, “Mark Lee, this is your only Christmas present. You get no more favors from me.” your cadence is only loud enough for him to hear and though you’re robbed of your sight, Mark’s boyish laughter says enough about his enlightened facial expression.

“This is what you get for trying to leave five minutes into my extravagant party I tried so hard to put on.” Mark sarcastically comments and pats your shoulders for a last indication of reassurance.

You hear footsteps in front of you and an uncanny presence of another in your close proximity. “Okay, everyone can open their eyes.” Mark cheers and it’s not like you can see much through the dark cloth that covers your eyes, but yours open anyways.

Gasps fill the room, slight hollering and cheering. The reactions cause an unsettling stir in your lower stomach. “Kiss!” and before you know it, the unknown person searches for your face and cups it gingerly. The feeling being very familiar to a scene before.

The both of you lean in and it’s difficult with the lack of sight, but people kiss with their eyes closed right? It’s not your first kiss, but also the sense deprivation is something different. When you tilt your head and go in for it, your noses bump together clumsily. You’re slightly embarrassed, your heart is leaping out of your chest from the sudden display of affection and you’re strangling Mark in your imagination.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, but there isn’t a response back. Instead, your partner dives in without any trace of struggle. Their lips glide perfectly with yours and it’s almost like you’re kissing snow. Any form of awkwardness melts away; their hand on your cheek feels natural and comforting. Your heart yearns for this sense of security as the same warmth from the fireplace embodies your chest.

When you two pull away, the room bursts into a loud chaos of cheers. Before you can take off your blindfold, you can feel everyone running toward the both of you to give you excited pats on your head and arm.

“I can’t believe that just happened!” Your friend’s voice can be heard in your ear. As you lift off the cloth, you see him in the midst of the chaos. Through the heavy dog pile of overly joyous people, Lee Taeyong stands a few feet from you in his ugly Christmas sweater, messy frosty hair and a pink hue across his pale cheeks.

He looks over at you and shyly smiles. “Hopefully that spiced things enough for you. Happy Holidays, Y/N.” He can barely process everyone else's excitement, but he feels joyous for once. After a long cold bitter winter, he feels warm.

“Happy Holidays, you big goof. Good to have you back.” You push at his arm, laughing happily at the ridiculously wide smile he has on his face. You’re glad to see Taeyong smile again.

#neoculturechristmas #nct-writers #kpopscape #neowritingsnet #neothestars #nct scenarios #taeyong scenarios #nct scenario #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct imagines #nct fluff #lee taeyong scenarios

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years

Text

confiding over cuddles

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil, background Roman & Remus. Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Analogical, both pre-relationship and during the relationship. Warnings: Language. First scene has mentions of being outed, religious homophobia, the implication of the f-slur having been used (the actual word is never on the page), and could maybe come across as critical of Christianity although I intend it more as critical of the homophobia. All of this is kept vague and not gone into in great detail. In the second scene, there are a couple of lines that are implied to be suggestive, but no other warnings. Word count: 4657

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My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Throughout the years, vulnerability has always been easiest for Virgil and Logan while cuddling.

Notes: Day 3 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Yes, I’m posting it a day late, but I technically finished it before midnight last night, lol. Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read. Remus uses he/they pronouns in this universe.

part 1 - nightmares “Virgil?” Logan said quietly, looking up from the textbook he’d spread open on the floor of Virgil’s dorm room.

Virgil flinched, startled in spite of the soft tone and not too eager for conversation. “What?” he mumbled, dragging his headphones off one ear. He wasn’t actually listening to anything—he’d put them on to avoid conversation—but apparently now they were having a conversation anyway.

“I’m sorry if I am overstepping, but you don’t seem like you’re doing okay.” Logan looked up at him with wide, earnest dark brown eyes. “If there is anything I can do to help, I would really like to.”

Virgil heaved a sigh, considering his options. He hadn’t had time to cancel their normal study session, and when Logan had picked up on his distress at the beginning of the visit, Virgil had insisted it was fine and Logan didn’t have to leave. Logan had taken him at his word and settled in, sprawling on Virgil’s floor while Virgil curled up on his bed and hugged his pillow, avoiding homework and everything else too, to wallow about—well. The reason he would have canceled if he’d had five minutes’ more notice.

On the one hand, it was kind of personal, and Logan was a good enough friend (not a crush, not a crush, not a crush—) that he’d certainly be understanding if Virgil said he didn’t want to talk about it.

On the other hand, Logan had offered to help, and the opportunity to seek comfort from a pretty, thoughtful boy with nice hair and eyes and lips and hands and—but this wasn’t a crush, so none of that mattered, obviously—well, regardless, it was a tempting opportunity.

“Can I talk about it?” Virgil asked in a voice that came out smaller and more vulnerable than he intended.

Logan nodded at once, closing his textbook and climbing to his knees. “Is it okay if I come up there?”

Virgil nodded, patted the space on the bed beside himself, and scooted over to make room. Logan joined him, clambering onto the bed and laying down beside him with a good few inches of space between them, propping his chin up on his elbows. “What’s up?” he asked, focusing all his attention on Virgil.

This close proximity had the unintended side effect of shorting out Virgil’s brain for a solid three seconds. “Uh.” He tore his eyes away from Logan’s face. “I… so I have this friend, right? He used to be my best friend. When we were kids. I haven’t really talked to him at all in a few years.”

Logan nodded.

“So, uh.” Virgil hesitated, fidgeting with his phone. “I guess somebody outed me to him. And he wasn’t okay about it.”

Logan sucked in a concerned hiss of air, half-reaching for Virgil’s shoulder and stopping himself partway through the motion. “Are you okay?”

Virgil nodded on instinct, thought about it, and then shook his head. “He texted me out of the blue about it and offered to pray for me.” His voice shook. “And I—I told him no thanks, I like being gay.” He swiped aimlessly back and forth on his homescreen, opening a folder of apps and then closing it, just so he had something else to focus on than the words he was saying. “He got mad. Called me a—a, a… you know.”

“Oh my god,” Logan murmured in a hushed, horrified tone, and this time he did put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m so sorry, Virgil.”

Virgil let out a little hiccup of a laugh that held no humor but was a way to avoid bursting into tears. He drew the back of his hand across his eyes. “I blocked his number right before you got here,” he mumbled.

Logan nodded. “Good.”

“But he’s been messaging me on Instagram this whole time,” Virgil added with a grimace. “I haven’t been opening them, but…” Right on cue, a notification banner popped up across the top of his screen, previewing a message that contained more of the same stuff he’d been seeing flash across his screen for the last half hour.

“Block him there too,” Logan said instantly. “He doesn’t deserve your time.”

Virgil brushed at the corners of his eyes, swiping away the tears that were threatening to accumulate. “I—I don’t want to open it,” he admitted, voice cracking. “If I open the app, I know I’m going to read all of the messages, and I don’t want to.”

Logan was already shaking his head. “No, don’t read them, oh my god—please don’t read them, please don’t hurt yourself like that.”

“I don’t want to,” Virgil repeated, burying his face in the bedcovers for just a second to hide the tears he couldn’t quite hold back.

Logan’s hand cautiously crept from his shoulder to his back, where it began rubbing soothing circles between his shoulderblades. “Is there any way I can help?” he asked after a moment, his voice almost calm enough to hide his own distress. “I could block him for you, if you want. That way you wouldn’t have to handle the app at all.”

Virgil considered this. He didn’t like the idea of others going through his phone, ever, full stop. But he really didn’t like the idea of opening the Instagram app himself and seeing the little red notification in the corner and inevitably clicking it against all his common sense and scrolling through the messages, reading them over and over again, and maybe trying to reason with the guy about Virgil’s own humanity, even though all that would do was invite a dozen more paragraphs of hurt to read and internalize and argue about, and it would only turn into a vicious cycle of never-ending emotional damage. Not ideal.

And he trusted Logan. He still didn’t like the idea of handing Logan his unlocked phone, but it was a lot less bad than the idea of pretty much anyone else having that access, and it was probably way less bad than trying to do it himself and just hoping he’d somehow have the willpower to leave well enough alone when he knew he didn’t trust himself to do that.

“Can I watch you do it?” he asked, turning his head to the side so he could make suddenly-tired eye contact.

“Of course,” Logan said gently. “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.”

Virgil worried at his bottom lip with his teeth for a moment, then unlocked the phone with a quick hard press of his thumb and passed it to Logan, wincing slightly.

“Instagram?” Logan asked, finger hovering over the app and waiting for Virgil’s confirmation.

“Yeah,” Virgil said.

Logan opened the app and, waiting at each step for Virgil’s next instruction, blocked the guy without opening any of the messages sitting in Virgil’s DMs. “Does he have any other accounts?”

“I don’t think so,” Virgil mumbled.

“I’m glad. Are there any other methods he has of contacting you that you’d like to block him on?” Logan offered the phone back.

Virgil accepted it gratefully, his shoulders untensing a little. “I guess Snapchat.” He looked up the account and blocked it. “I deleted my Facebook ages ago.” He drummed his fingers on his lips, thinking. “I don’t have a ton of social media, I think that’s everything.”

Logan nodded, visibly relaxing. “Do you need anything? Any kind of support, or anything?”

“I dunno,” Virgil mumbled. He rolled over onto his back. “It just… it sucks.”

“It really does,” Logan agreed.

Virgil forced out a dry chuckle. “Guess I didn’t need that many friends, anyway,” he said, trying hard to make the situation into something amusing. It didn’t particularly work. “It’s not like most people like me, what’s one less?”

“I like you!” Logan protested, his voice much louder than it had been for the last ten minutes. He froze, looking anywhere but Virgil’s face. “I, I like you a lot. You’re a very good friend,” he added, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve, his expression flustered.

Virgil set that aside to overthink for ages later. “Uh. Thanks. You—you too,” he managed.

They were both very quiet for a moment, Logan’s fidgeting only increasing as Virgil chewed anxiously on the inside of his cheek.

“Is there anything you need right now?” Logan asked again, just as the tension between them began to become uncomfortable.

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I don’t know… are you busy?”

“Not until my next class, which is at noon tomorrow,” Logan assured him.

“I don’t want to be a bother—”

“I enjoy spending time with you, and you are clearly distressed and I’d like to help if I can,” Logan interrupted, “and you are my friend and I care about you very much, and it is not bothering me to ask whatever you want. If I want to say no, I will.”

Well. He had covered all his bases when it came to anticipating Virgil’s hesitations.

“Would you mind staying for a bit?” Virgil blurted. “To help me keep my mind off it? I—I don’t want to be alone. I think too much.”

Logan’s expression softened into something so tender it almost hurt to look at. “Of course,” he agreed easily. “As long as you like.”

“Thank you,” Virgil whispered.

“Anytime.” Logan fidgeted with his sleeve a bit more, not looking at Virgil. “Um. Would you like to cuddle?” he asked hesitantly after a minute.

Virgil wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. “What?”

“There are several physiological and neurological benefits to—” Logan began, determinedly not looking at Virgil’s face.

“No, I believe you,” Virgil interrupted, and in a surge of daring, added: “Sure.”

Logan blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise. “Oh! Alright.” He shifted closer, carefully closing the gap between them like he was afraid of doing it wrong, and arranged himself against Virgil’s side with his head on Virgil’s shoulder and his arm draped across Virgil’s chest.

Virgil’s own arm curled around Logan easily, like it was meant to go there. Virgil ignored (mostly) his rapid heartbeat and how soft Logan’s hair was where it brushed against his cheek.

“Do you want to know something totally stupid?” Logan asked.

“Sure,” Virgil said, wondering where this was going.

“I’m scared of the space under my bed.” Logan half chuckled.

Virgil blinked. That had been kind of out of the blue. “What?”

“I’ve tried to rationalize it away. I know it doesn’t make sense.” Logan sounded half amused, like maybe he was trying to cover up some mild embarrassment with humor. “But ever since I was a little kid, it’s scared me. It was worse when I was little, I would have nightmares about it and everything. But it still makes me kind of nervous to just have empty space there. I like to fill it up.”

“That’s fair,” Virgil said. He understood irrational fears. “How come you’re telling me, though? Like, not in a judgemental way,” he added quickly, feeling Logan’s shoulders tense just slightly. “Just wondering where that came from.”

“Ah.” Logan relaxed again. “I am attempting vulnerability. You just shared what seemed like a pretty personal moment with me, and I know that can feel uncomfortable. I am trying to level the playing field a little.”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile. “That’s really sweet, Lo,” he said.

“I am just trying to be a good friend.” Logan shrugged one shoulder, but Virgil could hear the happy note in his voice.

“I was scared of going places by myself when I was little,” Virgil said. “Actually, that came from a nightmare, too.” He laughed a little.

“No, hey!” Logan protested. “Now it’s uneven again!”

“I don’t think that’s how vulnerability works,” Virgil told him, only teasing a little bit. “Friendship isn’t math, it doesn’t have to match on both sides. Besides, I got over that one, mostly. It’s all good.”

Logan nodded slowly in acceptance, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Virgil’s shoulder. “Alright.” He half sat up, but only took his glasses off and reached to put them on the sidetable, then lay back down, cuddling up even more cozily against Virgil once again, making a small noise of content.

“What have you been up to lately?” Virgil asked, his voice hardly above a whisper, because he needed there to be some kind of conversation. Not just to distract himself from the unpleasant stuff of earlier, although that was still a part of it, but also so that he could avoid examining the current situation too hard. Because Logan was just a friend, just a friend, and Virgil couldn’t afford to risk ruining a friendship as wonderful as this one with a big gay crush on his friend.

“Getting used to my new board position in the astronomy club,” Logan said. “And a lot of reading for my classes.”

“You’re the Vice President this year, right?” Virgil asked. Almost without thinking about it, he raised his hand to stroke Logan’s hair, which was just as soft against his fingertips as it had felt against his cheek.

Logan let out a soft sigh of content at the touch, nestling his head a little more snugly against Virgil’s shoulder, and coincidentally fucking melting Virgil’s heart into a puddle of goo. This whole not-a-crush thing was getting to be a serious problem.

“Yes, I’m the Vice President,” Logan confirmed. “I was the secretary last year, so I kind of know the ropes, but I have very different responsibilities this time. So that’s been interesting.”

“Tell me about it,” Virgil invited.

Logan did tell him about it, and then he asked Virgil what he’d been up to, and Virgil got to talk about a research project he was helping one of his favorite professors out with, and that led to telling each other stories about their favorite professors and classes (and some of the bad ones, too), and that led to stories about their friends, and Logan was looking up at Virgil with a soft gaze that Virgil could have stared into forever, and he really didn’t know what was up with Logan of all people’s sudden desire to cuddle, but he wasn’t asking questions because this was kind of the best thing that had happened in forever.

When, much later, the conversation slowly died down and Logan’s voice trailed off into a sleepy noise that he stifled against Virgil’s shoulder, scrunching his whole face up into a yawn, Virgil only tugged at the piled-up blanket he was leaning against until it half-covered the pair of them. Maybe the more responsible thing to do would have been to rouse Logan so he could go home to his apartment, but when Logan shifted closer to him and held him a little tighter, his eyes drifting shut, Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

And he’d meant for it to only be a brief nap, really he had. He hadn’t planned to drift off himself as well. He could’ve sworn he only closed his eyes for a second or two—but when he opened them, sunlight was streaming through the window, and Logan was still there, still in Virgil’s arms cuddled close against his chest. Logan was wide awake now, but he seemed perfectly content to just lie there and examine Virgil’s face, a funny look in his eyes and a tiny smile on his lips.

“Hi,” Virgil said blearily, blinking at him. Then he processed where they were and what had happened. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I should have woken you up,” he began, half sitting up, his voice coming out a sleepy mumble that probably wasn’t anywhere near intelligible.

“No, it’s fine,” Logan assured him, gently pushing him back down. “I don’t mind.”

Virgil was half of a mind to keep apologizing, but it was very warm and he was still barely awake and Logan was so soft and nice, so all in all it was much easier to just lie there and accept the cuddles.

“Are you doing better?” Logan asked quietly.

It took Virgil a minute to fully remember the events of yesterday and figure out what he was referencing. “Oh. Uh, I guess. Like, it still sucks, but I’m going to be okay, you know? And this is nice, anyway.”

Logan nodded, resting his head on Virgil’s chest as if to listen to his heartbeat. “Yes. This is very nice.”

[4 years later]

part 2 - dreams “Come to bed,” Logan said. “You have been scrolling through Tumblr for the past twenty-seven minutes, you can do that just as well while snuggling me.”

“I’ve been attacked,” Virgil said lightly, shutting off his laptop and turning around to face his boyfriend. Logan was sitting in bed in his pajamas, leaning back against the headboard of their bed, a book in his hands and the covers pulled up over his lap. Virgil smiled. “Let me go brush my teeth and then I’ll come cuddle you, babe.”

“Acceptable,” Logan agreed with an answering smile, his eyes flicking up briefly from the pages to meet Virgil’s own.

Virgil brushed his teeth in the little bathroom of the apartment Logan had shared with the twins in the two years since they’d all graduated college. Before reemerging, Virgil changed into the old t-shirt and flannel pajama pants he’d brought with him—he usually stayed overnight on the weekends these days, and this one was no exception.

Roman, sitting at the kitchen table poring over a wad of papers that were probably a script from the local community theatre’s latest production, waved at Virgil as he exited the bathroom. “G’night, Virge,” he called.

“Night, Ro,” Virgil responded, and for good measure, he added, “night, Remus.”

Remus, somewhere out of sight, cackled. “Have fun getting—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Virgil interrupted automatically, without any real bite, making his way back into Logan’s room and shutting the door behind himself.

Logan smiled at the sight of him, pulling back the covers invitingly. Virgil snagged his phone off of Logan’s desk on his way over, climbing into the bed and curling up with his head in Logan’s lap.

Logan let out a small, pleased sigh, resting his hand on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Happy?” Virgil asked, reaching up to touch Logan’s face.

Logan nodded. “Very.”

Virgil chuckled and half sat up so he could reach to kiss Logan, then settled himself back where he’d been and unlocked his phone, scrolling through Tumblr without paying too much attention. Logan’s hand came to rest lightly on the back of his head, and after a moment began stroking his hair.

He turned a page, then after a minute closed the book and set it down.

Virgil looked up. His boyfriend was gazing down at him, face scrunched up just slightly the way it always did when he was thinking hard about something.

“You good?” Virgil asked.

Logan started slightly. “Oh! Yes.” His hand, which had drifted to a stop at the base of Virgil’s skull, resumed gently stroking Virgil’s hair.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Virgil asked.

Logan was quiet for a beat, then met Virgil’s eyes. “Would you like to get married?”

Virgil choked on air. “What?”

“Married,” Logan repeated, a little shy this time. “You and I. Would you be interested in doing that?”

“I—” Virgil found himself at a loss for words. “I don’t know? Maybe?” He sat up, shutting off his phone and setting it on the sidetable. “I’m sorry—are you proposing to me in our pajamas?”

“No,” Logan said emphatically, frowning. “This is not a proposal. This is so we can talk about it ahead of time, so that if you do want it, then you won’t need to be anxious when I do propose.”

Virgil blinked, processing that. “Wow.” He reached over and brushed his thumb lightly across Logan’s cheek. “I love you so much, you know that?”

Logan’s brow smoothed out and his shoulders visibly untensed. “I love you too.” He put his hand over Virgil’s where it rested on his cheek, cradling it tenderly. He closed his eyes. “And you don’t need to have an answer right now. We can have this conversation whenever you like. I just… wanted to bring it up. Because I would like that, if you are also amicable.” He turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to the palm of Virgil’s hand.

Virgil hooked a finger in the collar of Logan’s pajama shirt and drew him close for a soft kiss. “Come lay down and cuddle me properly, nerd.”

Logan obediently set his book down on the sidetable beside Virgil’s phone, pulled off his glasses, and set those down too. With some shuffling of limbs, the two of them lay down, Virgil curled up in Logan’s arms. To anyone else, Logan would have seemed perfectly relaxed, content to lay there and press the occasional kiss to Virgil’s forehead; but Virgil could sense the slight tension in Logan’s face. He was nervous, even if he was trying hard not to show it.

Virgil’s own thoughts were whirling. Did he want to get married? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But they were both still so young. Marriage was so big. Even if they’d been dating for more than four years at this point, that was barely more than a blip in the really long run. And what if they found out too late that they disagreed on something important? What if Logan wanted to take out a huge mortgage, or move across the country, or have kids? (Okay, they’d talked about kids, and both felt super hesitant, not-yet-ready at best, about the whole idea. But what if Logan changed his mind?)

(But also… waking up to Logan’s face every morning. Waking up to coffee with Logan and sleepy yawns. Casual touches on the elbow or shoulder or wrist or waist or cheek throughout the day, little reminders of love that were almost thoughtless in their routine. A home that would be just theirs. They could get a pet, if they wanted. They could paint stars on the ceiling or walls. They could cook dinner together every night. They could stay up late watching old TV shows and making snarky commentary back and forth. They could be each other’s home.)

Logan was watching Virgil’s face intently, even as he did his best to play it cool. Virgil met his eyes. “So,” he began, struggling to find the right words for what he wanted to convey. “I—I don’t know what I want. Or. I guess I kind of do. But I’m nervous.”

“We don’t have to,” Logan said quickly. “I mean. Obviously. But I don’t want you to—to feel pressured, or anything, to say anything one way or the other or to have to even say anything at all or—”

“Hey,” Virgil interrupted soothingly as Logan’s voice sped into anxious overdrive. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Logan sucked in a breath. He nodded. “I—sorry.”

Virgil shook his head and leaned across the few inches between them to kiss Logan. “Babe, I just told you I’m nervous. It’s fine if you are too.”

“I’m not nervous—” Logan began. He cut himself off at the wry look Virgil gave him. “I—okay, fine. But it’s not a big deal.”

“Hmm, disagree.”

“But the whole point was so I could support you if you felt—”

“L. Babe. Light of my life. You get nervous when you’re vulnerable. I get it.”

Logan bit his lip and reached for Virgil’s hand. He held it tightly.

Virgil squeezed back and snuggled closer under the covers. “Anyway, uh.” He paused for a second to make sure he knew how he wanted to say it. “I—I still don’t know exactly what I want to say about that idea. But I know the answer is definitely not a no.”

Logan breathed in, not quite sharply enough to be a gasp. “Oh,” he breathed, letting go of Virgil’s hand so he could caress his face.

“Does that make sense?” Virgil asked. “Like, I don’t yet know how or when I want it. But I—I think I want to, eventually, and I really want it to be you.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice coming out a little choked. “Yeah, that—that’s good.”

Virgil half smiled. “Kiss?” he asked.

Logan was reaching for him before he even finished the word, pulling him close and clinging to him as he kissed the breath from Virgil’s lungs like he never wanted to let go. Virgil wrapped his own arm around Logan, holding him just as tightly, and cupped Logan’s face with the hand that was trapped between the two of them.

“I love you,” Virgil whispered as they pulled apart, and now he was choking up a little too.

Logan pressed their foreheads together. “I love you so much.”

They were both quiet for a moment, holding each other close.

“I think it’d be nice to get one of those really fancy coffee machines,” Virgil whispered after a minute. “Someday. For our someday kitchen.” He enjoyed Logan’s sudden intake of breath and the way his eyes widened slightly at the word our. “The kind that can make espresso, and shit,” Virgil went on. “We could try out all different kinds of things. And I wouldn’t tell anybody how much sugar you always put in your coffee.”

“I put a normal amount of sugar in my coffee,” Logan protested, a smile quirking onto his face.

“L, I love you, but that is maybe the least true thing you have ever said in your life.” Virgil snickered.

“Shut up,” Logan whined, pushing lightly at Virgil’s shoulder with an answering grin.

Virgil leaned in and kissed his cheek. “It’s cute.” He hesitated for a beat. “What would you want? In your dream future?”

“You,” Logan responded immediately.

Virgil pressed a hand to his mouth. He absolutely should have seen that one coming, but he hadn’t, and the surprise made the pang of fondness in his chest all the sweeter. “Logan,” he managed after a minute.

Logan only grinned, looking very pleased with himself. “A coffee machine does sound very nice, too, though,” he added. “And space for you to keep an instrument.”

“Oh,” Virgil breathed, lighting up at the idea. “Yeah, that sounds really good. I’d want a library for all your stupid nerdy books.”

Logan put a hand on Virgil’s cheek. “I’d want a kitchen table that we both picked out together.”

Virgil grinned. “A couch to hold you on.”

“A wall full of art that we both like.”

“Windows so there’s light everywhere and you can see the stars at night.”

“A pantry full of our favorite foods.”

“A bed to—”

“Virgil!”

“Whaaat?”

“We were being cute!” Logan smacked his arm lightly. “Remus is a bad influence on you,” he accused, though Virgil could see he was trying not to laugh.

“I mean, probably,” Virgil allowed, grinning. “But maybe I was just going to say a bed to sleep in. And cuddle in. And perfectly innocent things like that. Maybe you’re the one Remus is a bad influence on.”

“I—” Logan struggled for a second, then broke down into snickers.

Virgil grinned, wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist and enjoying the sound of his laughter.

“Were you going to say something like that, though?” Logan asked, composing himself.

“Oh, no, absolutely not.” Virgil snickered. “You were right, I was going to ruin the cutesy vibe we had going on there, one hundred percent. But you’re really cute when you laugh, so no regrets.”

“Hmm,” Logan hummed, leaning closer. “You know when else I’m really cute?”

“When?” Virgil breathed.

“When I’m kissing you,” Logan murmured, and closed the gap between their lips.

Virgil kissed back, eyes fluttering shut and hands sliding a little more securely around Logan’s waist. In his opinion, Logan made a very compelling point.

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bvccy · 3 years

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Tenderness and Ferocity | 5. The Fourth Day

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Hydra!Reader Fic Synopsis: The Winter Soldier is starting to make stupid mistakes in the field, which is Bucky's way of trying to wrest back control and sabotage his handlers. Hydra brings a new doctor to figure out what's wrong with him and fix it. As she spends time with him, she becomes fond of the Winter Soldier, and he becomes fond of her. Bucky has other ideas. Or, a fic in which the Winter Soldier is the good guy and Bucky is actually the bad guy. Warnings for this chapter: Angst, Smut, and Dubcon (our boy receiving) Word count: 4171 Read on AO3: [link] [Previous Chapter] [Fic Masterlist] [Next Chapter]

"Man only plays when in the full meaning of the word he is a man, and he is only completely a man when he plays."

— Friedrich Schiller

He stepped in the room the next day and she was waiting for him, as always, sitting down quietly. There were no machines on the table, only some papers… and a plate of plums. She smiled at him as he came in, and saw him smiling back this time.

"Come in. Close the door. We won't share any with them." she jokingly whispered referring to the guardsmen outside. He obeyed and went to take his seat.

"How are you today? Are you well?"

The Soldier nodded without thinking.

"Help yourself to them, by the way." she said, pointing to the plate. The GSR had shown her how much he liked them. "They're not easy to come by around here, better make the most of it."

Now that he had permission, he took a slice and relished the feeling of actually enjoying something he ate. It was a new experience with, yet, an old familiar reaction.

"Today's session is going to be as short or as long as you want it to be. I just want you to do one thing: write on this paper ten sentences…" and she slipped before him a page and a pen, his attention still on the plums, "beginning with the words 'I am'."

His eyes snapped up to her. Seeing that she was serious with her simple but impossible request, he grabbed the pen and stared at the page. He immediately felt like a dumb ox; what was he supposed to write?

"I won't watch, if you want. I'll just stand over there, and you can call me over when you're ready. Alright?" She was smiling and being friendly, but that didn't stop him from feeling tricked somehow. It was, oddly enough, a familiar feeling — that of a schoolboy caught unprepared for a test.

She stood up and went to stand by the door, leaning against the wall while she looked outside through the slot that let in the light from the hallway.

'I am' — what, exactly?

The first thing that came to his mind, of course, was that he was a soldier. He was a man too, but both options felt stupid somehow, vapid. He was also alive, but was that the sort of thing she expected? Was it that simple? Was it a trick?

He barely touched pen to page before lifting it again, dissatisfied and angry. After a few minutes, hearing him grunt and shuffle, her attention went back to him.

"Done already?" She knew he wasn't but walked back anyway, and pretended not to notice how he tried to sink his bulk in the bare wooden chair and hide behind the empty air. "Really, nothing at all?" she asked as she stopped beside him. "Surely you can think of something…" She sounded more teasing than frustrated in her chastisement, but he still avoided her eyes. He heard her sit back down and felt her amused stare burn into his cheek.

"Well, what are you?" she started, pretending to think. "You are a man, right?"

He nodded.

"And — You can write any kind of sentence, such as… You are in a room, yes?"

Nod.

"And you're such and such feet tall. You're sitting down. You are awake. You are dressed. You are writing. You are thinking. You are young… or, are you old? What do you think?"

He finally looked back up at her, in innocent confusion.

"We don't have to decide on that, then. How about… Are you happy?" she tried.

He still hadn't written anything, and seemed even more uncomfortable with himself.

"Too much, I guess…" She got up to walk closer and rested her thighs against the table's edge. "Well, you're healthy. Right?"

Nod.

"And strong. And handsome…"

He looked up slowly at that and found her looking down at him, gently but with focus.

"Did you know that you're handsome?"

"That's eleven sentences."

"Oh… Is it?"

She hesitated for a couple of heartbeats, thinking, then decided. What would a man do?

Slowly, she slipped her knees between his spread thighs, gripped the back of his chair with her hands, and leaned ever-so-slightly in. To the side of her, she heard the pen clatter on the table as it slid from his limp fingers and he leaned back. Away from her? Oh. No matter.

Her right hand, hot and soft, came down to caress the side of his face, and she bit her lip tightly to keep a too-excited smile from breaking out. His eyes looked straight up into hers and his lips parted on their own when she tilted her head on the way to kissing him, but with an involuntary impulse he leaned back further against the chair.

"I can't." he said — half-chocked, half-conviction.

"It's alright, I… I won't…" she started, taken aback by how definitive his rejection was.

"It's not that. I can't…"

"What do you mean 'you can't'?"

"I can't touch you."

She finally leaned away from him, if only a little. "…Who said that?"

His fists clenched impotently, one on his knee the other still on the table, and finally he admitted: "The Director."

She backed up further to look at him and think about what that meant. In the back of her mind, she was relieved that his rejection didn't actually come from any revulsion to her, but only to disobeying orders. "Why would the Director tell you not to touch me?"

He was sat down quietly as ever, but never had a man looked more desperate to run away.

"Soldier." she called a bit more firmly. "Why would the Director say that?"

"He c— saw me…" he confessed.

She let him simmer in his guilt while she considered the implications, which were altogether too delicious and threatened to run away with her. Keeping her voice calm, she dug further. "What did he see you do?"

The Soldier only huffed and swallowed his words, bracing his feet against the floor, looking down to the ground, fighting with himself like a half-domesticated beast. When he didn't answer quickly enough, she dipped down, perching on her high heels, and leaned with her hands against his knees to look up searchingly into his eyes.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to" That's a lie. "but you know I'm not like him. I won't get angry with you, or disgusted…" and she watched his face carefully for the twitch of the muscles that predictably came at the corner of his mouth. There was an admission there, but also curiosity. "You can say anything." she soothed, rubbing his knee comfortingly. "How bad can it be…?"

Very.

"Come on, tell me… What happened?"

Thread by tenuous thread, he allowed her to unravel that which held his chest in a tight grip. "I was dreaming. About you."

She looked at him in a sly, satisfied way, having finally caught him in the lie she'd long since suspected; but now she didn't have the heart to reproach him. The fact that he had dreamed of her only added a personal satisfaction on top of the professional one. He's recovering more quickly than he let on. Not only dreams, but lies too.

"And what were you doing in your dream?"

He shifted and, instead of counting the cracks in the concrete, moved his attention to his left, to a dark corner, ever further from her eyes. She knew what it was, otherwise she wouldn't have asked, and he partly hated her for it. For how close she was when she asked him that. For how she rubbed his knee in a way that made him throb.

"It wasn't… I wasn't myself in my dream."

"How do you mean?"

"I wasn't there at all, like I didn't exist. There was this other this man, he didn't look like me, or sound like me, or think like me — I don't know how I know what he thought. I guess I was him, but I wasn't."

"I see... And how did the Director find out what you were dreaming about?"

A certain part of him wanted to kick her off him and choke her and break her neck for making him feel that way, for making him a coward in front of her — her of all people. But another part, more in control and much more encompassing, knew he couldn't stand to see her so much as afraid. It was a strange feeling, to want to kill someone — to want it, not just be ordered to — but also want to protect her from anything and everything in the world and see her alive and happy and just see her, every day.

So he took a deep breath and willed his eyes back to hers, waiting wishfully before and beneath him, and sucked in one good long look to work up the nerve to barely admit: "He saw me… How I was… because of you." The Soldier shifted, wanting her hot little hands off his knees but she held on and pressed forward.

"How could he see you?"

"Through the cameras. He came in soon after." He remembered clearly the supercilious sneer, the lazy gait, the direct command, and his own shame and fear and anger. "Ordered me not to touch you, not to tell you about my dreams."

"When was this?"

"The… the first morning." and he didn't need to explain which day or how many ago.

"Was it a nice dream, at least?" she dared to ask.

"Not exactly."

That knocked a bit of her glee off, until she noticed the leer of longing in his eyes.

Without giving herself the chance for one more treasonous thought, she raised herself back up. To the Soldier's surprise, her hands went straight to his belt and started tugging, unclasping, clumsily pulling it out like a dead snake.

"What—"

"The Director might have said you can't touch, but he never said anything like that to me. Arms behind your back."

He had enough wherewithal to realise what she was asking for wasn't exactly respecting the spirit of the order, but he also had enough sense to not argue. So the Soldier put his arms back behind the seat, and allowed her to tie his wrists together with the thick black belt — a useless effort as he could probably break it off if he tried.

After she finished a few thorough loops and knots, her hand lingered on him, then up his metal arm, his shoulder, his neck, threading through his tousled hair before finally cupping his cheek in a touch so small and warm and timid as to be completely unfamiliar. And he saw in her eyes the same surprise he felt, as if discovering a new world that could only bridged through another.

She turned and sat sideways across his lap, her other hand holding onto the back of the chair, her feet dangling a few inches off the ground. He brought his knees in a bit closer to make a comfier seat — he could hardly feel the weight of her, but at the same time that delicious little pressure was all his body knew.

She took her time settling in, working up the courage, thinking, fearing… and he felt ready to just break out of the belt-binds and pull her closer and crush her against him, but she finally got the nerve, and leaned in, and with her eyes never leaving his placed one chaste kiss against his mouth.

The Soldier stayed still, suspended in tension against the chair, against her hopeful gaze, against the welcoming scent of her cheek — and inwardly, worst of all, felt a forgotten part of himself brace for impact like an anchor sinking fathom after slick fathom in soft ink.

She closed her eyes when she went to savour his lower lip, then his scruffy chin, the sunken cheek, the hard outline of his cheekbone… He opened his mouth hungrily and leaned in to chase after her but she kept her kisses punishingly pure — as if he was nothing better than a love letter or a child's bruised knee or a venerable family cat.

When her kisses reached his throat he could — finally — bury his face in her hair at least, and breathe her in to burn from inside his lungs out through his whole body, and stay there forever. She must have found that flesh particularly satisfying; she parted her lips and opened her mouth and bit, just gently, across his skin, then lapped over the damp muscle that arched in tension there and thrummed with his moans.

Slowly, she allowed herself to feel him, strength leaving her arms as more of her soft chest leaned into his, rubbing the black t-shirt against his feverish skin and his heart nearly leapt out to join hers. He could feel her cant her hips on his thighs as her wet kisses moved from one rough jaw, to the other, then down his neck where wet heat pooled, lapping, lapping against his muted groans.

She leaned back to look at him, blushing and dizzy, and offered up her mouth with a teasing smile. He dipped to take it, but she just pulled back — once, twice, then a terrible third. "I thought you weren't supposed to touch me." she cooed against his starving lips. "Naughty, naughty boy."

An uncharacteristically pitiful sound ground past his teeth as she got off his lap and balanced herself between his eagerly widening thighs. He didn't even have time to shift in his pulsing discomfort before she crouched back down, legs held primly tight in her skirt, and started shoving his t-shirt up.

By this point, he didn't dare think about what she wanted from him anymore, so he decided not to think at all and let his head lean drunkenly back.

She could only roll it up so much before his thick bound arms stopped it, but it gave her enough to admire under the dismal light. He could feel the trembling in her fingers as she traced his chest, his ribs, his tensing abdomen, and suddenly his legs were bracing against the floor again.

Her elbows rested on his thighs as her fingers caressed their way downward until they reached, just gently tip-teasing, the edge of his trousers, but didn't pull them down nor move closer to where he was aching. Her lips left kisses on his damp stomach, what was left of her lipstick smudging blood-red wherever she found a particularly admirable divot to sink into. She didn't even bother to look up at him, nor did she lavish his body with any particular aim — she seemed content to just kiss what she found for kissing's-sake, healing one imaginary wound at a time with the complete abandon of someone who found life worth living only in a singular beloved.

Those ticklish explorations and her torturous hands were scraping at the edge of his restraint and soon he could barely keep himself from pulling at the knots around his wrists — tensing before remembering to sit still, then pulling again, one arm trembling the other changing calibration with a mind of its own. The chair too was scraping against the naked concrete in his longing to get away, to get closer, to get more of her, and the sound could barely cover the traitorous echoing of his moans.

His hips tried in vain to reach, at least a little bit, any part of her body, thrusting up into the infinite indifferent air between them, but all he managed was to rub himself again his tightening pants, and even that was just about enough, but not nearly.

"I need…" He couldn't finish begging because he didn't know how, wasn't supposed to know how, but it still seeped through every sound he made.

With her mouth still suckling on a shapely curve of muscle at his waist, she looked up, and her little claws sunk into his thighs at the sight of him: heaving, dishevelled, completely at her mercy. Those large grey eyes, now glassy and pleading, searched her face from behind the tendrils of his hair that fell to frame the marble-pale angles of his face — that face which used to be so stoic, so frightfully empty, now chipped away by a patter of kisses to reveal underneath a peachy-soft and blushing boy, who was forced to grow too fast.

She raised herself off him, suddenly abashed and pitying, and his heart stuttered with the panic that she was leaving… but she stayed right there. Within the bulky frame of his legs, she balanced herself on one high heel and kneeled with the other on the small space left on the chair between them. Her hands caressed his heavy head, brushed his hair away, and she rested her lips above his brow in a silent and continuous kiss.

He was so warm, she could feel it through his clothes, could almost feel the throbbing and churning of his desire in time with his whimpers as he took what little she offered and rubbed himself gratefully, desperately against her small, hard knee. His head fell forward suddenly as his whole body curled in on itself in her embrace and with one, two, three painful pulsations, finally released.

She kept kissing and cooing against his overheated skin as he worked himself through it, biting his lip through heaving gasps, burying his groans in her chest, and she realised in passing that that was the loudest she had ever heard him be. Even after the energy was drained from him and he calmed down, she could still feel aftershocks of his pleasure tremble against her leg as a little more and more was pushed out of him, seemingly never ending, until it did.

His breath ran hot and cold as it fanned over her skin, through her shirt, while he slowly came back to himself. She didn't move away, content to hold him close as long as he needed. Her fingers soothed his forehead while her chin rested on top of his head, her eyes far away in the quiet. Her heart was still drumming away and he didn't even need to strain himself to hear it while he felt his own, beating to match her rhythm, and then slowly come down, together.

"Are you alright, my darling?" she asked in an easy voice that masked her concern. He didn't say anything, just buried his face deeper in her shoulder and hummed contentedly.

She could feel the cloying dampness between her own legs collect and start to cool. Her lower lips ached as if beaten and were still throbbing. The virile scent of him beneath her didn't help at all, but it didn't matter anymore either. She had only wanted to cherish him, even at the dreadful prospect of his indifference — which, as a gift, turned out not to be so; to give and give and give to the point of nonexistence until all that was left of her was the spark that burned for him, for as long as he needed it.

She dedicated so much of her energies to the mission, to the work, to the distant goals of glory that Hydra promised, and she once thought that to leave behind useful things was her chance at true freedom from the mundane materialism that had sickened her into this exile in the first place. But within the unexpected package of one kidnapped and brainwashed soldier, imprisoned to a degree he didn't even comprehend, she found a gate to something so much better — one small form of immortality through immolation.

Her attention went to back to his arms, still tied behind him, and the way that left shoulder gleamed in the low sepulchral light caught her eye. One hand went to caress its silver surface until she caught sight of the clandestine mark they put on him. "I hate that ugly thing." she spoke with genuine disgust, her nails catching against the symbol there. "Wish I could scratch away this red satanic star."

The Soldier couldn't tell if it was some possessiveness of hers talking or just the Hydra zealot, jealous of a competing cult, but he felt too weary to hold those walls up anymore, and too serene in her arms to care.

She moved away from him, gently letting go, stumbling a little in her stiff ankles and straightening her skirt on her way around. She undid the knots and rubbed a little at the wrist that bore its marks. After a parting kiss to the bent back of his neck, she dropped the belt on his lap. "Let's get you cleaned up." she whispered.

He heard her fumbling with something, and then there was a quick run of water at the sink in the corner. The Soldier had just barely straightened himself in the chair when she came back around and started wiping down his chest with a slightly damp handkerchief. He looked down at her and she looked back, slightly blushing the lower she went, until she reached his trousers and paused.

With an awkward smile, she handed him a batch of tissues and hurried back to the sink.

He had to smile too, almost laughing at the odd standards of her shyness. He unbuttoned himself and wiped off the gooey seepage, wincing and going gently as the cool air hit the raw parts of him. His pants were still quite soiled on the inside, and his t-shirt was damp but drying; it would have to do.

It didn't take long for him to straighten himself out, to put his shirt and his belt and everything back together while she got rid of the evidence, and when she turned back to look at him it was almost as if nothing had happened. He stood up and turned to find her walking straight toward him, just like that first day. Only this time she was smiling, her steps were gentled by the aches and stiffness, and it wasn't just the Soldier she was looking at, but also someone… else.

His feet stood firm while he waited for her, but as soon as she was within reach he curled a hand around her hip and leaned down — only for her to press against his broad chest and pull away.

"We have to leave soon, or they'll come looking for us." The Soldier swallowed his complaints and nodded in understanding. Of course it was too much to ask… And then the killing blow: "I can't see you tomorrow."

"What. Why not?"

"We have a staff briefing all morning, and then I'll have to write a report on your progress, and I have to make something up about this session, and I'll be busy with meetings the rest of the day…"

She was holding something back. His eyes stayed on her body and he rediscovered how small she was beneath him, so steady but so close to wavering. He held her still by the hip, pressing into the fragile skin of her abdomen while his other hand went up to grip the base of her neck. To anyone else it would have been a threat, but she drank in his rough touch with calm. His thumb edged the neckline of her shirt away to reveal brand new skin stretching over birdlike bones.

Her eyes stayed on his, her smile ever-tender as she looked up into his troubled face, completely trusting in his murderer's-hands. The Soldier bent down to kiss the curve of a clavicle as he held her firmly in his arms and asked, again, "Why can't you see me?"

He let her battle with her conscience as he moved his hands down her sides, one hot one metal-cold, gently down and up her thighs, gallantly avoiding the curves of her behind to rest at the small of her back as he let himself fall from underneath her hands and go down on one knee in front of her.

"I'll see you again. Maybe… maybe next week…"

He could hear the breath tense out of her body as he brought his face dangerously close to her, but instead of aiming for the source of that sweet warm scent, he rested his lips right over her lower stomach, kissing now this way, now that, through her clothes and her skin, wanting her to know exactly where he wished he could reach, and take root.

A pair of hands came to rest on his head and caress the hair out of his face, then quietly and shakily she confided "They're considering you for a new mission."

He hummed against her, listening but uncaring.

"Maybe I can try to see you before you're sent off." she said pensively as her hands slipped to his shoulders. "Yes, I can stop by and say… maybe even get an approval…"

Don't trust this devious Hydra bitch!

Would you shut up for once?

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jyndor · 3 years

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I’m rewatching the Puppetmaster for ~research~ and ugh.This is such a good episode but I cannot stand the treatment of Hama and also Katara’s special bending ability. And I’m gonna talk about it because I can’t help myself. But I also want to offer a solution maybe something that the writers could have done instead. Granted I’m a white US American so while I am about to talk about imperialism, anti-indigenous racism and racialized misogyny, I am coming from a position of privilege here and ymmv. It’s important that we as fans (especially white fans) acknowledge the things that our favorite stories can do better so that we can make our fandoms safer for everyone.

And btw fans of color have been talking about this so I definitely am going to be quoting some phenomenal bits of critique I have read on here. Also you should follow @shewhotellsstories and @visibilityofcolor for anti-racist fandom commentary.

I am also going to talk about grooming, so just be aware if that is a trigger for you.

I. Hama as a Campfire Horror Story Monster

The episode starts out with the Gaang camping in a creepy forest telling ghost stories to each other. Set to spooky music, Katara tells a story about something that happened to Kya, a friend named Nini (likely) dying in a snowstorm and then haunting her family’s home as a ghost. Immediately after, Toph hears people screaming under the ground - and then Hama finds them and invites them to her inn.

Every so often, Hama says something spooky with the spooky music playing. Katara immediately takes to Hama, but the others (especially Sokka) find her pretty unnerving. Katara says she reminds her of Gran Gran before Sokka starts snooping around and finds a bunch of puppets and a comb from the Southern Water Tribe. It’s the standard horror movie fakeout.

Every so often we get an artfully placed hint about Hama’s agenda - pulling water out of thin air, showing Katara that “plants - and all living things” are made of water. And oh yeah, she makes herself ice claws. Cool skill, but in the context of the episode, a little more unnerving.

The “moon monster” that Old Man Ding mentions, the alleged Moon spirit, turns out to be Hama (of course) and the tension builds to a peak as the Gaang rush to save Katara from the “dark puppetmaster” that has imprisoned the villagers.

Meanwhile Hama and Katara stand under the full moon washed in spooky cool lighting with an ominous breeze around them. You see Hama practically transform into a monster in a way sort of reminiscent to a werewolf - her fingers become claw-like, her veins pop out. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say it’s a coincidence that as she reveals her true agenda, she becomes less human in appearance. Which... okay I’ll get to that later.

While I can’t say that Katara fits the Final Girl trope very well, I do think it’s interesting to note that horror movies often do feature women as heroes who defeat the monster/killer/whatever and usually the Final Girl is used to allow audiences to experience the full horror of the villain, which absolutely is how Katara is used here. Yes, her friends come to help, but she saves everyone in the end (my queen).

So here’s why that’s bullshit.

Framing Hama as a horror story monster make sense when you don’t think about the Implications of framing the indigenous woman POW living surrounded by people who have benefited from Fire Nation imperialism. It does - it’s a common trope: the reclusive witch who first seems kindly to some lost/wandering children before revealing her true intention - to use them for her own purposes. Yeah, I know they’re playing on Hansel and Gretel. But yeah, I’m gonna call bullshit on that too - drawing on a c*nnabalistic witch for inspiration when you’re writing an indigenous woman character is probably not the way to go.

II. Hama the Puppetmaster* and Groomer

A puppet master is obviously a puppeteer, and Hama has puppets (creepy though they may be). But in terms of the underlying meaning, she’s a chessmaster, an Emperor Palpatine/Dick Cheney kind of master manipulator who works mostly through other people. What most people would consider a psychopath (in layman’s terms). When her friendly mask falls, she is terrifying.

She is cold, calculating, manipulative as fuck - she isolates Katara almost immediately. Hama uses Katara’s desire to connect with her culture to groom her to become a weapon. It’s actually such a good example of grooming that it has to be purposeful:

Targeting a victim - Hama hears that Katara and Sokka are from the SWT. She also hears Katara tell a story about Kya. To Hama, a waterbender from her own culture is a hell of a target.

Gaining trust - Hama reaches out to Katara in particular, is especially kind to her, gives her individual attention that the others don’t get. She prepares a SWT feast for them and tells the Gaang about her heritage when they go snooping.

Filling a need - so once Hama has given Katara reason to trust her about waterbending, she promises Katara to pass on SWT waterbending heritage that only Hama knows. She fills a unique need of Katara’s.

Isolation - From then on out, we don’t see Katara with the rest of the Gaang until the end of the episode. Hama seems like a normal teacher but she does start to drop little hints, pushing Katara very gently to see how she will react to her real agenda and desensitizing Katara to what would otherwise seem unacceptable coming from someone else who hasn’t established that unique trust. “You’ve got to keep an open mind, Katara.”

So this would be the point at which Hama would make sexual contact but this is metaphorical so that obviously doesn’t happen. What does happen is Hama pushes Katara’s limits. She makes her pretty uncomfortable with the idea of killing the fire lilies for water, but when Hama appeals to their shared history of marginalization she gets over it.

Maintaining control: Hama makes her final move, which is obviously bloodbending, and reveals her true agenda - and when Katara refuses to manipulative living beings’ blood, Hama violates her bodily agency. And not only this, but she pushes Katara into bloodbending when she victimizes the Gaang, fully realizing her control.

Hama sees it as a victory, and telling Katara breaks down at the end in one of the most emotional scenes in the show. She feels like so many of us have felt at some point: violated, betrayed by someone we trusted. And then they never really deal with that.

I actually think that’s the point of The Puppetmaster, especially given ATLA being a show for children. I think it’s supposed to be a metaphor for csa.

And... okay.

Undoubtedly it is important to send these messages to kids. And yes, people usually are victimized by those closest to them, by those in their own communities. But not indigenous women. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but according to the National Congress of American Indians, Native American women and girls are more likely to be sexually assaulted by non-NA men. 57% of cases are perpetrated by white men. Not the people in their communities.

Choosing to tell this story with an indigenous woman POW (who very likely would have been victimized herself lbr) is a choice that I find really aggravating. When writers tell stories with a Point, it is incredibly important for those writers to understand the implications of what they are saying about the characters who they are using to make that point.

Like I’m not saying don’t make that point, or don’t use Katara (who would in real life be at a higher risk of sexual violence than the others) to make it, but why make the perpetrator someone who is statistically unlikely to be Katara’s abuser? I’m not sure I have a good answer to that question. My guess is, like with making Hama animalistic and about as unsympathetic as it gets, the writers just had blinders on about the cultural implications of what they were saying.

Not even considering the whole victimizing-the-“innocents”-of-the-Fire-Nation-town plot, Hama’s not a good person. This is probably because she was driven mad by the need for revenge, which, eurgh okay, but still it’s very apparent that she is not interested in winning over Katara’s support directly or honestly.

* also the antisemitic history of this trope hmm.

III. Hama and The Victims of Genocide Victimizing Oppressors #NotAllFireNation

Okay. So this is the part that I think annoys me the most because it’s so bad. Like, imagine for a minute that you’re a white guy and you’re gonna tell a story about a victim of genocide who is completely divorced from her culture and homeland, and furthermore is an escaped prisoner of war who has radicalized in prison - okay it just hit me, I know what they MIGHT have been going for, like maybe some kind of anti-Gitmo statement? But that didn’t happen. People who were stolen away from Iraq and imprisoned illegally in Guantanamo Bay, and who were released after being detained illegally, haven’t really shown any real radicalization. They’re pissed at the US for victimizing them, but like that seems pretty fair considering so many of them did nothing wrong.

That’s been the US government’s excuse for not releasing innocent people who were detained illegally. The idea that prisoners of war radicalized in Gitmo so they can’t be released because they’ll attack the US is propaganda. I’m not saying it hasn’t happened, but that’s where it comes from.

Considering the time period ATLA was written, considering how much of it was inspired by the US wars of aggression and imperialism, considering how political ATLA is (and why it was so popular during its initial run - during the years that Bush lost a ton of popularity) I think if that’s what they were thinking about, that’s not great.

But for all of Avatar’s good messaging on imperialism and war, it’s still written from a white US American mindset. Well surely I’m not responsible, surely you shouldn’t imprison and abuse me, a random white girl in the States. It’s my government, which I cannot control because of two-party politics or some shit.

So first off, that’s shitty because oppression is often about systems, not individuals. Sure we need to always consider the individual experiences of people who are victimized, but the people who are benefiting from imperialism? Me? Fuck if I care if someone in El Salvador or Iraq or Chile or idk any of the countries we have meddled in, let alone from a marginalized community in the United States, hates white US Americans for what our government has done - and that’s even silly because white US citizens support our government. Like we think the institutions are sound, although sometimes we don’t support the guy in charge. We think the cops are going to help us, even though that isn’t really the case.

Why frame it about what she’s doing to the Fire Nation civilians at all? Why make Hama the villain? I don’t think they wanted her to be unsympathetic, I mean they tell her story and I don’t think anyone would conclude that it doesn’t justify her desire for revenge, but why tell this story through a victim of genocide?

Recently I saw a post by @sunkin-akh where they point out that Hama basically quotes Malcolm X:

I was literally just watching the Hama episode again and I just noticed for the first time that while forcing Katara to bloodbend she says that they must fight back against the Fire Nation (and she used this exact phrase) “by any means necessary”, which is Frantz Fanon’s phrase popularized by Malcolm X during the Civil Rights Movement (iirc). They directly compared Black liberation to Hama’s evil acts and it disgusted me.

The full context:

Hama: The choice [to use bloodbending] is not yours. The power exists. And it’s your duty to use the gifts you’ve been given to win this war. Katara, they tried to wipe us out, our entire culture, your mother.

Katara: I know.

Hama: Then you should understand what I’m talking about. We’re the last waterbenders of the Southern Tribe, we have to fight these people whenever we can, wherever they are, with any means necessary.

I find that so appalling because it is framing resistance, specifically anti-racist resistance, as barbaric and monstrous. And given the way that Hama is portrayed at this point, about as inhuman as anyone in ATLA, that is extra gross.

Finally, after Katara defeats Hama, she is lead away by the authorities in CHAINS.

So now the FN cops are the good authorities who we’re gonna trust a SWT waterbender with? I mean she’s a villain so we’re probably not supposed to feel bad for her, like yeah sure the FN is usually bad but she’s a criminal so it’s okay that they take a POW back into custody.

No, no, no.

I know I am reading into this far more than the writers intended - but that’s kind of the point of critically engaging with media. Because shockingly writers don’t always question their choices - they are people and have implicit biases just like all of us. When those writers come from a privileged culture that has colonized the culture they are using as “inspiration” for their story, they need to be extra mindful of how they represent those people.

IV: How To Write Hama

Well, I’m not gonna talk over indigenous fans on this one on specifics, and you should read this rewrite by @kispesan but my thoughts generally are:

lose the horror framing it’s just not right for this context and this character

don’t frame Malcolm X as a villain because that’s nasty and racist

have Katara learn to use bloodbending in ways that she is comfortable with (and not just like once in one episode where she’s extra vengeful and the hero of the show doesn’t approve of her actions JFC) and don’t make the dark-skinned girl the only character whose special bending skill is dubious (I know she also has healing but still)

bring Hama home

have indigenous people in the writers room

Anyway, I’ve gone on wayyy too long. Let me know if I am speaking out of turn please if you feel that I am. and I’m sure I had other thoughts but if you want to read some other good pieces of Hama meta, I’ve listed some below:

post and another post by @marsreds

this post and this post by @visibilityofcolor

this post by @shewhotellsstories

anyway katara is a queen and should have been allowed to heal, and hama never should have been irredeemable because if you can make iroh redeemable, if the show was going to redeem AZULA, you can make hama redeemable.

#hama #racism #atla fandom #fandom racism #katara #some amazing people on here who i hope don't get mad i mentioned them #grooming tw #racism tw #i sure hope i remembered everything i wanted to say butttt

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liukangmybeloved · 3 years

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wounded soldier fantasy {Mortal Kombat (2021)}

Summary: Liu Kang/Cole Young. "The wounded soldier fantasy means we're moments from doing it, right?" Cole chuckles under his breath, as if to distract himself from the fact that Liu Kang was both a) holding fire over his open wound, and b) very pretty. However, he must have been lounder than he thought, because Liu's movements had stilled, and when Cole cracked his eyes open, there's confusion written all over Liu's face, "it's... from a TV show," was all Cole could think of to explain himself.

A/N: warning for descriptions of acupuncture around a wound & non-descriptive cauterisation. an alternate take on the wounded soldier scene from mk 2021 ft. pining!cole (no romo relationship with alison in this fic because i don't condone cheating and there's no written justification because it's 3am. do i want to maybe write poly!alison/cole/liu ?? honestly yeah i do okay? maybe tomorrow). also the quote he uses is from Community's Season 1 episode Modern Warfare.

----

Cole would be the first person to admit that he was outclassed, hell, he'd admitted it sitting in the back of Jax's truck as Sub-Zero had hunted them through the streets of Chicago, but it had fallen on deaf ears, just as it continued to now. Honestly, despite being outclassed, Cole still thought it was unfair of Kung Lao to be fighting with a weapon he'd clearly mastered and had some supernatural control over. Cole had himself, just himself; it was bringing a knife to a fist fight, and he wasn't going to complain out loud because he knew they were just trying to pressure him and Kano into developing their own arcana, but it still hurt like a bitch when he got cut.

So now, here he was, in a quiet, secluded room with Liu Kang performing gentle, practiced acupuncture on the wound on his bicep. As always, Liu was quiet and intense about his work, and Cole's eyes roamed about the room to look at anything that wasn't the man who'd found them in the desert, who offered them shelter and explanations and training, who was good to them without even knowing them.

When a needle pulls, causes Cole to wince, Liu apologises faintly, as if out of instinct, eyes still focused on his work.

"No need to apologise," Cole assures after a moment, watching his hands as they worked, "you're doing your job... I assume," he says with a wry smile, and when he looks up, he meets Liu's faintly self-deprecating smile in return.

"I'm trying to help you; I know a little bit of pain is part of the process, but I'm still sorry," he explains, and looks back down, but he's still smiling slightly. It's a concise explanation, leaving Cole with no choice but to accept the apology, and try not to think about how grateful he is that Liu appears to be both an extraordinary fighter, and a gentle soul. There's few fighters Cole knows with such sincerity.

Liu's paused again.

"Yes?" And he's meeting Cole's gaze right as Cole himself realises he was staring. They were close out of necessity, but suddenly it felt too close, too intimate; Liu's voice was only a murmur and Cole had heard him loud and clear.

"Where'd you learn to do this?" Cole blurts out, and hopes Liu can't read anything in his expression. He drops his gaze to his free hand, picking at his nails as Liu hums for a moment, returning, once more, to the careful task at hand.

"Here, mostly; many of my brothers and sisters at the temple have come in hopes of assisting the training champions, many from a variety of different medical backgrounds," he delicately picks up another needle, tipping his head to the side as he looks at Cole's arm intently, "and as much as I train myself for Mortal Kombat, there is only so much my body can take in a day, so when I can, I ask, I train my mind and learn from the people around me."

"An all-around great guy, huh?" Cole says, and though the words themselves could have sounded jealous or mocking, coming from Cole they're simply complimentary as he's stoutly refusing to add the word 'perfect' no matter how loudly he's thinking it. Liu leans in a little closer to check his handiwork as he hovers the next needle over Cole's skin. Even at this angle, Cole can see his vaguely flattered smile - perfect, perfect, perfect.

"Next time can you say that while Kung Lao is in earshot?" Liu's tone is amused, and Cole's not quite sure why the request sits strangely in his chest; he's known Liu for a few days at most, he knows he and Kung Lao are close, this is probably just some longstanding teasing between the two of them -

"Why? He not take this kind of thing seriously?" Cole keeps his tone light, but Liu makes a noise in the back of his throat like that's not quite the case.

"Of course he takes it seriously; one of the reasons I learned at all was because I didn't want to keep bothering people when he managed to land a hit in training," finally, the needle was in, with another wince from Cole, but Liu straightened up, "but I'd just like to see his face when someone calls me an all-around great guy." His smile was so pleased and a little mischievous, and Cole's distracted by that smile enough so that when Liu's hand catches fire, Cole jumps.

Then Liu's free hand is on his other arm, warm and secure, steadying him, and the man himself is again apologising, this time for startling Cole, who feels like a fool.

"Are you okay? Do you need a minute before I begin to cauterise the wound?" He asks clearly, and Cole reaches out, gently grasps at Liu's free arm with his own, assures him that it's fine, and is given a faint squeeze of encouragement, of reassurance, before the free hand that had been on his arm moves to steady his other, the wound, and Liu steps so close, his hip is pressing against Cole's knee as he's sitting on the table.

The fire stops suddenly.

"I- is everything okay?" Cole asks, and looks up to see Liu Kang looking back at him with wide, concerned eyes.

"I can... I can suture instead, if the fire concerns you this much," which wasn't what Cole was expecting, and in the face of his confusion, Liu gives his wrist a gentle squeeze, meant to draw attention to the wound, but all Cole could see was Liu's fingers sitting gently over his pulse, "your elevated heartrate is causing the wound to bleed further; I can suture, or if you're concerned about my medical ability, I can get someone else to -"

"No, I- I'll be fine, I'll close my eyes or something," Cole babbled, squeezing his eyes closed as he willed the actual flush he could feel creeping up his neck to dissipate. Then, the sound of fire again, and Liu's hip still against his knee.

"You'll be okay," Liu's voice was a murmur, and the only thing Cole could think in that moment was -

"The wounded soldier fantasy means we're moments from doing it, right?" Cole chuckles under his breath, as if to distract himself from the fact that Liu Kang was both a) holding fire over his open wound, and b) very pretty. However, he must have been lounder than he thought, because Liu's movements had stilled, and when Cole cracked his eye open, there's confusion written all over Liu's face, "it's... from a TV show," was all Cole could think of to explain himself, "I'll close my eyes now." He assured, lamely, feeling his heart sink with embarrassment, though he's not sure if the implications of his quote would translate, so really he's found himself suffering from Schrodinger's Embarrassment.

There's silence, broken only by the gentle rush of flame, and then Liu is carefully removing the needles and mumbling to himself about where he put the bandages.

"You can open your eyes, by the way," Liu's voice gets louder as he voices it almost as an aside, and Cole winces, but not from the pain, carefully cracking his eyes open to see if he could gauge Liu's reaction before opening them fully. He's carefully preparing strips of cloth, focused once more, and Cole breathes a quiet sigh of relief before he looks to his wound, which is looking much better than it had moments ago. Not even close to healed, of course, Liu's not a medical miracle worker, but it's better, cauterised.

"You're a good doctor," he offers kindly, and Liu, now that the part that had required the most focus was over, gives a somewhat brighter grin.

"You're a good patient," and the silence that follows is easy and companionable, though Cole's still quietly wondering if Liu's picking up on the feelings he's terrified he's broadcasting. The last thing he wants is to make him feel uncomfortable after the man had been so king and generous to him.

"Tell me," there's something amused at the corners of Liu's smile when he finally breaks the silence, almost finished dressing the wound, "would it be selfish to ask Liu Kang to try and get you again in the future?"

"On purpose?" Cole frowned; did Liu actually not like him and was trying to be upfront about wanting Cole to be injured? "Kind of a dick move," Cole's tone was faintly defensive, and Liu's expression fell almost imperceptibly; if he weren't so close, Cole wouldn't have noticed at all.

"Then I'll have to find other ways to get this close to you."

Oh!

Cole swallowed hard in sudden understanding as Liu finished dressing the wound, though his hand came to rest, warm and secure on Cole's arm.

"Just ask," a warm smile was beginning to form at the edges of Cole's lips as he looked at Liu, "'cos I'd rather not have to injure myself just to be this close to you too."

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 2021 #mortal kombat fanfiction #liu kang #cole young #mk #liu kang x cole young #liu x cole #lkmb #mk 2021

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machablossom · 3 years

Text

I really want to rant about the ending. That was one wild episode 12 and I can't say I loved it, but I didn't hate it either.

Being honest, I think I'm mostly dissapointed things didn't go the way I wanted. I usually expect from a series to let me down in some aspects, but this time I felt like there was no rush of emotions like it happened during the past episodes.

I don't actually mind about the supposed queerbaiting, though I would have wanted Renga and Matcha Blossom to become canon. Alas, a girl could dream.

However, there were many things I believe could have been better, others which were just fine, and others which could have been different altogether from the very start of the series. Overall I feel like the main plot (Langa and Reki facing up against Adam) and the main theme of the anime (skating is a fun thing to do and it's better enjoyed surrounded with friends and people you love) were developed just right. However, the way they got to the results were not the best, in my opinion.

I would like to give my opinion on each character development, so this may take a while. Also, I'd like to point out what I would have wanted to happen, if things were up to me.

First and foremost, Adam is the character I had more trouble with. I didn't love the last beef against Langa much. I've had trouble with the entire Eve thing and the fact that he's a 30-something chasing after a 17 yr old boy, be it romantically or just skate-wise.

I know Adam's sexual preferences are never stated through the whole series but we can imply he does feel a certain attraction towards Langa beyond the skating scene and it is very uncomfortable, not to say wrong.

I loved the idea that he let go of the idea of chasing his 'Eve', to celebrate a wedding for a funeral. I am all for theathrics and drama, and his "final boss" outfit was nuts. The skateboard was awesome too! But the mere implications of him, turning into some sort of Grim Reaper whilst racing against Langa one last time are very bone-chilling, at least to me it was, again, very unconfortable.

I'd have loved for Adam to lose to Reki, OR, Tadashi and Langa to race so that the final encounter could have been Adam vs. Tadashi. That way, I think he'd have gotten to reflect on his actions and actually grow as a character rather than just be cured by the power of fun and friendship.

In the perfect scenario, he'd escape with Tadashi, he'd ditch his job and tell his aunts to go f*ck themselves, close 'S' for good and get some therapy somewhere where he could be happy skating with his beloved assistant.

On the other hand, I was hoping he'd get arrested. I hoped Kiriko got to put him behind bars and ruin his carreer both as a politician and as a skater, so that S would close. Maybe in some sort of epilogue we'd seen him come out of jail and make up with the gang, skating with them again as friends. Maybe Langa would go see him in prison to help. Idk, I feel like he needs retribution and punishment, but he was also a character who needed help.

The last part with Tadashi and the dog thing was weird and I didn't love it, but I think it works for their relationship. I won't complain, some other people here on tumblr have put it into words way better than I would have.

What I feel was the worst, worst thing they could do was have him crash their celebration party, falling ridiculously from a helicopter with a bouquet for Langa. No. No, just no. The creeps again. Ugh.

Then, I have to say the second in line who bothered me the most were Miya and Shadow.

It's silly: I really screamed in rage and pain about Shadow not getting together with the manager. I wanted all the other ships to be canon, but I knew it's Japan we're talking about and I know we'd get teased about it in the best case scenario, but the straight ship? The one they could totally go for? NO! Also, I think Shadow got played dirty, shoving him into the background after he was attacked in ep. 10. We didn't get to see any justice done to him against the dude that beat the crap out of him, if, perhaps, Shadow could beat him again at 'S', this time fair and square.

Miya, oh my poor catboy. Played so dirty as well. I liked the last time we see him when he meets with his friend again in school and they seem to reconect. But I wish we would have gotten to see them skate together again. This is very wishful thinking, but I wished we could have seen Miya a little bit older, when the others could have taken him a lot more seriously. I wanted him to do much more than just be a background character, because he deserved it.

Next is Joe and Cherry. Oh boy. Hold onto your horses, I have a LOT to say about my favourite duo.

Listen here, I wanted them to be canon. I hoped for the discreet rings on their fingers shot, or a sudden drop of any of them that they had been secretly married for the past two years or something like that. I wanted flashbacks to their trip to Paris. I wanted more of their teenage years. I wanted a date night at Sie La Luce. Man, I would have died for a kiss. But, alas, it's Japan we're talking about and I know I'm viewing the series from a western point of view.

But that's not what bothered me. What really bothered me was that all the tension that had been growing since ep. 7 between the two of them and then between them and Adam seemed to be just a stepping stone for Langa to win the tournament. We saw Cherry get slapped with a skateboard just for us, the expectators, to dislike Adam a lot more.

I would have loved for them to have the chance to reconect with Adam, be it by punching him or by accepting a heartfelt apology. Specially Cherry. Kaoru deserved MUCH better than what he got, and Joe deserved better than what we've got to see from him. The last scene we saw of them, idk, I thought it was funny and I loved how Cherry showed so little professionalism by drawing on his bf in public. LOL.

But I also didn't like it. I think they ended up being comic relief when they were two of the most wonderfully developed partners in the whole series, even if we've just got some crumbs of their relationship. Also, Joe's deep and caring personality, the whole pinning on Kaoru situation, feels like it matters so little when we see him back at the starting point, just being a shameless flirt. The advantage I see from all of it is that we've got a lot left to the imagination with them.

(Man, i would have loved to see Joe punch Adam in the face with a skateboard at the celebration party after his arrival on the helicopter).

And finally, Reki and Langa. Being honest? I actually loved them. I didn't mind there wasn't a explicit moment of romance or a confesion. That was never the point. The symbolism of their 'friendship', of their bond, is more than enough for me.

I think Langa was slightly too overpowered. As I said before, I think the beef was a little too over the top, but, mah, I've seen a lot of sports anime, its not that over the top. I'd have loved to see him snowboarding at some point, perhaps then we'd have seen Langa as a very talented athlethe and not just some random teenager with crazy skills he just pulled out of his pretty canadian butt. Then again, the little scene with his father's memory was really nice. Closure over mourning, that's a wonderful thing to do.

Reki, my boy, on the other hand, I loved him. Cheering for his bf and believing in him and waiting for him at the end of the line, *chef's kiss*. The part where Langa falls over him and they hug on the ground, perfect, hilarious. The insinuation that they are both happy when they are together, yes, yes, good. The last scene with Reki and his family, I love it! I have nothing wrong to say about Reki. I love him and I'd give an arm for him.

...

Overall, it was a good series. It could have been done better. The ending could have been better. I would love a sequel anyway, if only they could focus on the plotlines they left inconclusive and, for god's sake, they kick the creepyness down a notch. For what I conclude, the entire series was meant as fanservice and they didn't imagine it would grow so big. Anyway, I will keep writing Matcha Blossom, I really loved them and I hope this is not the last we ever see of them all.

#rant #ep 12 spoilers #sk8 the infinity #sk8 #renga #matcha blossom #aitada #joe #cherry #adam #reki #langa #miya #shadow

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mysmegrace · 3 years

Note

TW: I read over your rules and I don't think I'm overstepping anything? If I am please feel free to tell me and decline the request! I didn't know if you did ships and I didn't know if r@pe comfort was too nsfw or if it would make you uncomfortable? If that's all ok, could I request Zen x jaehee fic/hcs where the setting is at a party and jaehee disappears for a while and Zen finds her in the middle of getting assaulted... How would he act in the moment? After it? And how would he react to her not wanting any sexual interactions with him and being insecure of her body for a while?

Again, if this makes you uncomfortable I'm so sorry! I'm a sucker for angst but I do know that r@pe comfort isn't for everyone to write!

hello~ i've never written from a certain ship before so i'm not sure how good at it i'll be, but i'll give it a shot lol. i wouldn't say you're overstepping my wishes, i just don't write vivid descriptions and lemons. i'm fine with writing this, thank you for being considerate.

tw: mentions and implications of r4pe, assault, drinking.

words: 1.3k

Please, Cry - Zen x Jaehee

---

"it's just a party" he said.

"it would help to loosen up a bit" he said.

jaehee should've just listened to her gut, she thought, now surrounded by unfamiliar men. who were they? she couldn't tell. maybe it was the masks covering the lower half of their face or the alcohol blurring her vision, neither were invited right now.

these weren't the men zen had talked about earlier. he said they were respectful, polite men. he even went as far as to show her a picture of them beforehand, attempting to calm her nerves. though she would admit it worked, she could've sworn they weren't the same people.

their hair was styled to the side, excluding the one bald. none of them wore glasses. none of them were under 5'7. they couldn't possibly be the same.

did zen lie to her..? she worried all while attempting to fight back against their pushes and pulls all throughout her body. she had grown too weak. there was no use anymore.

she couldn't help but to give up, having the mentality to just accept it. her presence downstairs, or rather- lack thereof, didn't do unnoticed.

zen had been looking for her while the clock hit the quarter after mark. washroom breaks didn't take 25 minutes, he thought, continuing to search the house. yet after searching every corner and cabinet, he felt lost.

what if something happened to her? he couldn't help but jump to the worst scenarios. there was nowhere else to be searched, besides the upstairs bedroom- the one everyone was told explicitly to stay out of. had she ran off? was she not happy with him? did she get kidnapped?

nothing was looking good at this point. he needed to check the upstairs bedroom just to make sure she wasn't lost. he left the common area to search for the home owner.

where was he though? zen couldn't find him anywhere. surely, they wouldn't notice if he checked in the room for just a second, he thought. hence why he started creeping up towards the room, looking around carefully for anyone in sight.

the creek of the door opening didn't help his case, as he took notice of it once entering. his attention wasn't taken by the sound for very long once he noticed a woman held down on the bed. she was clearly intoxicated, and she clearly wasn't consenting in any manner.

he looked the woman up and down for no more than a second, looking for any way to recognize her. her shoes caught his eye. they were jaehees...it was his woman on the bed.

all hell broke loose. subtly taking out his phone, he called 911 while confronting the three men. one being the home owner, he seemed like the leader in this case. yet who were the other two.. he thought.

that didn't matter in this moment. he was enraged. quickly pulling jaehee up to her feet, he began to argue between the trio. their words weren't comprehensible, but anyone could tell they were full of hate.

looking to his side to check up on his love, her frightened eyes stared directly at him. he had been scaring her.. he realized. no more words were spoken towards the men, at least until the cops showed up.

by surprise, they didn't take long to arrive. he lived by a police station after all. zen just watched in disbelief as the trio got arrested before his eyes. while taken away in handcuffs, he still hadn't felt it was enough.

a sniffle rang through his ear, his priority shifted once again. jaehee was standing right beside him with an expression he couldn't read. she was shaking, her eyes even doing so. she looked petrified, but when trying to talk to her, he could tell she wasn't able to put her words together.

the questioning went by like a flash. after explaining the series of events, they were free to leave. and thankfully so, jaehee needed rest. he could deal with the guys later, tonight would be spent watching over her.

paying the taxi fee, they arrived home. he quickly left to the washroom, while jaehee fell to the couch. her mind was in overload. so much was happening in so little time. as her head met the fluffy cushion, her eyes flew shut.

she was only greeted with an overwhelming headache and sense of dread the next morning. knowingly hungover, her mind quickly recalled the entirety of the previous night.

it was a feeling she had never experienced. no one dared to hurt her so deeply before. this was a new kind of pain. yet she couldn't bring herself to cry. she couldn't shed any tears over the event. and for once in her life, she actually wanted to cry.

crying would reassure her that she survived, that she's still alive. that she wasn't completely broken, and the men wouldn't permeate themselves in her mind. yet, she couldn't feel the saltiness from her tears seep in her cheeks.

zen was woken up not long after, his natural body alarm raising him from his previous laying position. he was met with her sitting figure, blankets cuddling her carefully, staring at the mattress before her.

"how are you?" he asked, his worry prevalent. it took a minute for her to talk, which zen sat patiently for, before she responded "i don't know".

he didn't respond, just reached to hug her. her body went into fight or flight, as she ripped herself away from him. as much as she loved him, she couldn't stand to be touched right now or even have the thought of being intimate in any form.

he was taken aback, quickly asking "are you okay jagiya?". she slightly panicked, knowing she probably hurt his feelings. "i'm fine zen, i just can't stand to be touched right now, or for a while" she answered, quick to explain her actions.

"ohh" she heard, as he realized what had happened. "that's okay, i understand" he said, backing away out of respect. it comforted her.

though he couldn't lie, he felt guilty for her acting like this. it was his idea to go to the party, even encouraging her to join him. he didn't know who the other two men were, but the home owner was someone he had known to be polite.

of course, that wasn't the case. his trust had been twisted and turned. "i'm sorry" he said. he couldn't help but apologize. "no zen, it's not your fault, i just" she said, drifting off at the end.

she couldn't find the words to let out. now more than ever, she wanted to break down. it felt needed to. it would provide her with a sense of closure.

almost like she could grieve properly, before moving on. zen noticed her downward look, the way she stared through the sheets. "please sweetheart, tell me what's wrong" he said.

she took a breath, almost as if she was waiting for something. "i... need to cry" she let out. hearing a confused sound come from the man beside her, she continued "i need to let it out".

"then please jagiya, cry. it's okay to cry" he said. she looked up at him, feeling a faint burning from behind her eye balls. "i can't zen" she responded with a weak voice, as soft as the comforter on top of her.

"please, cry" he pleaded. "cry, find it within yourself to cry, i know you can sweetie". she didn't know if it was her hard efforts or the voice of her lover, but she could feel the drops of water start to meet her skin.

slowly, but surely, she was crying. it felt good. it felt comforting. she could mourn how she was treated that night by natures giving. "yes, good job" his soft voice rang through her ears.

"it will be alright, everything will be alright. i swear on my life, i will get you justice. i will protect you" he said, as he passed her crying state a tissue.

---

21:10 AST - 09/29/21

#mystic messenger #mysme zen #mysme #mysme fanfic #zen #zen x jaehee #hyun ryu #jaehee kang #jaehee

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myrandom-fandomlife · 4 years

Text

I Think I Kinda, You Know Chapter 1: The Agreement

JJ Maybank x Carrera! Reader

Moodboard, Summary, and Playlist

Gif Credit

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, implications of smut, mentions of a toxic relationship and cheating

A/N: So, I’ve been working on this for a while, trying to make it an awesome first chapter. I was originally going to write actual smut into it, but I decided against it because I feel like my smut is super cringe. I might write descriptive smut in future chapters. I’m really proud of this, so I hope you guys like. Huge thanks to my beta and irl best friend @otherfandomsrun for proof reading, helping with ideas, and hyping me up. Show her some love! I kinda ended this on a cliff hanger, but I’m already working on chapter 2! Fic is below the cut, and feel free to ask to be on the tag list!

You sat next to your sister, Kiara, on the HMS Pogue. That pogue group of friends had expanded quite a bit in the last year. First it was you, Kie finally deeming you old enough to tag along on their adventures. (Which you had, anyway. You were only a year younger, for God’s sake.) Then Sarah, who you and Kie weren’t too fond of, but once you got to know her she was actually pretty awesome. Sarah’s dating John B, Kie and Pope are… complicated, which leaves you and JJ. Generally, you are left alone together because the others have paired off, and recently there has been some unexplained tension between the two of you. You couldn’t lie either, JJ is hot. But, you knew JJ wasn’t one for commitment, and if Kiara knew about your attraction to him, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. So you try your best to repress any non-platonic feelings of attraction down.

“You good Y/N?” Sarah asked. She’s laying her head in John B’s lap across from you. Pope is driving the boat and Kie is next to you, looking out at the water. JJ is on the other side of you, smoking.

“Yeah, just spaced out for a second. I’m good though,” You smiled and leaned over to the cooler to grab another beer.

“I’m bored,” JJ complains, promptly stealing your beer, taking a long gulp.

“Come on, JJ! I just opened that!” He smirks at you so retaliate by stealing his blunt from his hand and taking a hit.

“I know,” He takes another long drink. You take another hit and blow the smoke in his face.

Kie pinches your side, making you flinch, “Careful. If you go home smelling like weed, mom and dad will have a fit.” Your parents weren’t strict, really. And they had warmed up to your group of friends quite a bit, occasionally inviting them over to dinner or to eat at the restaurant. Surprisingly, your mom’s favorite of the group was JJ, and she had always wanted either you or Kie to date him. She loved Pope, though, of course, but you thought she probably wanted to take in JJ as the son she never had.

“Nah, Kie, let her live a little. Plus, your parents aren’t home tonight. Something about a ‘much needed date night.’” He shrugs at your confused faces and steals the joint back, taking a long drag. “She told me I have to stay with Y/N while Kie is working late tonight.” She was always talking to JJ and putting him to work when he came over to pick up you and Kie, so you weren’t surprised she had told him that before you guys left.

“Oh no, you don’t have t-” You start.

“I’m glad she’ll have someone there, I don’t like her being home alone,” Kie cuts you off, giving you a look that says ‘don’t argue with me, because I’ll win.’

“Yeah, some of the guys on Figure Eight, are super creepy,” Sarah adds. John B nods in agreement, but you think he’s dozing off.

“You mean like, your brother?” Kie asks, causing Sarah to laugh.

“That guy, Chad, that Y/N dated was a huge creep, though,” JJ adds with a hint of hostility, and everyone nods in agreement.

“And a cheater!” Pope calls, causing you to tense up. Chad was still a sore subject for you. You had dated for 6 months and right at the end you found out he had been sleeping with other girls the whole time. You broke up about a month ago and you were definitely over him, but it still hurt to know you wasted 6 months of your life on that scumball.

“Too soon, man,” JJ answers, passing the blunt back to you. You and him had grown closer in the past month, him being there to comfort you after the break up when the others couldn’t. Not to say that Kie and Sarah weren’t there for you, Sarah came to your house and you three watched movies all night when it happened. Of course, all three of the boys offered to fight him for you- which you politely declined; but it’s the thought that counts. Everyone helped you cope one way or another, but whether they were working, doing school work, or navigating their own new relationships, they couldn’t be there for you as much as JJ had in the past month. You weren’t mad at all, though. You were sort of grateful it had been him. Everyone else was walking on eggshells around you the first week or two, like they were scared to be happy in front of you. JJ was his usual self, though. He would make you laugh, and let you cry. He was there when you needed him most, and you were glad.

You happily take his offer and shrug the comment off, “It’s okay, J, he’s right.” He gives you a sympathetic look that says, you sure? And you nod, handing his joint back.

“Oh shoot, I have work in an hour,” Kie says just as we pull up to the dock.

“Dad needs me home tonight to help with some project at the house,” Pope adds, while JJ starts securing the boat to the pier.

“Hey,” Sarah taps John B’s face lightly, “We have dinner with my parents soon. Time to wake up.” He stirs and opens his eyes groggily, flinching a little from the light. Everyone gathers their things, sunkissed and exhausted from the day of boating.

“And we have absolutely nowhere to be,” JJ playfully bows and holds out his hand to help you up onto the small deck.

You laugh and take his hand, stepping off the worn vehicle. “Except for watching Friends at my house.”

“Very true. Pizza?” He asks brightly. JJ coming over to watch movies or binge a tv series while eating pizza with you and sometimes Kie had become a common occurrence. These nights usually ended with the two or three of you falling asleep sprawled on the sofa together.

You nod, “Duh.” A small chuckle escapes him and you walk up to the Chateau, where you had all met that morning. Then you all start going your separate ways, but you, Kie, and JJ all pile into the silver SUV your parents had gotten for Kiara when she turned 16. They got you a car when you turned 16 a couple of months ago, but Kie liked driving more than you did. You thought maybe it made her feel like you still needed her, which you do. You can’t imagine not having Kie to help you through everything in your crazy life.

The sound of JJ saying your name from the front seat snaps you out of your thoughts, “What, JJ?”

He turns his head and his lips curve into a smirk, “Oh nothing, I was just saying how hot you look tonight.” He then bursts out laughing at what you assume is the look on your face.

Small giggles leave you. Kie shoves JJ’s shoulder lightly and adds, “Stop hitting on my sister!” At that you and Kiara crack up too, the car filled with your laughter as you head home.

--------

Approaching the large house, Kie jumps out of her car almost as soon as it’s parked, muttering about being late and needing to get ready. As you and JJ head inside, JJ questions, “Want me to order the pizza?”

“Yeah, I just want to change out of this swimsuit,” You scrunch your nose up, “Saltwater.”

He softly smiles, “The usual?” You shake your head yes and shoot him a grin in return before turning to go up the stairs. You swear you can feel his eyes on you as you retreat.

You try to be quick, donning a cropped t-shirt and some cotton shorts. You throw your hair into a messy bun, bounding down the stairs when you’re done. Your eyes land on the blonde-haired boy in the living room and you see that he already has the pizza, “What are you? Magic?”

His eyes slowly trail down your body, making your face heat up, but he laughs, “Nah, just had to name drop and I was given high priority on my order.”

You giggle, and he adds that Kie had left for work while you were changing. You help get blankets set up on the couch, and turn on the tv. He’s already grabbed a few beers to split between the two of you and you usually just eat the pizza straight out of the box. Pressing play on Friends, you start your favorite kind of night.

--------

A whole pizza and two beers each into your sleepover, you’re both feeling a little buzzed. Currently, you are discussing Chandler and Monica’s relationship, “Yeah, I don’t know. I haven’t been laid in a while so I feel like I need a situation like them, where they just have sex. Minus the feelings though, because gross.” You shudder dramatically and he laughs.

“Yeah, I agree. I just want someone I can have really good sex with, no strings attached.” He pauses, then looks up at you, a calculating expression on his face.

Then you get what he’s thinking, “JJ...”

“No, think about it. We’re both super hot, we both want to get laid, and we both want no feelings. We could even make a contract if that makes you feel better?” He rambles for a second, still thinking.

“Okay, say we did do this. What would the rules be?”

“Well, there’s the obvious one. The other pogues cannot know. Especially not Kie.” He licks his lips.

You nod, “Yeah, I get that. How about, if one of us gets uncomfortable with the arrangement, we stop?”

He meets your eyes with his dark blue ones and moves toward you on the couch, “Agreed. The last one is very important. We absolutely are not allowed to fall in love. Can you manage?” His lips curve into that smirk again and you can’t help but let a small laugh tumble past your lips.

“I can, can you?” He moves even closer from his side of the couch, and your breathing hitches. The noises from the TV can’t be heard over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Definitely.” Then his lips are on yours and you forget how to breathe for a second. His tongue is exploring your mouth, hands moving to the bottom of your thighs to wrap your legs around his waist. He starts kissing down your neck, your hands pulling at his hair and making him groan into you.

You feel him bite down on your soft skin, your chest heaving. “Fuck, JJ. Upstairs,” You moan when he continues his antics. He complies with your request and let’s just say, it was a very good night.

--------

You wake up naked, with an ache between your legs as you slowly recall the events from the night before. You groggily open your eyes, spotting a familiar blonde head right away. He looks peaceful. You turn over to check your clock and realize you have an hour until your early work shift, meaning Kie will be knocking at your door very soon.

“Shit,” You tap JJ lightly on the shoulder and he stirs, “J, get up, Kie’s gonna be at my door soon and I don’t think she’s gonna like that you’re currently naked in my bed.”

He smiles, “Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

You hit him with your pillow, “I’m serious, JJ!” You get up, stumbling a bit on your sore legs, which he smiles proudly at. Then you’re rushing to put some clothes on and he reluctantly does the same.

He puts his hands out in front of him in surrender, “Okay, okay. How am I supposed to get out without Kie seeing? I can’t exactly walk out the front door.”

“Um.. how about the window?” Before JJ could respond, there was a knock at the door, both of your eyes widening in shock.

Tag list: @treestarrrrrrrr @sspidermanss @harrysbbby @thatsonobx

#jj maybank #jj x reader #jj obx #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x carrera! reader #obx #outer banks #itikyk #jj maybank smut #kiara carrera #sarah cameron #john b routledge #john booker routledge #pope heyward

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honey-hippie-harper · 3 years

Text

through the burning shell

Hello it’s been 84 years.

This is fun :): I wrote this as a Christmas present for @obsidianfr3sk (YES DAWNIE KEEP POSTING YOU CHRISTMAS FICS DURING MARCH. YOU GO GIRL) and it’s a sequel to my other fic “through the bleeding shell” where I basically try to save Simon and Hugh from the queerbaiting MM turned them into by adding a certain degree of complexity to their relationship. This is a story about gays, grief and a dead friend + Simon defending Nova bc I don’t roll with Supernova. Hence, I am not morally obligated to obey canon <3

Anyway afgdhjafghsj i don’t think you need to read the first part to understand this, and I hope you like it <3. I don’t want to give much away, but this sort of turned into a collaboration that got out of control and @obsidianfr3sk might write a third part in the future ;)

through the burning shell

“There have been rumors that the public revealing of Agent N is to include a public execution as well.”

Being all together, right there, Simon saw Hugh narrowing his eyes, staring directly at Genissa Clark, formerly Frostbite, now neutralized, along with the rest of her team.

Well.

Almost all of them.

“That’s true.” Hugh started, and Simon couldn’t help but think he shouldn’t have answered. A part of him was getting a pretty bad feeling from this. “For his crimes against humanity, Ace Anarchy has been sentenced to death.”

“Why stop there?” Said Genissa. “I would argue that his accomplices deserve the same fate.”

The same fate.

His brain struggled to make a connection between that sentence and the one Hugh had uttered. At first, he didn’t understand. A couple of fast seconds later, Simon realized that, by saying “fate”, she was referencing something.

She was referencing, more specifically, Ace Anarchy’s sentence.

A death sentence.

Accomplices.

The Anarchists.

“Nightmare deserves the same fate.” Nova deserves the same fate. “Nightmare must die… And I want to be the one to do it.”

Nova must die.

And I want to be the one to do it.

A child killing another child, publicly, with the Renegades’ permission.

A child they had taken under their wing, Genissa Clark that is, killing another child, who had been in Simon’s house, who had touched Adrian’s heart, and who had made bad choices but was still a person. The official version of the events said she had stabbed Max, and Danna claimed she was Nightmare, but they hadn’t taken any declarations or anything, so that story might as well just change.

Simon couldn’t help but feel she didn’t deserve to die.

Maybe because she actually didn’t. It didn’t feel fair.

One thing was sentencing Ace Anarchy, the man who had lifted an entire city, leaving a ridiculously huge number of deaths in the process, who had stolen, broken and burned, who had killed a man (the mayor) and his pregnant wife, who had killed his own brother, sister-in-law and possibly his two nieces...and another, pretty different thing was to allow this 19 year old girl kill a 16 year old one, who had some crimes that could put her into jail for like 3 or 5 years, but weren’t horrible enough to give her a death sentence. She was a minor. She wasn’t yet beyond repair…

And if she was to be executed, then she was still a minor. She didn’t deserve to be humiliated like that. She didn’t deserve her life to be taken away with so little dignity.

Not by Genissa Clark.

Not like that.

And, stars, please, not now.

Not right now.

It was unthinkable, it was barbaric, it was animal, it was almost as if…

A quiet chuckle.

A quiet chuckle that, suddenly, interrupted his train of thought and, with all the pain in his heart, he was able to recognize in a blink.

Evander was chuckling.

Genissa Clark, nonchalantly, was blackmailing them. She was trading her silence for the legal permission to kill someone, in front of a crowded arena. And Evander was chuckling.

Genissa Clark wanted to murder Nova, and Evander was chuckling.

“Is that all it will take to quit their complaining?”

What else did he want?

“Works for me.”

Simon almost flinched to the audacity. To the severity of the implication. To the way he was saying it. So smug. So relaxed, so….Evander it almost made Simon mad.

That was so Evander lately.

Because, lately, Evander didn’t understand anything. Not even because he had a pregnant wife waiting for him at home. There was life inside that woman. Life that had come from him.

How couldn’t he understand?

How could somebody be so cold?

“These are lives we’re discussing.” Simon reminded him, shooting a look in his direction.

“Villains’ lives.” Evander responded. “Nightmare doesn’t deserve mercy any more than Ace Anarchy does. She was the one who neutralized them, so it seems fair to me.”

Villains’ lives were still lives.

Nova was a person.

Nova was...Nightmare, but before Nightmare, she was Nova, and Hugh and him had met her personally. Adrian had met her personally.

And, besides, with this logic, then all the Renegades were to be executed.

After all, Agent N was meant to be used by Renegades. They were the ones who were planning to neutralize people when they felt threatened. But when Nightmare did it, then she immediately deserved the death penalty.

Hugh would understand that. Everyone would understand that, just like Simon did.

They had to understand it.

Hugh had to understand it.

-.-

Yet, he didn’t.

Some time ago, Hugh had pledged to understand. Not directly per se, but he had pledged it in the name of his cause.

He promised he would understand.

And then, when he needed to understand the most, he didn’t.

He said he would.

Then he fucking didn’t.

“How can we run a city, much less an entire world, if we’re busy dealing with every trivial bit of bureaucratic nonsense that comes up?” He said.

“This solves two problems at once.” He said.

And he said that to Adrian’s, their son, face. Their son, who was just trying to help, by questioning how morally correct was to do something like that, just like Tamaya, Kasumi and himself had done, being ignored in the process.

“We need that right now. And we need to be united in this decision.”

“And why’s that, exactly?” Adrian asked. “Do we not want the world to know this is actually a dictatorship?”

In that moment, Simon knew Adrian had never spoken to Hugh like that. He had always been a pretty calm kid, who liked to question their decisions sometimes because, as a Renegade himself, of course he would feel uncomfortable or have doubts sometimes. But never had he called Hugh out. Not in that tone. Not with that entire bottle of venom flowing out of his mouth, melting his teeth, and mixing with his boiling blood.

Simon felt unable to tell him to stop, after his own voice had been ignored, and Hugh pretended Evander was the only one who mattered in the team. And it wasn’t that Evander didn’t matter.

It was just that he was wrong.

Besides, harsh as that sounded, Simon still couldn’t believe that those stinky, rotting, putrid, nauseating words had come from Hugh’s mouth. His Hugh. The man he had decided to marry, because he loved him so, so much, for him had been able to see him even when he was invisible. Literally.

Right in front of his eyes, Hugh morphed into a caricaturesque villain. His hands, which Simon had held so many times, were suddenly covered in both dry and fresh blood, red as an apple, but smelling like death.

Death.

The same death that was living like a parasite inside of his eyes, the only place that other people could harm. And the parasite was traveling through his system, all the way to his brain, spinning it around like a mirrorball, and eating from it like he was nothing.

Hugh’s hands were tied, too, and the strings were made of rope, a material he could easily tear apart, but seemed to have forgotten about that.

He was like a puppet, as the press, as society, and as tons and tons of eyes pulled from the ropes.

And nobody knew how to free him, not even himself.

“Do we not want the world to know this is actually a dictatorship?”

Adrian’s voice haunted him for days. The way in which he said that haunted him for days, and after a while, Simon just accepted he wouldn’t be able to get rid of it. It had become another one of the wounds he carried, open and bleeding, through life. The worst part of it all, was that Simon knew Adrian was right. That, at this point, everyone but Hugh, Evander and Genissa Clark were right.

But if he knew where had they gone wrong, and if he knew he didn’t agree with this monstrosity...why did it hurt so much?

How did you speak to a person who didn’t want to listen?

And, most importantly: Where were you supposed to get the courage to do it from?

-.-

Nova had spent seventeen days in Cragmoor Penitentiary when Adrian said he wanted to see her. He had been so mad at her, that it caught Simon off guard.

Not that he wasn’t able to understand it.

Adrian had had a couple of girlfriends and boyfriends throughout his life but, from what Simon could see, Nova was by far the one he had been the most serious about, to the point it almost seemed she was the one who would stay. Simon would’ve wanted to see his partner too, no matter how mad he was at said partner, if he knew they had been sentenced to death.

As fast as they could, knowing they were facing an authority (Adrian had asked them to be with him in the room), the wardens brought her right away, in a matter of minutes.

Through the glass, Simon saw her, on the metal platform, with her arms and legs being held, tightly, by braces, which were equally made of metal. For the look in her eye, Simon could almost hear her desperate begs for her visitor not to be Adrian. Yet, he had been, and he wasn’t alone, which, if anything, only made it worse.

Simon, from his part, was staring at two different glasses at the time. The one that divided them from Nova, and Adrian’s glasses, which revealed the pain he was penetrating Nova’s soul with, and also the rage he was entitled to feel.

But Nova looked small.

She, in fact, looked as small as she actually was.

She was almost a kid. She hadn’t yet started living. Yet, she was locked up here, and would only be taken out to be killed.

Nova’s body was shaking, just like Adrian’s. Her chin was quivering so much it almost seemed like she was cold, and Simon felt a twinge in his stomach. He felt nauseous and dizzy. And so evil and so guilty.

For some reason, he pictured a child, because Nova had been a younger child once, full of joy and innocence.

He pictured a child. Just like that.

Maybe she was wearing pigtails, had a gap between two of her teeth, and bruised legs, because she liked to play outside with her friends. Maybe, before she became Nightmare, she had something else to hold on to. Maybe she, like many people out there, had hoped for the Renegades to come, and when they didn’t do it, something became numb, and cold, and she started freezing to death, just like she would remain freezing, suspended in History, as the interrupted life who was the proof the Renegades had become the one thing they promised they would never be.

And Simon didn’t want to be part of that, yet he was still here.

He was still here, thinking about how fortunate he was that Nova wasn’t staring back at him, but at Adrian instead, as selfish as that might’ve sounded.

Simon felt he had lost the right to look her in the eye, having been the one who promised her, on several occasions, that she could look into theirs.

With each one of his limbs becoming tense, Simon took a deep breath. His mouth tasted like bile, and his whole body was pounding along with this heart. It felt like one of those times when you were almost a hundred percent sure you were having a heart attack, despite knowing that, if that was the case, you would already be on the floor crying for help.

Next thing he felt was the sudden and strong urge to speak.

He would’ve liked to talk to Nova, but through this glass, she couldn’t hear anything.

Besides, Simon knew that this moment wasn’t about him, or Hugh. They were involved in it. They were carrying it in their backs like a cross, but it wasn’t about them. It was about Nova and Adrian. There was glass between the two. They could press their hands together through it, but they couldn’t touch the other’s skin. They couldn’t feel the air the other breathed in the short distance. They couldn’t kiss. It was scary. It was sad. And it wasn’t awfully familiar.

But it wasn’t about Simon or Hugh.

“Do you need some privacy?” Simon asked, perhaps to both of them, knowing one wouldn’t be able to hear him, even if she tried.

In response, Adrian turned his gaze away from Nova, staring at Simon instead, nodding.

“I think that would be nice.”

Before Simon could say anything else, Hugh reached for his son’s shoulder, and once he touched it, he caressed the fabric, and the skin beneath the fabric, briefly.

“We’ll be in the lobby.”

Adrian nodded again and then, after gulping, he said:

“I love you, okay?”

The weird thing was, he didn’t look them in the eye for much. He did, but he turned his gaze away pretty fast, barely leaving time to process his own words. For that reason, nor Hugh or him responded.

They left right after that, leaving Adrian alone inside the room.

With Nova, but alone.

-.-

They dropped Adrian at the hospital once they left Cragmoon. There was barely any sound throughout the whole ride, except when Hugh asked if they wanted something from the store, and when they said goodbye to Adrian.

Obviously, Adrian couldn’t get close to Max. Not if he wanted to avoid being neutralized by him, but sometimes, according to Adrian himself, he liked to stay in the waiting room, and help the staff with whatever they needed, for he liked Max to know he came to visit often, and that he wasn’t alone, even if he couldn’t touch, or be in the same room with him. So they just allowed him to stay in the hospital as much as he needed. After all, it’s not like he was hurting anybody.

After that, everything was silent, all the way home, because, instead of driving towards the Headquarters, Hugh drove towards the mansion, leaving Tamaya in charge, under the excuse they would take a two hour break to have lunch together at home. She wasn’t so happy about it, but agreed anyway, because it’s not like Hugh had given her an option in the first place. He had just notified her. At this point, Hugh’s volume was getting the tiniest bit loud. And Simon wasn’t talking about his voice.

Upon arriving into the house, Hugh threw the keys by the entrance’s table and proceeded to walk all the way towards the living room, to lay on the couch, one arm covering his eyes, without even taking his costume off. He didn’t have a reason to, because they were supposed to be back at the Headquarters in two hours and, besides, the elephant in the room was making it cold. Maybe he felt his armor would protect him from what they were doing, and from what they were still doing.

Sadly, the fabric of Simon’s costume wasn’t as warm. And as he took his mask off and placed it next to keys, he felt nothing but cold wind. He was back again at being Simon, and Simon only, without anything protecting him, in the same room as the husband who rarely ever kissed him anymore.

There was an elephant in the room, and it was killing both of them, though Hugh looked like he was already dead.

Simon tried not to pay attention to him, but when he was crossing to the kitchen, he couldn’t help but ask, in an unintentionally harsh tone:

“Are we going to have lunch or did you just want to make Tamaya more stressed?”

Hugh lowered his arm, staring at him with an arched eyebrow, lifting his neck just a little, to have a clearer view. Simon was starting to feel bad for having snapped at him, but not enough to take it back.

Sometimes you had to do the right thing, and sometimes the right thing was not taking it back.

His husband, from his part, looked rather confused, as if he couldn’t recognize the person in front of him.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked.

The question caught him off guard.

Was he okay? Simon wasn’t sure, nor did he want to answer. In times like these, Hugh wanted people to answer him what he wanted to hear and, sadly, this time Simon didn’t have any answer he would like.

“Did you take your pills, Si?”

Something inside of his body turned into a tight knot, and Simon turned his gaze towards him, in a violent act. He frowned so deeply he felt his skin itching, and though he knew that, under normal circumstances, he would’ve just interpreted this as a routinary question, this time it wasn’t the case at all. This time it felt like an attack. Like something Hugh had to take back immediately because it was not his place to ask it, that is: a question he always asked anyway.

But not this time.

Because ,this time, he wasn’t okay.

“Don’t pull the anxiety card on me, Hugh.” Saying that left a bitter, disgusting firm on his mouth, right under his tongue, which was dry. He felt like he had just chewed on a pill.

“The anxie--” Hugh narrowed his eyes, shifting into a sitting position. “I’m not pulling that card on you. I’m just asking a question.”

“Then don’t ask that question.” Simon snapped again, heading towards the kitchen to get a class of water. His feet were making too much noise when in contact with the floor, and his mouth was too dry. It was making him crazy.

It was only then that he realized they still had something else pending, and for some reason that was enough to make him stay. Simon spun on his toes, facing him. Hugh was breathing heavily, and his brows were almost touching each other.

“You didn’t answer my question, though.” He told him, in a dry tone. “Did you want to have lunch with me or did you just think taking a break while Tamaya loses her mind would be fun?”

“If Tamaya didn’t want to be in charge, she would’ve told me, and you know that.”

“Tamaya talks back when she is given a chance to.”

An empty feeling of freedom filled Simon’s body, pushing his way into the hollow all his mixed feelings had been carving at the center of his stomach.

And it wasn’t just about Tamaya, really. It wasn’t just about how lately none of her ideas were taken into consideration. Rather, it was about how nor were Kasumi’s, or his own ideas, when they tried to speak up. It was about how things were getting weirder and weirder as time went by, to the point where Simon would see a very pregnant Tamaya in the hallway, apparently fine, but stating she didn’t know if her water was breaking or if she just really needed to use the restroom (the restroom where she didn’t fit in); it was about how everyone knew damn well that Kasumi wasn’t good at public speaking and that, if anything, it just worsened her selective mutism, and yet many important speeches were given to her; it was about how Simon felt like he was talking to a wall, and how that made him feel, suspect, even, that Hugh was back to being trapped in a closet he was already too big for.

It wasn’t just about that, in conclusion.

It was just the tip of a bigger and more messed up problem.

“Well, if you want Tamaya to go bathe in her Greek goddess shower-pool-whatever that thing is, then fine. I’ll call her, I’ll tell her to take the day off, and we go back to the Headquarters.”

“That would be great, actually!” Simon laughed sarcastically. “But you know what would be even better?”

“I don’t, Si. You tell me.”

It was a rhetorical question.

The nerve.

“That we would act like a team. That we would stop lollygagging around and take realistic turns to have our breaks, because each one of us have lives, and we’re not the only ones who have needs.” And that was about Kasumi feeling like she couldn’t do it today but having to anyway; it was about Tamaya crying in the BBQ Sunday, explaining to her husband how she wanted her baby to be with her, as a baby bawled into her arms, trying to reach for his father, because she spent so little time at home her youngest son wouldn’t recognize her sometimes; it was about Evander claiming Sandy didn’t feel like being alone with her baby bump today, but showing up at work anyway.

And yes, they had pledged to do this, but they were supposed to be in it together.

“But how should I know?” Simon hissed. “It’s not like we’re a Council or anything.”

The bile was all over his mouth now, and Simon felt possessed. He didn’t know how to stop it, and the words just kept coming, and coming and coming, as Hugh stared, half-startled, half mad.

Simon felt like he was a loaded gun that was ready to kill everything that moved, for a reason and a cause.

All those repressed feelings. All those things he desperately wanted to say but never could. The anxiety. The desperate, insatiable craving for a touch that never came. For a kiss. For anything. For a sign. A sign of whatever. One single sign, that would just let him know Hugh was still here.

“It’s not like you needed the majority of us to agree to sentence that minor to death.” He let it go, and all the air, along with his soul, left Simon’s body. “It’s not like Evander and you needed such thing, did you?”

Hugh’s confusion frown suddenly shifted.

Then, all Simon saw was the embodiment of anger, with his cheeks becoming flushed, and his knuckles becoming yellow.

“So that’s what this is all about.”

There was one word to describe that tone, and that word was condescension.

To Simon, the gut-wrenching feeling of frustration that caused him was indiscriptable, and he didn’t wish it to anybody. He would’ve preferred Hugh to scream at him, or just refuse to answer at all, because he couldn’t take it.

He had had people talking down to him his entire life. He wasn’t willing to keep tolerating that.

And in the moment he stared into Hugh’s blue eyes, Simon knew there was no turning back. Because sometimes the right thing to do was not taking it back.

Others, it was not holding it back.

“No. In fact, it’s not about that.”

“WHAT IS IT, THEN?!”

“YOU TELL ME!” Simon howled, getting one step closer to him, and all the memories started flowing...more likely, overflowing, including that time when he had talked to Kasumi and Tamaya in the living room, just like as if they were teenagers, instead of grown ass people, about how Hugh was leaving, even though he was still right there.

Right there, looking like a corpse.

A blue, stiff corpse.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me anymore?” Simon asked, and his voice sounded way less threatening than he had intended. “Why?”

“Are you really going to pull that card on me?”

“I am going to pull it because I want to know!” Simon barked, pointing at his own chest, which was getting tighter and tighter with every second. “Why don’t you ever touch me anymore? Why am I always invisible to you, even when I’m not? Why are you so fucking cold all the time? Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?!”

Hugh wheezed, maybe pretending it didn’t make sense, or maybe pretending he hadn’t understood at all. Still smirking, he ran his fingers through his hair, and stared at Simon, scratching his chin, and clicking his tongue.

“So...Sex.”

Simon’s heart was pounding.

“Yes, sex!” He yelled, shameless. “And kisses, and hugs and my husband! That is what am I asking for!”

“WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?! WE’RE BUSY!”

“WE’RE NOT BUSY NOW!”

“SO YOU WANT TO GET LAID NOW?!”

“I’M NOT GETTING LAID WHILE THINKING ABOUT HOW A CHILD WILL BE EXECUTED BY ANOTHER CHILD BECAUSE I WASN’T ALLOWED TO DO ANYTHING TO STOP IT FROM HAPPENING!”

“SHE TRIED TO KILL ME! SHE TRIED TO KILL MAX!”

“FIRST: AN ATTEMPTED ASSASINATION IS NOT ENOUGH TO GIVE SOMEBODY A DEATH PENALTY, AND, SECOND: THAT’S WHAT GENISSA SAID!”

“ISN’T THAT ENOUGH?!”

“THAT’S NOT ENOUGH!” Simon screamed, covering his ears with hands.

He didn’t know why, specifically, the ears, knowing that, in reality, his eyes were the problem, because every time he closed them, he saw Nova in that chair, like an animal. And he saw Genissa standing in the lobby, playing with them like puppets; he saw Evander’s despicable smirk when he told Genissa to go ahead; he saw Adrian’s furious eyes as he called his own dad a dictator; he saw Hugh.

Mostly, he saw Hugh, and the caricaturesque villain version of him, which Simon despised with every inch of his being.

Then he was back at the beginning. At Nova.

Nova, who had tan skin, pitch black hair and slanted blue eyes. And Nova, who looked familiar when she smiled, because she looked similar to that man who had come to the Headquarters asking for help, whose smile looked similar to the other person who carried their blood.

And Simon couldn’t help but consider it as a real possibility. And if he happened to be right, then they were failing her.

For the second time.

“It’ll never be enough, Hugh.” He declared. “Because she…”

Simon’s internal knots became tighter, to the point they were suffocating him.

“How do we know who this girl is?” he questioned. “How do we know it isn’t her?”

“Her, who? What are you talking about?”

“Her. The one we failed to protect.” Simon felt a tear slipping from his eye, as he became closer and Hugh walked backwards. “Uh? How do we know that? How do we…?”

But something stopped him.

And that something was Hugh’s eyes, turning grey as chromium.

He was breathing fast. Faster with every second, and where maybe he saw anger, Simon saw nothing but deep, stored pain, flowing out of him like sweat, or like the tears that weren’t there.

There was Hugh’s bleeding shell again, protecting him like he was a small child curled up on the floor, in a ball, through a polarized surface where Simon and him couldn’t touch, and where nothing could hurt him, while everything could at the same time.

There it was.

The despicable, horrid, bleeding shell.

Except this time it wasn’t bleeding. No. No.

This time, the dense, bubbling blood was falling off it, reaching Simon’s feet, and the shell was in flames. Tall, untamable flames, that were burning the roof and everything surrounding them.

The shell was burning, while Hugh was inside of it, and nobody could get him out before he was burned to death.

Why didn’t he let anyone help him?

Why did he insist the flames weren’t there?

Why couldn’t Simon hold his hand?

Why was he so far?

“We didn’t fail to protect her. She died.” Hugh declared, and when Simon saw his lips quivering, he realized they weren’t talking about Nova anymore.

“She didn’t fail. She died. “ Simon saw the silver painting Hugh’s fingertips, as tears started rolling down his face. “She died! SHE DIED, WHEN IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME, SIMON!”

The bleeding shell was burning, and Simon still couldn’t find his way in.

“IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME! AND SHE DIED! SHE DIDN’T FAIL TO PROTECT ANYONE! SHE DIED! IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME! SHE DIED, SIMON! SHE DIED!”

Their eyes met for a couple of second, and the connection vanished after a blink.

“IT’S NOT HER FAULT SHE DIED, IT’S MINE!”

Hugh was sobbing, like a small child, and Simon was too.

“...It’s...it’s mine, Simon. Always has been.”

And they were so far, despite being so close, that they were left with holding themselves tight.

Because there was no way to get into the burning shell, for Hugh, strangely as it sounded, had never said those words out loud, because he thought the picture on the wall behind him, the one with the woman wearing a floral pink dress with their son -who was also hers- sitting on her lap, would hear him and that would make her sad.

Yet, Simon knew she wasn’t sad at the moment.

He knew her well enough to know she would’ve been disappointed, instead.

Anybody would be if they had to see their family kill the one thing they had died trying to protect.

“No.” Simon declared, calmly. “But I’m not going to go and try to convince you otherwise because I know it’s not the right time.”

Hugh started shaking.

“Si…”

“And I won’t be a part of this, either.” Simon declared, firm, still staring at the picture through the corner of his eye, yet still fully focused on Hugh. “From now on, all you’ll get from me is silence in regards to the issue. I’m not willing to be a part of it. I don’t agree with this. I will never agree.”

“You don’t understand.”

“And I’m glad I don’t. In fact, I hope I never do.” Simon wiped his tears with his palm, and before continuing, he tried to find his Hugh one more time.

He was still there.

Simon hadn’t yet given up on him, but he didn’t feel like telling him that at the moment.

For some reason.

“If Adrian wants to see me, tell him I’ll be at Kasumi’s.”

“Simon.” Hugh grabbed him by the wrist, and a simple wave from Simon’s hand was enough to get it off. Way too easy, for a person who happened to have super-strength. “Simon, please. Don’t do this again. Please. SIMON!”

But Simon did it again anyway.

Later, he wondered what Adrian had felt when he abducted Max from the hospital and left a note for them.

He also wondered what everyone else had felt when the real Nightmare showed up.

Not that he was mad at them.

He just wondered what they had felt.

#renegades trilogy #dawnie writes #renegays #humon #simon westwood #the dread warder #hugh everhart #captain chromium #nova artino #nightmare #adrian everhart-westwood #sketch

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pluviophile-bookworm · 3 years

Text

High School Musical: The Musical: The Series: The Rewatch pt. 4

I really need a pick-me-up after 2x11, and I feel like 1x7 might be what I'm looking for, so here I am again with another HSMTMTS rewatch. I'm genuinely so excited for both of these episodes, so without further ado, let's jump right into

1x6: She stands for... lies, pressure and very inappropriate suggestions (coming here after 2x11 might have been a mistake, actually)

I honestly don't get why Nini's reaction to seeing Ricky in full Troy costume was so big — he actually looked pretty ok to me. Sure, the wig is a bit too much, but so what, it's cute.

Ahhh my boy Reddy is so adorable in that talking head... 'click!' Gosh, I love seeing him so cheerful! Guess he's embracing his role as part of the crew. As he should.

'I'm home'. Yes, Sebby, and you look so good, too! Gosh, I love this scene so much. I can't believe I'd forgotten about it.

Gina looks beautiful, though — I mean, she looks beautiful in anything, but I really like the Taylor look on her.

Ok, I fully understand everyone's frustration about this picture — it's genuinely so hard to get a good picture of someone jumping up in the air, and I can only imagine what it would be like with six people. A bunch of my classmates tried to do something like that ages ago and, needless to say, it didn't go very well. No good pictures were taken that day.

Ah, Portwell: the early days. Ok, but wanting something and feeling like you have to get it is far from the same thing, EJ. Honestly, these two in their early days as accomplices... this is not the first time they've been like 'X is the same thing as Y' when it's obviously not. I mean, of course, that time they became accomplices because 'we want the same thing' — which, at that point, they didn't.

Ok, but they were in such unison with that 'Not now!'... couple goals! You know, even before either of them had considered the possibility of them being a couple for real.

That's a lot of pressure that Miss Jenn is putting on dear Carlito over there. I mean, he's one of the youngest at the drama club and he has to essentially do her job for her, all while she's not even sure if she'll be able to return to her job. I just... keep reminding myself that these kids are closer in age to my little brother than they are to me (except for EJ, who is precisely in the middle), and then the pressure they're under takes on completely new proportions in my mind. None of them should have to deal with all of this. And no amount of 'trust the process' is making it better.

'Should I just live vicariously through someone else?' Oh Reddy, you should just live for yourself. I mean, the truth is I don't practice what I preach most of the time, but I really do mean this. Just go out there and live your best life. You're not Ricky's therapy dog or anything (that being said, Ricky's getting a therapy dog when?).

What part of 'a forest of boys' does Nini not get? It's simple enough. Just help Carlos do his job, how about that? I mean, he shouldn't have to do everything himself anyway.

See? He cracked. That's what happens when you put all this responsibility on a teen's shoulders and be like 'deal with it'. He was just trying his best, you guys. He did not deserve all the clapback.

Ricky's forced optimism about Miss Jenn and the show is too much even for me. Sure, I know everything turns out mostly alright at the end, but this just sounds like Ricky's on the verge of a breakdown. You know, every time someone's been too unrealistically positive on this show, it has ended in a breakdown. And that's the last thing I want.

I do agree about the simple acoustic version of the song, though. Sometimes simple is the best option.

Major props to Carlos for going up to Mr. Mazzara like that. If someone had bullied me, and especially if that someone was a teacher, I'd never have dared to call them 'Benjamin Mazarra!' to their face. Even when he's on the verge of despair, this boy is still the boldest. And we love him for that.

Is this where the 'Carlos Surname' joke started, though? I had forgotten. It was funny while it lasted.

Ricky doesn't know it yet, but he's seriously playing with Gina's feelings there. And I don't blame him because, again, he doesn't know yet, but I still feel bad for her.

'Despite the 4.3 GPA, I'm actually an idiot.' — EJ is high intelligence, low wisdom, confirmed. Not that this is news, but I really don't remember much about this season, so I'm pointing this out now.

Now forgive me if I'm not feeling for Miss Jenn after 2x11... she did some really unforgivable things there. Still, as much as I want to say a real qualified teacher would not do any of that, my personal experience suggests otherwise, quite unfortunately. Miss Jenn might not be very emotionally mature, but not having legal teaching credentials is not her biggest issue, really. It is precisely her lack of emotional maturity.

OMG, Big Red accidentally invited the entire drama club over! And that, I guess, is half of how Redlyn established themselves as the hosts of every out-of-school drama club gathering. Thanksgiving is, of course, the other half. Gosh, those two were the parents of the drama club even before they were a couple. Guess they're soulmates in that way, too.

Ok, so I didn't comment on this after 2x8 when Big Red did it to Ricky, but now that I finally notice that Seb did it to Carlos, too (I took my time, thanks), I need to talk about the knee touch thing. See, this is exactly the amount of touch I used to be comfortable with (since I'm very touch-averse) — both on the giving and on the receiving end — and it can mean so much when you feel bad. It's a subtle 'hey, I'm here, it's going to be fine', a sort of hug-without-the-hugging... I feel like this is a gesture we don't see enough of in media and it can feel just as intimate as, say, holding hands or cuddling. I don't want to talk about kissing because I don't know anything about it. But I just love how we've got the knee touch depicted by both a romantic pairing and a platonic pairing in the show. Ok, rant over. But I just really wanted to talk about this because, well, I saw myself in it.

'Her past is a little bit sketchy'... I see, Ash has already started writing Truth, Justice and Songs in Our Key, even if she doesn't know it quite yet.

Miss Jenn finding out Mike is Ricky's dad is just as awkward as it should be. Whatever they had going on should have ended right then and there.

'... people in the dramatic arts are insane' — 'Thank you.' — Umm, Miss Jenn, you are not really helping your case there. Quite frankly, you're lucky you've got the allegiance of the entire drama club. I don't think they'd have your back as much after 2x11, though.

Ok, but... Big Red wearing a longcoat just to take it off for the dramatic flair of it all? An icon if I've ever seen one. Also, mad props to Larry for apparently learning this number in record time after Dara got injured.

Oh, and... mad props to all the kids in-universe for writing, rehearsing, and learning this entire number in one night.

So both Seb and Natalie have solo lines in the song... and Seb was promoted to main in s2. So does this mean Natalie will get the same treatment in s3? I mean, that will probably mean they'll try to stick her in some sort of romantic plot, and I really don't need that, but I really, really want her to be a main character.

Also, let's not forget we had our first Redlyn moment in this number... seeing them dance together makes my heart jump with joy!

I won't lie, though, the entire dance number and everything was just a little bit uncomfortable to watch after 2x11... these kids do so much for Miss Jenn, and what does she do? Put insane amounts of pressure on some of them, shuts others down at every attempt to put in a word, favours yet others despite their abysmal performance at the audition, and then has the audacity to tell that same person to jump off of something high, with all the implications attached? Not that I'm naming any names, of course. Ok, this has taken a sudden and uncalled for turn for the dark, so I guess I'll just move right along to the next episode now.

1x7: A world where 'That was terrible!' and 'I'm so happy!' can both be true at the same time

My girl Ash is doing the recap! And she's a pun queen, too. 'Miss Jenn was in hot water, Carlos was a hot mess...' — not pleasant, but so true. But wbk. Ashlyn is the best.

And... Ricky and Nini's on and off chemistry is back on. Good for them, because after season 2, I really needed to see a good rehearsal. But I'm thinking EJ's joy at the end-of-school bell had little to do with Thanksgiving...

That look Reddy gave Ashlyn as she was walking out... might be me digging for breadcrumbs, but I think I just saw the exact moment my boy fell, and he fell hard. Ok, I realise now after I've said this that 'fall' probably isn't the best choice of words, but you know what I mean. Fell for Ashlyn. Not like... oh, never mind.

'So meek, so mild, sword!' I can't really explain it, but I love this line. And I feel like it describes Ash so perfectly: like, she might be meek and mild, but if you cross her, she's armed. Gosh, I love her!

Not the Caswell parents leaving their children alone over two holiday breaks! No wonder these two are the way they are. But they're about to get a beautiful Thanksgiving celebration. [Fun personal fact: the year I was born, my birthday fell on Thanksgiving day. That doesn't mean much in Bulgaria, but my dad works with a lot of Americans so my parents knew about it and I've known this and that about this holiday I've never celebrated since I was very young. I have no idea why I'm telling you this, but Thanksgiving has always reminded me of my birthday for this reason, so... ok, moving on.]

So I know she kind of suggested it, but... why does Carlos think it's his place to invite people over to Ashlyn's? I mean, this was part 2 of Redlyn establishing themselves as the hosts for any out-of-school gathering, but... oh well, it led to a beautiful party with everyone, so... I'll allow it.

I really liked Nini's talk with her grandma. It was really nice, and a very fitting way to remind everyone what Thanksgiving is originally about. I feel like people often forget that when it comes to... literally every major commercialised holiday.

Wow, EJ really is that person where once the tap is open, it can't stop spilling. And I kind of like that look on him. It's a transitional stage between EJ 1.0 and EJ 2.0, and I appreciate it for what it is.

Ahhhh it's Redlyn's first proper 1-on-1 conversation! I mean, it got kind of really awkward really quickly because of — surprise, surprise — Nini and Ricky (and EJ), but those two are so adorable! No more breadcrumbs — we're about to get an entire five-course meal here! Which goes really well with the Thanksgiving setting, now that I think of it.

Gosh, they've never really talked and my boy whips out the 'the only thing I'd ever throw at your face is a brighter spotlight' line right off the bat? Boy is whipped! But like, he is the master of grand gestures where Ashlyn is concerned. Still, in this first moment they shared, he really was like, go big or go home, and home isn't really an option here. But I should have known, it's in his name after all. Gosh, I love both of those two so much! Especially when they're together.

Ok, so... this is a really bad way to meet your mother's new boyfriend. Poor Ricky. As if ringing his mum wasn't hard enough already.

See, when I rewatch season 1, I get where the Rina stans are coming from, but then again, remember when I used to say I wanted Gina and EJ to just be friends? Yeah, that's changed too. Not that I ever shipped Rina romantically — I rarely ever ship a pairing unless they're explicitly stated to have something going on, just because I can't see that sort of stuff very clearly — but I really, really want them (Ricky and Gina, I mean) to be really good friends. Once they get past the awkwardness of their sort of history, I mean.

I miss the good old days when Nini was a nice person... I mean, we kind of (really) had a glimpse of that in 2x11 (I'm guessing she was making up for Miss Jenn's very inappropriate slip-up), but I miss the days before she was this big internet-famous songwriter and actually had to be convinced by Ashlyn that she should write songs for herself... wait, now that I think of it... Ashlyn might have helped create a monster there. Oh well. Still love her so much!

You know, I love the Choosical, but it's all a bit sad, if you stop to think about it for a sec. Just picture little single-digit-aged Carlito making this whole thing up in an attempt to participate in his favourite thing... only to not have anyone to play with for the next ten years. Great, I just made myself cry. The thing is, I relate to that story a bit too much. I remember in preschool, when the rest of the children would play together, I'd sit in a corner by myself and read the only book that was there... over and over, day after day. I don't even remember a single thing about that little book right now, but back then I clung to it like it was everything. And I couldn't very much share the experience with any of my peers, seeing as I was the only kid there who could actually read (my grandma used to be a preschool teacher and she taught me to read when I was 4). So yeah. I went off on a rather personal tangent there. Thing is, I know how little Carlos felt and I'm so happy that he finally gets to share this thing he made with a loving and supportive group of friends. Everything has its time and place, I guess.

'Look, I'm not following Big Red just because he paid me a compliment' — of course not, dear, you know your own worth and we love that for you — but see, when he said that thing that you're referring to as a compliment, he did not lie! You really are the brightest star and deserve the brightest spotlight. See, the thing I love most about Redlyn's compliments to each other is that they're so sincere and state nothing but the absolute truth. Those two just see each other for what they are, and love each other as they are. And I think that is beautiful.

It's so funny to me every time someone gets something wrong and Carlos just walks past them out of nowhere and corrects them without missing a beat. I kind of relate to that side of him, too. Except it's usually about grammar and language in my case, not HSM trivia.

If I were Nini in this scene, and was suddenly put face to face with Emily on the spot like that, I would not have been able to handle it. So props to Nini for handling it.

Yeah, sorry to break it to you, Emily dear, but whatever you're doing is not a Cockney accent. I don't claim to be an accent expert, but I know first-hand what Cockney sounds like and... that's just not it. Even Dick Van Dyke was closer to a Cockney accent in Mary Poppins, and that's saying something. (See, I feel bad criticising any aspect of Emily because her actress is no longer with us, but... I have no idea who let them get away with passing this off as Cockney).

Is this the beginning of Jennzara there? I am loving this.

Of course Carlos was obsessed with Glee as a kid... but wasn't he a bit too young for it when it aired? I know I was, and I'm older than those kids. I mean, I waited until I was emotionally mature enough to watch Glee, and that wasn't until 3 years ago, when I was 18 going on 19. Ok, I'm thinking too much into this. Moving on.

Ahhhhh, Redlyn! Just... all of their moments. But screaming the lyrics of What I've Been Looking For on top of their lungs while looking right at each other... was so beautiful to watch. Give me more of that!

EJ: 'That was terrible.' Seb: 'I'm so happy!' — Moods, both of them. Those two are real-life emojis, aren't they? And we love them for that.

'... without laughing... or killing each other.' — I feel like that last specification was needed given that it's Ricky and EJ we're talking about, and especially what happened last time they had to do a one-on-one exercise during rehearsal. The ensuing scene, however, is the most hilarious thing!

Root beer, huh? Is that the HSMTMTS code for 'awkward' now? I mean, Nini and Gina had a nice talk there, all things considered. I really want the two of them to put the Ricky thing past them and be friends... but we'll see.

Gina is trying to make the sleepover thing look like 'it's not a big deal' despite how big of a deal it obviously is to her... to which I say, good for you, girl, but I wouldn't know. The only sleepovers I've ever had have been with my little cousin who is 9 years younger than me and also insists on sleeping with a very bright nightlight on, which means I can't sleep at all. So yeah, I wouldn't know. But I'm happy that Gina is feeling included.

So this is the exact moment when it becomes clear that Big Red is not telling us the complete truth when it comes to his HSM knowledge... '14 and 10'? Even I didn't know that. I knew 14, but... for someone who allegedly 'hates musicals', my boy has very detailed knowledge of one certain musical movie... I love how it got him a certain girl's attention, though. Not that she wasn't already paying attention to him, if you catch my drift.

Ok, but this hits even harder now than it did the first time — just when Gina has finally managed to make friends, to feel included in their group, her mum has to move her away again. This is straight-up tragic. I'll say it now, and I'll probably say it again when it comes up in the rewatch — Ashlyn is an absolute queen for taking Gina in for the next semester.

'That's sort of what you always do, huh? Take care of everyone else' — yeah, Ash, and you do the same. You two just need someone to do for you what you do for other people. See, guys, this is what I mean. This is why they're soulmates. Because in a world that has more or less forced both of them to put others first, they put each other first. They each get to be the most important person to each other after they've been stepping back for others all the time. And if that isn't beautiful, I don't know what is. I know I'm repeating myself over and over saying this, but... they own my heart and soul and I'm not for sale.

Ok, but Ashlyn's little run after Big Red left was so cute! Girl is... I don't know why I keep using that word, but... falling.

Unpopular opinion: Out of the Old is the best Nini solo to come out of this series to date. Maybe I feel that way just because I relate to it most, but hey, that is a valid reason to like something.

Oof, EJ's losing followers. Oh well, if they're unfollowing him for being too honest, they didn't like the real him to begin with. So good riddance to them.

Yikes... Jennzara fell asleep with flammable stuff left unattended... we all know how that ended, but just the fact that they felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in each other's presence... speaks volumes. So I guess... well, I don't know what exactly I'm saying regarding the fire they caused, but I loved this big little moment they had.

So this is it. That was 1x6 and 7 and, well, they were beautiful, but there are some parts I can't look at in the same way anymore after 2x11. Guess that's the risk of a rewatch. The Redlyn scenes, though — still the best part of both of these episodes. That and a couple of other things for which I don't need to pretend like I haven't seen season 2.

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts: the rewatch #ricky bowen #nini salazar-roberts #gina porter #ej caswell #ashlyn moon caswell #big red redonovich #carlos rodriguez #seb matthew-smith #kourtney greene #hsmtmts miss jenn #hsmtmts mr mazzara #redlyn #jnk

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americas-golden-boy · 3 years

Text

Worth a Thousand Words

Summary: “Steve Rogers, every inch of his All-American glory, was looking at her expectantly with that same boyishly mischievous expression he had been sporting the few times she had seen him up close. One that really shouldn't blend in so easily with the rest of him but was an integral part of his persona, or at least that's what she gathered from the bits and pieces of conversations about him she'd been subjected to hearing.

Because that was definitely what she had predicted, and definitely made all the sense in the world.”

AKA Steve has never talked to the woman that sits in the front row of his lecture hall twice a week but that doesn't stop his hopeless crush on her.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

Word Count: 3,159

She was being watched.

She had absolutely no proof other than a gut feeling, but the sensation of eyes on the back of her head burnt with a heat strong enough to brand her, and more than once has the skin of her arms and neck prickled uncomfortably with goosebumps despite the surprisingly warm temperatures of late fall.

It made her feel silly, really, and more than a little narcissistic, to think that anyone would invest time in watching her. She couldn't even write it off as the uncomfortable leering that she had been victim to on a couple of occasions she had gone off-campus at night.

No, it was the most random of times, in the most obscure places, always busy enough that she could never pin down the source of her unusual company when she chanced a scan of the area.

It's a Thursday night, and after three weeks of enduring this cat and mouse game she's found herself in, she's strongly considering just going up to each person in the common room when she feels the sensation tickle its way down the nape of her neck again.

Before she got the chance to weigh all the pros and cons of embarrassing herself, the cat made itself known.

By sitting right across from her at the otherwise empty table.

Startled by the sudden presence in front of her, her eyes snap up from the book they'd been buried in, the hand which had been steadily dictating her notes pausing in the middle of a line as her train of thought came to an abrupt stop.

Sharing her space with unfamiliar company was not an uncommon occurrence, for her or any of the other people that frequented the open areas available to students at all hours of the day, but at a little past 11 P.M., there were few people spread out across the expansive room, and even fewer reasons for anyone to sit so close.

She found herself being thankful for carpeted floors as the man abruptly pulled the chair out, spinning it around and sliding forward to straddle it all in one movement, draping his crossed arms across the back with a practiced sort of elegance that did not quite match the situation or his size.

And his size was, frankly, quite hard to ignore.

Her immediate response was to be intimidated by the broad expanse of solid chest and wide shoulders that made the chair look almost uncomfortably small as the muscles in his arms strained under the stretched material of his shirt—really it was almost another layer of skin, as tight as it was—to prop his chin on an open palm.

But then she met his eyes and—

Oh, she thought dumbly.

Steve Rogers, every inch of his All-American glory, was looking at her expectantly with that same boyishly mischievous expression he had been sporting the few times she had seen him up close. One that really shouldn't blend in so easily with the rest of him but was an integral part of his persona, or at least that's what she gathered from the bits and pieces of conversations about him she'd been subjected to hearing.

Because that was definitely what she had predicted, and definitely made all the sense in the world.

With the way his smirk grew, she had a feeling he was perfectly aware of the confusion he was causing in her.

Perfectly justified confusion, she reminds herself before any misplaced guilt can creep up on her, considering they had never interacted properly.

In fact, as she tried racking her brain for any reason he would have for approaching her, she came up with exactly zero. Possibly one, if he was trying to bum notes off of her for the lecture they shared two days a week.

Not that he made a habit of doing that to people, as far as she knew anyway, but she wouldn't put it past him to use his charm and prestige for his own benefit.

As unfair as she knew it was to him, her expectations of the widely popular were subpar at best, and considering his reputation stretched far enough that even she recognized him, he certainly fit into that category.

Seemingly satisfied that he had her full attention, he reached out the hand that he had been leaning on, smirk stretching out into a full smile, laugh lines pulling on his cheeks matching the soft crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

He really is handsome. It's almost unfair.

"(Y/N), right?" He said by way of greeting, breaking the near silence of the room with ringing clarity even with the low level of his voice.

The fact that he knew who she was added a fresh layer of bewilderment to the mix, and she couldn’t even begin to sort through the possible implications of him possessing that information.

Looking between his hand and his face, she placed her pen down and took it in her own, just a moment shy of an awkward pause before nodding.

His grip on her hand was confident but gentle, shaking it once before letting her retract it back into the safety of her lap, leaning on the top of his chair with crossed arms once again.

"I'm Steve, it's nice to meet you."

Of course, she already knows that, but isn't sure if admitting it would be awkward or a boost to his ego, and since neither one really sounded like a good option, so she opted for another weak nod of acknowledgment and a half-smile.

If her lack of response was odd to him, he did a good job of hiding it, face still as open and unfaltering as the moment he sat down.

"So, I admit, this is...odd. I'm sorry for disturbing your study session, I just haven't had a good chance to talk to you before or after class and I saw you while I was cutting through on my way to my friend's dorm so..." he trailed off with a soft huff of a laugh, eyebrows faintly pinching together with the slight tilt of his head.

He wanted to talk to me? She repeated to herself. He doesn't seem angry, so I probably didn't upset him unintentionally. Not that I would have had a chance to, I don't think I've ever even sat by him before.

There was a long string of questions that she'd like to unload on him but with the way his smile was starting to falter she decided to put them both out of their misery and settle for one to start.

Flipping the notebook laid out in front of her to a blank page she wrote as quickly as she dared, aiming for both speed and legibility, knowing from experience that her nerves can reduce her handwriting to chicken scratch if she wasn't careful.

Are you the person who has been following me?

She lifted the note for him to see, watching his eyes flick across the line before his eyebrows shot towards his hairline, wide eyes meeting hers as his hands rose to wave almost frantically in front of him.

"No!" He exclaimed, the sudden volume of his voice drawing a wince from the both of them as she glanced at the only two other students in the room, who had both paused to look over at their table.

Steve's head dipped in an apologetic nod in their direction before turning his attention back to her.

"No, I wasn't following you," he started, voice much quieter but not lacking any of the conviction of his initial outburst. "I promise, I really haven't been, I just—we have a class together, and we live in the same building. The campus is only so big, so I, uh, I see you around sometimes," he rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes dropping from hers briefly in a moment of sheepishness that was a stark difference from his usual self-assured bravado.

"Honestly I didn't think you would have noticed, and I'm really sorry, but my friends, they uh—" he continued on, his words beginning to come out in a rush of air— "when I mentioned wanting to talk to you they took it upon themselves to tell me if they saw you around. Trying to help me find an opportunity I guess. I would have made them stop sooner if I had known it was making you uncomfortable," he reassured quickly, taking note of her baffled expression.

All she could do was stare, eyes flittering around his face in an attempt to find a tell that he was lying. When she found none, she was honestly relieved, not just because he didn't seem to have any malicious intent, but also because she now had confirmation that she wasn't crazy.

Now that I know I'm not just paranoid, what is it you needed to talk to me about?

She flipped the notebook around once again, watching as he hesitantly turned his attention to it, his fear of a negative reaction clear as day across his face. It was endearing, really.

"I just wanted to—actually, if you don't mind me asking first, why are you writing your responses? I feel like I need to get my own pen out, breaking the quiet all on my own."

The question wasn't an unexpected one and she was frankly surprised it had taken him as long as it did to ask. That didn't stop the uncomfortable pang in her chest that usually came with that line of questioning. While it wasn’t necessarily uncommon for her to use a pen and paper to communicate, the select group of people that wanted to converse with her had more efficient ways.

I can’t speak. Most people don't know ASL, and I thought a text-to-speech app might be too awkward if you weren’t expecting it. Sorry.

And she was, really. While she knew it wasn't her fault, she also knew how tedious a transition process it could be for someone who had never held a conversation with her before to adjust to the pacing. Some people just weren't patient enough, or it made them feel awkward.

He read the note, and then reread it, and then read it once again. He gently worried at his bottom lip, releasing it as he opened his mouth, only to shut it once again as his lips pinched together.

He seemed to finally decide on what to say, straightening his shoulders a bit and clasping his hands together.

"So, you're...mute? Is that the correct term to use?" He asked , articulating his question slowly while watching her face.

She found the corners of her lips quirking up at his concern of possibly offending her. That alone was already more than she got out of similar exchanges.

I personally don’t mind it much, but it’s normally frowned upon. Non-speaking is your best bet.

She slid over the notebook, trying to gauge his reaction for a hint of how the rest of this conversation is going to go, if he didn’t simply excuse himself to avoid a situation that he most definitely did not predict or ask for.

And then felt like she would have tipped straight over from the way he beamed at her, if not for already being securely supported in her seat.

There has to be something wrong with him, she found herself thinking.

"Okay. I’m glad I didn’t offend you, thank you for telling me. I honestly don't know much about what to do to make this easier for you—" was he pouting now?— "would yes or no questions be better? I don't want to make you write a lot if you don't want to. Or...would you like me to leave?" By the time he reaches the end of his ramble, his nerves had obviously caught up to his mouth, head dipping and jerking his thumb in the general direction of the door leading to the outdoor walkway.

If anyone else had asked her that, she would have assumed it was asked as a chance for an out, a polite way to say, "I think it would be best if I left, are you going to let me?" But with the way he prefaced it so naturally with eager attempts at maintaining and extending their time together in a way that benefits her, she couldn’t find it in herself to immediately presume the worst.

In fact, the entire situation was so absolutely bizarre and random and Steve is staring at her with this disarmingly charming expression looking like he is about five seconds away from bolting for the door, and she just can’t help it.

She laughs.

~~~~~

She’s laughing.

Or at least that’s what he’s assuming, with the way her head tips back and the warm flush across the bridge of her nose spreads to her cheeks as she smiles. They’ve been in the same lecture and dorm for months and he’s not sure if he’s ever seen her face light up quite like that.

The sounds that push their way past her lips are short and clipped, raspy in a way that suggests disuse but warm enough to be melodic despite their discordant nature.

Just as suddenly as she started, she stops. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she snaps her head back down to look at him with wide eyes before quickly checking across the room where the last students had been sitting previously, shoulders slumping with obvious relief to find the seats empty.

For a moment he truly feels ashamed, because as wary as she seemed to be about the sound, he’s already dying to hear it again.

The hand that had been resting over her mouth moved to her brows, tilting down enough to hide her eyes from his view but not the harsh scarlett that was crawling across her visible skin, from the tips of her ears to the base of her throat. If he wasn’t feeling ashamed before, he certainly is when he has to cut off the burst of curiosity that cuts across his mind wondering how far the flush could go.

Shaking his head like it will physically remove the risqué thought, he reaches one hand forward to softly tap the table near her notebook.

“You okay under there? I’m not quite sure what I said, but there’s no one else in here but you and me.”

He feels like he’s done something very wrong and he’s not even sure where to begin to backtrack as he combs over his last statement.

She thinks you’re an idiot, you probably managed to offend her.

He really, really hopes that isn’t the case though, because he’s been trying to build up the courage to talk to her properly for months and while he’s become a bit better about socializing since he got back from the army, he’s still absolutely hopeless with women, something that Bucky likes to remind him of frequently.

The second Natasha found out why her attempts at getting him to go on blind dates were being shut down so quickly, she was absolutely ruthless in her ribbing, as harmless as it may have been.

Before he can fully consider standing to leave, she’s dropping her hand to her pen, meeting his eyes with a slight pull at the corner of her lips before leaning down to write.

Waiting for her to finish writing is the most nerve-wracking thing he can remember going through in recent memory, and the soft thump of his heel against the carpet is almost as fast as his heartbeat by the time the action even registers and he forces his leg to still.

Coming to a stop almost halfway down the page, her pen rests against the paper for a beat before she hastily caps it with a firm nod and pushes the notebook onto his half of the table.

This might be the most thorough rejection I’ve ever faced, he thinks sardonically, spinning the notebook around.

Then he reads the first line, and his head shoots up to look at her. He must look a bit ridiculous, if the growing smile on her face is anything to go by.

She gestures with a wave of her hand towards the notebook and he clears his throat with an awkward chuckle as he looks back down at the paper.

I would really like it if you didn’t leave. I’m sorry for laughing, but you’re just so nice I was surprised. I would be lying if I said I didn’t already know who you are, but I just didn’t expect you to be interested. This whole situation is very random but I think that’s the first time I’ve laughed out loud in a long time. I understand if you change your mind, or if I’m overstepping, but if it’s not too forward, I think I’d like to talk to you too. Maybe when it’s not the middle of the night.

~~~~~

As soon as she slid the notebook across the table she itched to grab it back. She nipped at the tip of her thumb between her teeth to fight the urge, pulling her other arm to curl around her stomach.

What if I misunderstood what he was trying to tell me? He seemed so nice but maybe he’ll regret it now that he’s actually been around me a bit. When was the last time you even went on a date? Oh god, he’s already reading it, maybe I—

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

She’s abruptly pulled out of her spiraling doubts so fast she gets mental whiplash, and she focuses back on him as she considers if she misheard.

He’s beaming at her again, the corner of his eyes crinkling and one side pulling on his cheek just slightly higher than the other, the same boyish charm from earlier peeking its way through. He tilted his head as he leaned in towards her, and the cage holding her butterflies was absolutely demolished, sending her heart fluttering at a pace that’s almost painful.

The question finally caught up to her at his expectant look, and with a shake of her head, he let out a satisfied hum and smacks the table lightly with both hands before reaching to grab the pen, scribbling down a hasty addition to the bottom of the page before putting both items back in her space.

Pushing himself to stand, he spun the chair back into its original position before addressing her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow (Y/N),” he said with a wink, walking backwards a few steps before turning and making his way out of the doors.

She stared at his retreating back with a small smile that only grew as she peered down at his note.

Steve

XXX - XXX- XXXX

Text me when you’re free, hopefully I’ll have enough time to learn to greet you properly next time.

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