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#and when i have tried opening up in moments of severe emotional vulnerability they just throw it back in my face later on

thatfandomslut · 25 days

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Messy

Reneé Rapp x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Trigger Warnings: discussions of sex (no smut), insecurity

Request:

something inspired in Messy, like, renee being afraid of a relationship with r cause things don't end well to her and r comforts her

Reneé Rapp requests are open.

Other accounts: hoe4flo | ghostyanne

Discord Groups: Mean Girls | Mean Girls RP (in need of people)

“I want to be in a relationship with you,” Reneé’s words hung in the bedroom, breaking the silence between them. “I’m just scared of what this might mean for us. What would this mean for me?”

(Y/n) shuffled a bit, turning over to face Reneé. They were supposed to be sleeping, but it was obvious that Reneé had too much on her mind to commit to the idea of sleep. Therefore, (Y/n) was also not getting any sleep either. She didn’t mind though. Late night conversations with Reneé were her favorite. They were so deep, and they dove into topics they haven’t explored yet, like their relationship. It was a taboo topic for the two of them because Reneé has commented several times on not being ready nor is she looking for a relationship.

Although she tried to focus on Reneé’s figure, (Y/n) could barely see the vulnerable look on Reneé’s face in the darkness of her bedroom. “Well, we don’t have to jump into anything. We can take it slow and figure this out together. We can start by going on dates instead of just sex on the weekends after you’re done shooting your show.” (Y/n) teased softly, successfully lighting the mood as Reneé snorted out a soft laugh. She nudged (Y/n)’s shoulder with her hand before moving to the crook of (Y/n)’s neck. Immediately, (Y/n) allowed herself to rub Reneé’s back in a comforting manner.

“A part of me is just nervous this is going to be like my past relationships.” There was a beat of silence where neither of them spoke after that. (Y/n) knew Reneé wasn’t finished speaking, but she needed to figure out her words. She gave her all the time she needed as her thumb caressed Reneé’s back gently. “Every time you leave in the morning, I want to tell you to stay, but all of the fake scenarios in my head tell me not to. They remind me there are more possibilities than you staying with me. Instead, every situation I imagine, is you saying no. It’s you saying that you don’t like me like that, that it’s just my imagination.”

(Y/n) wasn’t expecting Reneé to feel this way. She thought that she had made it very clear that she wasn’t interested in anyone else when last week, Reneé asked if they could only sleep with each other, no one else. If she wasn’t into Reneé, she wouldn’t have agreed. Still, she understood that this was a real fear for Reneé, so she thought about her words carefully to make sure she knew her feelings on the subject were completely valid.

She cleared her throat, shifting slightly to get into a more comfortable position. “Reneé, there is no situation that I would not want to stay with you. Every time I get up to leave, I wish I could stay with you in my arms. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t want to stay. I just didn’t know you wanted me to. Now that I do know, if you want me to stay in the morning, I am more than happy to.” (Y/n) told the blonde, who laid there in her arms, tears welling in her eyes. Still, Reneé had to remind herself not to cry, she didn’t want to be overly emotional, no matter how vulnerable this conversation was.

Reneé swallowed the lump in her throat, pulling away from (Y/n)’s neck in order to press a deep kiss to her lips. She wanted to hide her feelings within this kiss. Even if it was just for a moment. (Y/n) was initially surprised by the action, but she was very quick to reciprocate as she kissed back. Reneé smiled softly into the kiss.

“What if I wanted to be your girlfriend?” Reneé questioned carefully, hoping that none of her fake scenarios in her head didn’t arise. She felt a bit anxious as she waited for a response. “I mean, it would only be if you’re okay with being girlfriends. I understand if you aren’t, of course.”

(Y/n) kissed Reneé softly to calm her down, which worked. “Reneé, I would love to be your girlfriend, if that’s what you want us to be, too. I’m already technically exclusive to you. I just wanted to be sure we were both ready before we put a label on who or what we were.” She said softly, reminding Reneé that they were technically exclusive. (Y/n) would be lying if she didn’t admit that she wasn’t excited that Reneé was ready to be more than just friends who occasionally had sex.

Reneé bit her lip to hide her smile, despite the dark effectively doing that for her. “I do want to be your girlfriend. I’ve been wanting this for a long time. I’ve just been worried about you not returning my feelings.” Reneé explained, happiness bubbling in her chest as butterflies fluttered every which way in her stomach. Normally, her relationships ended up messy because she couldn’t get over the fake scenarios in her head. However, (Y/n) never invalidated them. Instead, she let Reneé feel her feelings and comforted her fears. This was already different than any of the relationships she had in the past.

“Then, it looks like we’re girlfriends,” (Y/n) said with a soft smile, pressing kisses all over Reneé’s face. This, in return, caused Reneé to giggle at the display of affection. “And, if you ever feel like there is more than one possibility in your head about something in our relationship, just let me know. We’ll talk it out, like we did just now.”

Reneé felt validated by this as she established her spot in (Y/n)’s neck once more, smiling so hard that her cheeks began to ache. “Okay, I’ll let you know. Thank you for letting me know that my feelings are valid.” Reneé whispered, sleep finally threatening to take over her. (Y/n) mumbled a soft ‘of course,’ sleep taking over her as well. As the two girls slept, the trace of their smiles remained at the fact that they finally had this big breakthrough in their relationship.

#renee rapp x reader #renee rapp

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whimsywilde · 7 months

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Astarion's Mirror

I couldn't get this out of my head after seeing the idea mentioned somewhere. (A TikTok comment maybe?) I haven't written fanfic since DAI. How am I back at this again? I'm not 100% satisfied with it but if I fiddle too much, I'll lose interest and it will disappear in the WIP folder. lol Enjoy!

Thank you Larian Studios and Neil Newbon for this incredible, beautiful, heartbreaking character!

Recommened Listening: THE FEELS by Labrinth

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“Astarion…” she paused, hesitating, uncertain if the thought that had just danced across her mind would actually work. Sometimes she forgot he was a vampire. His lack of burning up in the sun tended to put his condition out of her mind. The mirror in his hand, however, had brought it back in stark relief. But… what if?

“As adorable as you are when thinking, I can’t help but feel there was more you wanted to say than just my name.” He smirked at her.

She resisted the urge to fall back into their playful banter. “What if you could see yourself… I mean, sort of.”

“What?” It was more of a whispered plea than a question. “How?”

“I’m not sure if it will work. But, the parasites… they’ve let us see into one another's minds before. It makes sense that we could see more.”

She hadn’t really been looking at him while she spoke, her eyes focused on some invisible point in the distance. Turning her attention more directly to him, his expression caught her off guard. She’d never seen him so vulnerable.

“We don’t have to. I’m not even completely sure it would work. I’ve never really tried to use it before. I just thought….”

“Would you try?” He interrupted, his voice still unnaturally hesitant, absent of the bravado she was used to. “Please.” It was almost an afterthought but may have been the most sincere she’d ever heard him.

She smiled tightly, worried now she’d be unable to connect that way, before closing her eyes and reaching for that alien presence within her mind. She hated the feeling of the cold shiver in her skull as she consciously connected to it and then, taking a breath, eyes tightly shut, reached out to where she felt she’d find Astarion.

At first the connection was light, barely perceptible, like cobwebs in the breeze. After focusing on it for a few seconds, reaching out to it with uncertain hands, it seemed to expand. With her eyes still tightly closed, it was the tide of emotions slowly rolling up in the shore of her mind that hit her first. The anticipation, hopeful expectation, fear and worry. She resisted the urge to retreat from the intensity of his feelings and the jumbled, wordless thoughts that came with them and, again, focused past them. After several seconds, she was surprised to suddenly find herself looking through Astarion’s eyes at herself. She stilled to allow the image of herself solidify in her mind.

Her eyes opened slowly. She allowed her gaze to linger near Astarion’s feet as gained confidence in the connection. The impatience he was feeling rushed to greet her through the bond.

“Look at me.” It was something between a command and a plea.

She opened her mind to him as completely as she could, wanting him to know that she had no motivations behind her actions and lingering gaze other than to allow him to see himself clearly, to be a mirror. She took a deep breath, centered herself and began to slowly lift her eyes up his body. Her gaze was gentle and curious, more that of an artist studying their work, rather than the lusty intensity of a lover. She followed the narrow slope of his hips up his chest and across his shoulders, her eyes lingering for mere moments before moving on. As she reached his neck, there was a brief glance to the scars that had made him the creature he was, before following his perfectly coiffed hair around his face.

Part of her still wanted to tease him, to play. They’d been having fun, taken next to nothing seriously while they traveled and fought together. Even when she allowed him to drink from her, always standing since him hovering over her had felt too intimate, she typically pushed him away afterward with a joke on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes. It was easy and had been so natural to keep him just close enough without letting him in. The intensity of his feelings pouring into her now was more than she bargained for and she had a moment of regret for offering to even try. She didn’t want to feel so much. It left her vulnerable. Opened her up to much more than she wanted to be aware of. Her eyes had frozen at the base of his throat. Why couldn’t she bring herself to look up? She didn’t like the answers her heart was trying to give. His fingers curled lightly under her chin, lifting her face upward, pulled her attention back.

Her eyes snapped up to his suddenly and he gasped. The light from the campfire flickered and flashed across brilliant crimson. My eyes. Those are my eyes. His thoughts came through their link in sharp clarity. Her attention refocused on allowing him to see his face after so long in the dark and allowed the intensity of what he was feeling to drown out her own heart. She didn’t need to exist for this moment. She was giving this gift and she allowed herself to fall back within to the place of an observer. With her surrender, it allowed him to direct her eyes across his features. He took himself in fully and they stood in hushed stillness, eyes and minds locked together.

With their minds so fully blended, she almost didn’t notice her hand absentmindedly reaching out to rest lightly on the side of his face. He didn’t pull away. She used her thumb to pull gently at his bottom lip, exposing his fangs to her gaze.

They passed several seconds that way before her hand dropped, her vision swirling and darkening. She felt her body sway heavily and would have fallen if Astarion hadn’t caught her. Her head was pounding while her stomach churned. She sent up a silent prayer, to whatever god may be listening, that she wouldn’t vomit.

Astarion supported her body against his gently. When she tried to push away from him, he lifted her carefully and carried her to her tent, laying her down on her bedroll.

“You pushed yourself too far. You need to rest,” he scolded. She wanted to protest; to throw out some snarky remark in an attempt to catch him off guard so that they could go back to the superficial game they shared, but she couldn’t seem to measure out enough strength to respond. Sleep was quickly overtaking her. She was never sure if he’d actually turned to look at her before leaving the tent and whispered a strangled thank you or if it was just part of the fevered dreams of the night.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion x oc #larian studios #thank you larian #neil newbon

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clementianos-blog · 1 month

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From the beginning, Tim and Steph had a kind of chemistry in their lack of chemistry. They were very different - backgrounds, perspectives, family influences, etc. About all they had in common was that they were only children with family troubles, but even those similarities were abundantly different once you scratched the surface even a tad.

But what I find interesting, and seriously questionable, is how their actual relationship comes about. Steph repeatedly makes choices that aren't the best while "trying to help" and Tim repeatedly has to correct her. He's more-or-less acting like a conscience to her. I guess you could look at this as being that strong part of Tim's personality that drives him to help others. It's why he's Robin. Unlike his predecessors (and successors), the main reason he became Robin was to help Batman; helping everyone else was a secondary (and Batman's primary). To Batman, Tim's Robin is the "I'll help you so you can help everyone else." It's ingrained into him to see the shortcomings of others and he intrinsically wants to help.

There are multiple moments in which Steph is ready to walk away from a lowlife thug who is vulnerably facing certain death - and Tim explains why they need to help. But that's a major theme in the Batman comics in general, so it doesn't really fit the bill of what we're talking about here in a way that is unique to Steph and Tim.

But this does:

Steph is willing to steal two Zesti sodas from a convenience store after she and Tim cleared out the bad guys. He sees no problem in taking the Zestis as long as they will be compensating the store for them rather than stealing. He probably thinks "we COULD go to another, open store, but I'd rather help this one out" or even "best to be seen as little as possible" etc. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that he anticipates that she's thinking about stealing them. He asks "this your treat?" to put the burden on her since she was the one who offered to pick them up.

This could also be his subtle and not-enough way of pushing the "this is not a date" vibes he's been lazily humming out at her lately. Which brings us to the scene that follows this directly:

Tim has been emotionally cheating on Ariana for quite some time, relying on Steph for the emotional pick-me-ups and help-me-outs as well as leading her on. He's reflected on this a few times and even tried to do something about it several times before this point. But here, he is pretty open about his resignation.

This is the kind of thing teens do a lot - really, everyone does it at some point or another. We redefine our understanding of the world, of our morals, of our personal resolve to suit what feels nice. Exactly this is why it's a very good piece of advice to write down your goals in distinct, objective terms and keep them visible to you when you make them. If you say you aren't eating sweets for a month, be specific about what that means. If sugar in your coffee is an allowance, then say so. If desserts, pastries, jams and jellies, and candy are not allowed, then say so. Without being specific... we start to think things like "Well, a blueberry muffin isn't really a sweet (even though this one is covered in sugar crystals and tastes sweeter than the candybar I had last month)."

I'm not really cheating on Ariana. I haven't held Steph's hand. I haven't kissed - er, I haven't intentionally kissed Steph.

The problem is often that we don't see the danger of this stage. Just like Steph saw no danger in stealing two Zestis from the convenience store, Tim sees no danger in letting Steph treat their outings as dates. It's just a buck. It's just a game. It's not serious. No one's getting hurt by it.

And this is a problem for the exact reason Tim gives Steph.

What Steph did was so small, so simple, and seemingly so harmless. The shopkeeper probably would have handed them a case of Zestis each for what they did. But the shopkeeper isn't there.

Steph has Tim here to help her understand why it's wrong to compromise even an inch of her integrity.

What Tim is doing is so much worse. SO much worse. There is no justification, no excuse, and no good reason other than "this makes me happy right now."

But unlike Steph, Tim doesn't have a... well... Tim to put it in perspective. To help him see why it's wrong. Why it starts like this, and soon he'll be bending all the rules.

Instead, Tim has a Steph who is the one dragging him into this quagmire where he's blatantly cheating on his girlfriend and cannot see it for what it is.

And yes, it's clear he can see that it's wrong - just like Steph knew that taking the sodas wasn't really right. But just like with the sodas, neither of them recognized the action for what it truly was: stealing/cheating. Once put into that context, Steph immediately pays. If it were simplified like that to Tim, he would cut it off. The end. No more. I'll either say goodbye to Ariana, or I'll say goodbye to Steph.

But he sees something else: he feels happiness, he sees two happy girls, and he thinks, "No one's getting hurt here. It's not really right but it's not like I'm, you know..."

It starts like that. And soon you're bending all the rules.

TimSteph has a lot of positive qualities to it, but the fact that Steph's a project of Tim's - to build into an upstanding citizen from the rough place she's been raised - means that he needs to stay in the role of her pillar of morality. If he doesn't, as we see, then he falls himself.

Tim managed to say no to the Zesti, but the apple was just too tempting.

#timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #robin 3 #spoiler #dc spoiler #dc comics #comic excerpts #comic analysis #character analysis #robin 1993

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saeskiss · 1 year

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𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂.

kazuha x fem!reader. 1.5k wc. 5/6/23. part 2! part 3!

kazuha has had feelings for you for as long as you can remember, so why do you constantly play dumb?

✧ childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, kazuha being a hopeless romantic (it’s in the title), mentions of the word hard (multiple times) (non-suggestive, i swear).

“what are you sighing for?” you turn to the white-haired male, pen in hand, staring off into space, thinking hard—you observe this about him.

he’s almost always thinking hard about many things and you find this admirable about him. its the way he’s able to have so much room in his brain to store the thoughts he holds. but this also grows bad habits of his where he tends to bottle his emotions up too much, leaving no room for people like you to enter.

you wish hard (theres the word again), that he would just open up about the thoughts that go on in his brain because you want to be able to think with him, and tell him that he’s not alone in whatever he’s thinking.

“tons of things.” kazuha finally replies back after moments of silence, tapping his pencil onto his journal on the table with a stanza format written on it.

kazuha knows that even if he tries to explain what was going in his head, it wouldn’t make any sense. so he wasn’t going to bother you with his useless endless rants that could go on forever if he really wanted to.

“i bet you’re thinking about me.” you rest your elbows onto the table, your head lying in both of your hands, giving kazuha a smug smile.

you could see the tip of his ears going red at the sudden words coming out of your mouth, surprising him but nonetheless keeping his composure.

“i bet i’m not.” he gives you a boop on the nose, and this time it’s your turn to get flustered by the tiniest of his touch that had made you yearn for more.

kazuha chuckles, leaning back into his chair, thinking—once again.

he’s aware that you want to know about the thoughts that go in his head, but he doesn’t allow you to see through him. it would be him indirectly admitting that he had a soft spot for you. and he couldn’t allow that.

he had built this wall in front of everyone—this facade that he allowed everyone else to see. and he had already let you see the vulnerable him and he couldn’t allow you to get to see more of him but this time with the thing he does best, speak his mind.

kazuha then realizes that he could admit to a lot of things—like the time in primary school when he had asked your mom what type of chocolates you had liked and once he had decided on your many favorites, he went to your house to give you flowers and your favorite chocolates (including an additional stuffed animal) for valentines day and was all dressed up at your door but as soon as he was about to call you, he had received a notification on his phone that you had posted something and yet again another picture of you and your new boyfriend that he had been unaware about. and to thus, he failed miserably for one of the first several attempts he had tried to hint at you that he had this big fat schoolgirl crush. and he had declared it as a mission that he had to succeed.

not like you were a mission or anything, he just wanted you to be aware of his feelings for you so you could think about them and reconsider your life choices. (and the last couple of years you’ve spent dating around; and when i mean dating around i mean dating someone new every month. hm, i wonder why there’s no spark between you and these people...)

he also remembers the time in primary school when he tried leaving notes and little love poems in your locker signed by a “secret admirer” that you tried to uncover for weeks but eventually gave up because the person (kazuha) had stopped writing to you. (he gave up because there was no point anymore) you were guessing everyone but him, could you believe that? he was astonished to say the least. he’s written and dedicated many, and i mean many poems to you, and he even showed some of them off at the art show at the attempt that someone would ask you if you guys were a thing, to even put the thought to linger in your brain for a bit, but you stopped them and reassured them it was just the amazing friendship bond you guys had.

and not only that, but when he asked you to be his date to his dad’s wedding because he had told you that he had “no one” knowing he could’ve asked beidou, or someone else—anyone in fact, he was quite popular when it came to the looks aspect. you gladly obliged because he was asking a simple and short favor which you had thought nothing of at the time.

again, kazuha will admit to many of his embarrassing attempts at asking you out when you guys were in primary school because, let’s face it; it was in the past and you wouldn’t and shouldn’t think anything of it because who would remember those as a thing that would taint you except for kazuha himself?

he can admit to many attempts at trying to woo you because, but he will never open his mouth and blatantly tell you that all he still has an embarrassing schoolgirl crush on you. it wasn’t even like he had any pride to begin with. he was a humble man, but he couldn’t risk everything—the years of work he’s—you guys had put into this friendship.

he values your guys’ friendship above everything else in this entire world—maybe even more than he values his own ability to write. to just throw away your guys’ friendship like it was nothing would make his whole world come crashing down into pieces.

your frown deepens, inches away from kazuha, expecting nothing else from him. he was going to give you the same vague answer every time, so why did you even bother?

this time, you sigh. this makes kazuha’s body shiver, at the feeling of your breath coming so close to his neck, his brain going hazy at all the endless outcomes this conversation could give him.

“now, why are you sighing?” he turns his body to face you making eye contact with you.

because i want to know what goes on in that pretty little brain of yours. the words that you couldn’t bring yourself to say so you bite your lip, nervous that the words would just come spewing out of your mouth.

“nothing.” you give kazuha a smug smile, leaving him speechless at the fact that you had used one of things he had said earlier against him.

you see the way that his lips do a slight upturn, impressed with the answer you had given him. “i’m impressed.” you flash a grin and by now, you’re sure he’s is smiling at you so hard that his cheeks are starting to grow numb.

“i learn from the best.” you lightly tap his nose and just from that you see a light shade of pink tinting his cheeks.

“i know.” he smiles as he places his pen down on the table and faces you properly. he resists—he swears he resists, but the words come out of his mouth like a sudden word vomit, nothing that he could put back into his mouth now that they were out.

a moment of silence passes before kazuha opens his mouth, choosing his choice of words carefully.

“i’m in love with you.” your eyes widened at the sudden confession coming out of kazuha’s mouth. you knew that he had lingering feelings for you in the past, but you never knew that what he felt for you was love. and the fact that he still had it. you knew his sudden attempts at wooing you in primary school was him showing his love for you, automatically assuming that love was platonic, but you seriously never thought his love was the same as your love for him.

oh god.

“what?” the first word you say back to kazuha is what. wow. great job. don’t screw this up. you silently tell yourself, crossing your fingers under the table.

kazuha takes a moment to think to himself of what he should say next, and he decides that the best thing he could possibly do is move on because your reaction does not seem satisfactory in his eyes. (he’s calling you the oblivious one).

“never mind. want to read this poem i wrote?” he gets up from his position where he was facing you. you nod in response dumbstruck by the change of kazuha’s words.

oh fuck me.

“also do you want to go to my mom’s second wedding as my plus one? she said for me to bring someone.” he looks up from his journal where your eyes meet and suddenly you find yourself immersed into kazuha’s trance.

“of course i can, should i get her a gift?” and for the rest of the night, the topic was long forgotten and the words that you had want to reciprocate back to kazuha had been shoved down to the bottom of your throat and saved in a small bag for next time.

©saeskiss 2023

#ෆ jaya.writes!#kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #kazuha kaedehara #kazuha genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin kazuha #genshin drabble #kazuha drabbles #kazuha fluff #kazuha kaedehara x reader

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collinrobinsonsglasses · 3 months

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I see you're taking requests 👀 I would like to request a Izzyxreader where Izzy comforts the reader when they're struggling with dysphoria if you're okay with writing stuff like that <3

Izzy Hands x Reader (AFAB/non-binary)

Masterlist

A New Look

Whenever The Revenge docked, you avoided going ashore. The prospect of walking around, having to see the gaze of strangers, only intensified the feeling of misery within you. You didn’t hate the fact that you once saw yourself as a girl, but the resentment flared up whenever people still saw you that way. Feeling trapped by societal expectations, the world seemed insistent on forcing you into one of two rigid categories, even though you didn’t neatly fit into either.

Stede Bonnet’s crew was special— they accepted everyone for who they were. Fortunately, Jim had already set an example for you. Once you shared your needs, they quickly started using your correct pronouns and treated you with genuine respect. The Revenge provided a sense of safety for you, and the thought of venturing ashore seemed daunting. However, Stede Bonnet insisted that everyone needed a break from the ship.

The day unfolded predictably, yet uncomfortably, as it seemed like every glance and word from others onshore was a judgment. Merchants repeatedly addressed you as ma’am, casting a shadow over your mood. With each instance, a sense of unease settled in, and as the day progressed, you couldn’t escape the feeling of shrinking into yourself, grappling with the weight of others’ perceptions.

You stared into the glass window of a shop, captivated by the reflection staring back at you, and a feeling of pain shot through you. Opportunities to see yourself were rare at sea, and you actively avoided such moments. Your fingers sifted through your long hair—a reminder of your mother’s insistence on keeping it that way throughout your upbringing. Even on the open sea, you had unconsciously followed her advice. There were many aspects of yourself you wished to change in that moment, but as you scrutinized your reflection, your focus fixated on your hair. Glancing up, you caught Israel Hands’ gaze reflected in the glass, his expression showing concern as he observed your inner struggle.

Izzy had been your most trusted confidant on the ship, second only to Jim, especially during Blackbeard’s Kraken Era. In this vulnerable moment, the last thing you wanted was to be noticed. Swiftly averting your gaze from the window, you made a beeline for the ship, seeking comfort in the safety of The Revenge.

Knowing that Izzy’s cabin had a mirror, you quickly hid there, setting the mirror before you. Time blurred as you locked eyes with the reflection, yearning for a different person to gaze back at you. The longing for change intensified, and with determination, you raised your dagger towards your hair, ready to sever its length. The moment hung in anticipation when the door swung open.

“Stop,” Izzy demanded, halting your actions. He approached with a gentle stride, reaching out to firmly take the dagger from your grasp.

Back within the secure confines of the ship, the emotions you had been suppressing erupted all at once, and tears cascaded down your cheeks. “I need to do this, Izzy.”

Seated at his desk, you continued to gaze at the mirror, and Izzy bent down beside you. He gently guided your chin to meet his gaze, using his thumb to wipe away the streaming tears. “I’ll give this back,” he assured, holding up the dagger, “once you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“I just feel wrong with long hair, Iz.” You tried to imagine how to express how you were feeling to him, hoping to find an explanation that he might understand. “It’s like sword fighting with your non-dominant hand. It feels faulty and exhausting. I just feel uncomfortable,” you whispered, your fingers unconsciously tugging at your hair.

“How will cutting your hair make you feel?” Izzy asked curiously, devoid of any judgment.

“Like me,” you smiled through your tears. As the words left your mouth, you realized the undeniable truth they held. This wasn’t a hasty decision; it was a desire you had suppressed in the past due to how unattainable it seemed. However, being part of Stede’s crew, forging your own path far from the pressure of family, made this once-distant possibility now attainable.

“I’ve spent way too fucking long trying to make myself something I wasn’t,” Izzy whispered back. As he spoke, memories of the night of Calypso’s party flooded your mind, the night it seemed like Izzy was finally allowing himself to be true to who he was. “I want you to feel like yourself,” Izzy affirmed with sincerity, his gaze reflecting understanding and support.

He rose to his feet, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, the dagger still in his grasp.

“Then can I have my dagger back?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

“Fuck no. If you’re doing this, you’re doing it right,” Izzy demanded, before exiting the room.

He returned a short time later, with Wee John trailing behind him.

“Izzy said you wanted a new look,” Wee John said with confidence, pushing past Izzy.

You replied with an eager nod. Immense gratitude flooded you at the sight of Wee John. Among the crew, he stood out as the most artistic pirate, always sewing dresses, or crafting something new with his knitting needles. You felt relieved that Izzy had enlisted someone who knew what they were doing.

Once you described what you wanted, Wee John responded with a casual “Oh, I’m totally down for that” and promptly began working on transforming your hair.

"I'm gonna fuck off then,” Izzy declared, leaving the room to give Wee John the space to work his magic.

Excitement bubbled within you as you observed each long strand of hair gracefully falling to the floor. Wee John, with skilled hands, orchestrated the transformation, and with every snip, the weight of the past seemed to fall away. When he finally lifted the mirror to your face, a wave of euphoria cascaded through you. In that moment, the reflection staring back at you was a blend of beauty and handsomeness, a testament to Wee John’s skill with scissors. In that moment, for the first time, you truly felt like yourself. A broad grin spread across your face as you lifted the mirror, and the smile on Wee John’s face mirrored your own joy. Overwhelmed with gratitude, you set the mirror aside and enveloped him in a tight hug, expressing your thanks profusely.

You swiftly ascended to the deck, greeted by a chorus of compliments from the crew. Their words not only made you blush but allowed you to relish in their genuine praise, a rarity that, for the first time in a long while, you truly believed. Scanning the deck, your eyes sought out Izzy. When your gazes locked, you discovered a rare soft smile gracing his face. He approached you, gently running his fingers through your freshly cut hair.

"How do you feel?" he whispered.

"Like myself," you replied. The tears that earlier signified pain now transformed into tears of happiness. Once again, Izzy used his thumb to wipe away the tears, planting a warm kiss on your forehead.

"I can tell," Izzy replied warmly. You sensed his nervousness before he spoke, recognizing vulnerability is a challenge for him. "You should always be able to feel like yourself. No matter what you choose to change about yourself, I think you’ll always look perfect. I'm glad you are finally seeing yourself the way I see you. Perfect."

#izzy hands x reader #ofmd x reader #our flag means death #ofmd #izzy hands #ofmd fanfic

47 notes · View notes

wooahaes · 2 years

Text

under the sun [dk]

pairing: non-idol!seokmin x gn!reader

prompt: darl+ing inspired fic.

word count: 8.7k

warning: a lot of emotional vulnerability between reader and seokmin (angst). skinship. vague food mentions (they cook, so food implied). seokmin and reader both cry on each other multiple times. fluffy idiots who fall for each other and know it. minimal editing, admittedly (its 6 am).

daisy’s notes: im sorry i have 0 impulse control and wrote this in the span of a few hours.

summary: It all starts when you wake up in a field without a name or any memories to define yourself with. Thirteen men take you in as one of their own, and slowly you begin to wonder what is going on within this world... and between you and one of them.

< day 3 || masterlist ||

Things were... hard in the beginning. Seokmin knew that just as much as everyone else did. Despite the fact he was always a ray of sunshine, according to everyone who knew him, he struggled when he first showed up with nothing but the clothes on his back. He hid that struggle well, in his opinion, since no one ever seemed to comment on it--more-so on the lack of a struggle. Joshua had once said it was like Seokmin had always been right there with them with how well he seemed to mesh into the group. He just smiled and nodded along, agreeing that the group always felt like family since he stepped into it--but he knew that he struggled a little with feeling... out of place. Maybe it came in part from being the only person there who wasn’t found by Seungcheol. It was something that still stung to think about, in a weird sense that he never told anyone. Like he had tread on forbidden ground, his stay allowed by someone who couldn’t fully guarantee it (but Jeonghan and Joshua had both promised him that he would be cared for, that Seungcheol would let him stay despite the anxiety in the back of his mind telling him that his word seemed to hold more power than theirs). Seokmin learned in time that, while Seungcheol did lead them, he valued the opinions of everyone there. People were allowed to make their case when fights broke out among the group (and they did: Seokmin witnessed so many and partook in some), and Seungcheol listened. But that was something Seokmin learned in time.

He saw himself in you, if he was honest. That same inkling of uncertainty that bled through in certain actions. He saw it in Mingyu when he first came, all hidden behind that happy exterior and a charming smile as he got along with everyone. In Minghao, too, in the way he retreated into himself, too uncertain of the others at first until Seokmin (and Jun--Seokmin knew it was a collaborative effort, even if his initial talks were enough to warm Minghao up a bit) helped build that bridge between them. In Seungkwan, who was brought into his friendship with Soonyoung with ease; in Hansol, who masked it well, too, but opened up when Seokmin prodded him to; and in Chan, who openly spoke to him one night about feeling out of place.

So when he found you outside one night, several days after you learned your name, he wasn’t surprised. Sure, you came out of your shell a little--in part because Chan took you on as his own companion, but Seokmin still saw it. The moments of uncertainty in your actions, more-so when you had to ask for help. He understood it. That was what he did: he understood the hard parts and tried his best to brighten them up so that everyone remembered they weren’t alone.

He stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching where you had sat down in the grass. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Your shoulders jerked as you whipped around to face him, and Seokmin could see where there were wet streaks down your cheeks. He understood that part, too. You wiped at your eyes roughly, apologizing without much of a second thought to it.

“I can leave if you need to be alone,” he said softly, but took a few steps forward just to crouch down next to you. “Do you want me to leave?”

He watched you think it over, lips pressing into a tight line before you shook your head. You scoot aside a little, giving him the space to sit down if he wanted to. “It’s okay,” you said. “I’m fine now.”

“Are you?” He sat down next to you, watching you carefully. “It’s okay to cry. We all know this is hard.”

“It shouldn’t be,” you hugged yourself. “It’s just...”

He said nothing. Seokmin just sat there, watching you take a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. If you wanted to cry, though, he would let you. He just needed to know how to care for you if you did, even if that meant leaving you alone to let emotions run their course.

“It’s just hard.”

Seokmin looked ahead, watching tall wheat sway in the breeze. The moon was big and bright, and he wondered if he’d see another falling star. He remembered hearing about one the night of Chan’s celebration. Chan hadn’t shut up about it the entire morning they found you, after all, citing Seungcheol as being right there with him when he saw it. That felt special. Maybe Seokmin would witness something like that with you, if he were lucky. A little moment shared between the two of you might help make you feel more at home.

You reached up, wiping at your eyes again. “I feel like everyone’s just going to worry if I don’t act like I’m fine. I know it’s annoying having to teach me everything.”

“You’re learning,” he said. “Everyone learns differently. No one’s going to be upset with you for that.”

“I know.” You didn’t look at him, just staring straight ahead as you controlled your emotions as tightly as you could. “I don’t want anyone to worry about me any more than they already do.”

Seokmin just stared at you for a moment. He understood that part, too, a little too well. He just put on a smile instead, soft and understanding as he could make it. “It’s okay to be cared for,” he said. “We’re a family. We’re supposed to be here for each other. That includes you.”

He watched you shut your eyes, squeezing them tight, but the tension ease off of your shoulders a little.

He tore up pieces of grass. “But if it helps,” he said, letting them drop into the breeze. “You can come to me, and I won’t tell anyone unless you want me to.”

He could have cited Chan, or Seungcheol, or anyone else that you were probably closer to. Yet... Seokmin felt like he saw himself in you a little more than he saw in the others. Perhaps that was why he felt the need to be there for you. Right when he was about to apologize, to ask if he crossed a line with that, you relaxed a little and finally met his gaze.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said. “Thanks, Seokmin,” and you leaned forward, pressing a gentle peck against his cheek. “You’re sweet.”

He watched you stand up, stretching in place for a moment before making some remark about how you were going back to bed now. Mingyu was probably missing his cuddle partner. You asked if he was coming, and he waved you to go on ahead. He could use a moment to himself, too. He waited until you went back inside to finally let out a breath, burying his face in his hands for a moment. One little kiss on the cheek was enough to fluster him, definitely because he wasn’t sure you’d be that kind of person. His fingers brushed over where your lips had pressed earlier, and he smiled to himself.

Maybe the two of you would be good friends in the end, if you liked him enough to show that little display of affection in private. He was sure you’d do the same with someone like Chan, and he knew that Seungcheol would dote on you and give you tiny kisses on the top of your head when trying to comfort you (he’d seen Joshua do the same, to be honest). But he felt... a little special in getting your affection like this.

A week later, you pressed a small note into Seokmin’s hand when you passed by him, pausing long enough to ask him what he was doing with Minghao. He pushed the note into his pocket (you lingered behind long enough to watch him do it) and met you gaze with an understanding nod before you trailed off after Jeonghan to go play some card game he’d been wanting to show you. All you gave him was a general time and place (after everyone went to sleep in the gardens), and when the time came, you pulled yourself out of Chan’s embrace. He pulled your little mouse plush into his chest, falling back asleep soon enough while you tiptoed around bodies until you finally left to wait in the gardens. You sat down underneath the peach trees, shivering slightly in the night’s breeze. Normally it was so warm, but maybe it was your mood that was making you feel a little colder. Wasn’t there some science there? You weren’t completely sure.

Soon enough, Seokmin emerged from the church and found you. He walked over, slowly sinking into the spot next to you.

“What’s wrong?” He finally asked a few minutes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You just leaned into his side, shutting your eyes. A swell of guilt rose in your stomach over inviting him out just to vent your own frustrations. “I feel like I don’t belong here.”

Seokmin held back the urge to tell you that you did. That wasn’t what you needed right now, even if he did think that you belonged right there with them. “Why?”

A quiet inhale. A slow exhale. “I don’t remember anything.” You met his gaze a moment later. If it weren’t for the clear skies and the moon overhead, you wouldn’t be able to see his face. “I didn’t even remember my own name. It just feels... wrong.”

“It takes time,” he said. “Even if you never remember, it won’t change how we feel about you.” His hand brushed over your own. “You’re you. We like you.”

“But what about me?” You felt tears beginning to well up, and started trying to blink them back. “How can I like me if I don’t know who I am yet?”

Seokmin’s gaze softened tremendously at that, already reaching out to pull you closer. You folded into his arms without hesitation, eyes squeezing shut as you let go, tears spilling down your cheeks. He said nothing and just held you, slowly rubbing your back as you cried into his chest. Something in his chest ached at the thought of you being unable to love yourself. He hadn’t fully considered that aspect of it. Even with all the support around him, Seokmin could understand the feeling, too, of not being whole and trying to navigate that.

“I think... We have to love the parts of us we have,” he said quietly when your sobs grew softer. “And the people we’re becoming instead.”

You curled your hands into his shirt, fabric bunched between your fingers. “It’s just not fair--” You hiccuped, trying to bring yourself back down from your emotional high. “I just...”

Seokmin’s fingers grazed your shoulders for a moment as he brought you out of his chest, taking your face into his hands. He wiped away your tears. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s hard... but you can do it. We’ll love you no matter what,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t forget that. We’ll be right here with you.”

Seokmin felt something stir in his chest at that. A need to hold you, to just stay there with you. Was it the familiarity in you? In your words. Seokmin loved himself, that much was true. But loving something incomplete? The way a parent was meant to love their child? The way partners loved each other, or the way friends loved one another until the end point was reached? What was life if not a series of moments loving people who were still growing until you reached the end? His thumbs grazed your cheeks a moment longer before he let go of you, letting you move back into his arms to just stay there and be held. He understood that, too. Sometimes all he wanted was for the others to hold him for a moment, usually excused as him simply seeking skinship. The warmth of another person’s touch, their presence to remind you that they’re alive: how can someone live without it?

He thought about Seungcheol’s time alone sometimes. It flooded his nightmares, too, of a world where he was completely alone. Even his more recent dreams of being in a band with a few unfamiliar faces turned darker when they disappeared the moment he looked away. He’d wake up, sometimes with his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, and he’d remember he wasn’t alone. But even the thought of him being left alone terrified him most days. To not have Soonyoung to joke around with, or Minghao to sit with on lovely evenings, or fruit to share with Seungkwan... or you, right there in his arms because you trusted him to see the messy parts of you?

Seokmin wanted you to stay right there with him forever, just so he knew he’d have someone in his arms who could understand. He shut his eyes, letting you just hold onto him and snuggle into his chest.

A few more minutes, the two of you told yourselves. And then you’d go to bed after savoring that little moment of warmth a bit longer.

“Mouse.”

You’d been kneeling in the dirt when Minghao approached you, his own work completed. He’d waved to Jun on his way over before tucking his hands back into his jacket. He stood in front of you for a moment, quiet and watching you. You had greeted him in turn, glancing back at the blackberries you’d been picking before watching him for a moment longer. It was evident that he wanted to say something to you, yet... He was hesitating.

“Is everything okay?” You asked after another moment of waiting. “You can talk to me, Hao. It’s okay.”

Minghao glanced back to where Jun was before he turned back to you. “Do you want some help?”

You looked back at the blackberry bush in front of you, and then to Minghao. “I think I’ve got it handled!” You smiled, “Thanks--”

He kneeled down anyway, not joining in on the work at all. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said outright, “so I think I should just... say it.”

You frowned. Minghao didn’t exactly get along with you the way others did, but you didn’t think he disliked you. For the most part, you just tried to be mindful of his boundaries. “Did I do something?”

Minghao’s gaze flickered back up to your face instead of his own hands where he’d been fiddling with the bracelet he wore--something Joshua had made, you thought. It looked like the beaded jewelry he made. “No!” He said, “No, I...” He took a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you... I think Seokmin carries a lot on his shoulders.”

You furrowed your brow. “Okay?”

“I know the two of you have been talking,” he said. “I... saw the two of you, I mean. I didn’t hear anything, but...”

“You don’t want me to talk to him?”

Minghao didn’t meet your gaze. “You should talk to him if it helps you. I just wanted you to care for him a little more than you care for the rest of us.”

With a glance at your basket of berries, you decided you’d picked enough. You pulled off your juice-stained gloves, setting them into your lap as you settled into the grass. “I don’t understand.”

He looked up after a long inhale. “Seokmin talks to us, but I think he doesn’t do it enough. I was just thinking that maybe... if he isn’t going to talk to us yet, then maybe he’d open up to someone new. Someone different from us.”

Different stood out a little too much to you. But you masked the slight tinge of pain it brought on. “I’ll try,” you promised.

“I know it’s a lot of responsibility,” he said. “I don’t know how to tell you I don’t... expect you to do it? I just want Seokmin to know he can talk to someone. He doesn’t have to hide his feelings.”

“Why haven’t you tried talking to him?”

He pressed his lips together. “I’ve tried,” he admitted, “a few times. We’ve talked a little, and it helped, just...”

“Not enough.”

On one hand, you didn’t understand what Minghao wanted from you. If Seokmin wasn’t going to tell people he was close to about the way he felt, why would he talk to you, someone who was still a stranger to him? Sure, Minghao said that you were “different” from them in some way, but... why you? What could Seokmin tell you that he wouldn’t tell someone like Minghao, or Soonyoung, or even Seungcheol? But on the other hand, you could maybe understand it a little. In a sense, you were a new perspective to certain things. From what you heard, Chan seemed to get the hang of things and fit in with relative ease pretty early on. You were still finding your footing, trying to get into the rhythm of things a little over a week after you came.

“You don’t have to do much,” Minghao said. “Just be there for him if he asks for you to be.”

That much you could do for anyone there. The moment you promised to try, you could practically see the stress roll off of Minghao’s shoulders. He shyly pressed a gentle peck against your cheek, the way others confidently did, and thanked you before returning to his own work. Your fingers grazed over where his lips had just been, and you smiled to yourself.

It was nice to know how much this family cared for one another.

Out of everyone, you liked cooking with Seokmin the most. Maybe it was because of your blossoming feelings for him, but he was nice to stay around. He always asked you about your day and would gently correct you if he needed to, or he’d tell you a story from before you came. It was nice to hear about the way life was before Seungkwan and Hansol found you, or even before they found Chan... Just little stories there, most from that first month of Chan’s joining. Seokmin talked about the time they went swimming together once at that lake. They’d have to take you one day--maybe before your celebration when they all need the break from preparations.

“Seokmin?” You looked up. “Celebrations were your idea, right?”

He hummed in response. “Yes?”

“Why?” You paused for a moment, realizing how harsh that could come off, “I mean--It’s a nice idea. I really like it. I think it’s sweet how much you guys celebrate your time together. I was just thinking about it, that’s all.”

Seokmin’s actions slowed to a halt. “I think... We all deserve to be happy for once.”

“We’re happy without them, though, right?”

He hesitated for a moment, before giving you a curt nod. You could hear the sound of him beginning to chop again, knife hitting the cutting board with each slice. “Right. But before I came, it felt like everyone was more carefree about it. I think we should take the time to really appreciate what we have.”

You had continued working, nodding along as he spoke. “A home...”

“That, but... our family. The garden. We’re all here and we’re doing well,” he paused for a moment. “We’re surviving together. The others survived before we came here, too. And.. we joined,” he met your gaze a moment, “and we’re helping build this community, too.” His eyes were twinkling with joy. “I think that’s something we should celebrate.”

“Why a month?” You asked. “That’s what the others said: one, three, six, and then it was supposed to go by year.”

Seokmin grew a little flustered as he looked away from you. “I think it’s good to celebrate people deciding to stay and making the effort to live with each other. That’s all.”

You could see the appeal. All you did was nod once more, letting out a small hum of acknowledgement for the sentiment. Seokmin truly was sweet and probably one of the most openly caring people there.

“I think it’s important to feel special,” he said a moment later. “And to remember that you’re cared for.”

Again, you ended up pausing for a moment. That was sweet. Seokmin was sweet. You already knew you were starting to fall for him, for how kind he was, but that moment made you fall a little bit more. He thanked you for staying a moment later.

“Thank you for staying, too,” you said in return. “I’m glad you’re here, Seokmin.”

He couldn’t fight back the smile tugging at his lips, face warm and heart fluttering. He pressed another kiss against your forehead before he hugged you tight, thanking you for being a sweetheart. And maybe, just a little, he felt that feeling of needing to be close to you stir in his chest more.

When Seokmin fell asleep that night, he dreamed of fighting with something over something stupid. He remembered the fear of getting hit and backing down. It was familiar--like the silly fight he had with Mingyu once. But... different. The strangest sense of deja vu despite not recognizing the walls around him, the face of the person he was arguing with even though he swore he knew that person.

When he woke up, he saw your sleeping face across from his own. Soonyoung had curled up close to you again, face squished against your shoulder. You had a hand laid, palm-up in front of you as you peacefully slept. He reached up, cautious for a moment, but he gently placed his own over yours. He liked the way your hand seemed to perfectly fit in his own.

Maybe he already liked you. Seokmin was happy to admit that to himself. Maybe he’d tell you, too, sometime soon. When he was ready, he promised himself.

You had asked Seokmin if he wanted to go on a walk with you one night. While you had no woes to really spill for once (you felt fine, to be honest), you hoped that maybe he’d open up to you this time. If nothing else, you were happy to have him as company. You were always happy to have Seokmin right next to you. He’d been sticking closer to you, too, lately. You weren’t always great at gauging when people had feelings for you--especially in such an affectionate group that seemed to press kisses onto your skin and hold your hand and cuddle close whenever given the chance--but... Seokmin always had this look on his face when he looked at you. It was overflowing with affection, more-so than the way he looked at the others. He loved everyone: that you were positive of. But... something about how tender he would be with you, fingers intertwined with your own so often like it was something he was meant to do...

You had a pretty good feeling about Seokmin. If you were a little braver, you’d ask him outright how he felt. But that could come later.

He had held your hand that night, walking with you alongside the river. Neither of you were going to go too far from the church, but with the moon bright above, you felt no worries about losing your way. Seokmin’s warm hand, palm pressed against yours, only served to make you feel safer. You hoped he felt the same with you there.

“Did someone put you up to this?” He asked after a while.

You looked up. “What?”

“Not the walk,” he said. “I think that was you. But... I know the others worry,” he said. “Was it Minghao? Or Jeonghan? Or... maybe Soonyoung,” he said, voice growing a little quieter, “did someone ask you to watch over me?”

You grew flustered, realizing how easily he saw through you. “No one put me up to this--”

Seokmin stopped, stepping into your way. “It’s okay,” he said. “Like I said... I know the others worry. I promise I’m okay,” he said, pulling his hand free. He took your face into his hands, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “I would tell you if I wasn’t.”

“Would you?”

He nodded, not offended by the slight disbelief in your voice. “It’s my job to help make everyone happy,” he told you. “That’s why I suggested the celebrations. We all struggle sometimes... so I’m here to help make it better.”

You frowned. “Seokmin...” You reached up, pulling his hands away from your face. You pressed your palms against his own, his fingers following your own as you stretched yours. “Then who’s supposed to hold you through your hard times?”

“I can take care of myself,” he promised. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

That... stung. You trusted him. Did he not trust you? “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Would it help if I promised to come to you?” He drew your hand closer to his mouth, pressing his lips against your knuckles. “If I need you?”

You nodded. “It would.”

“Then I will.” Another kiss against your knuckles. “Can I hold you tonight?”

You frowned. “Seokmin...” You pouted. “Chan already asked, I feel really bad going back on it--”

He laughed. He wasn’t offended by a promise to cuddle with someone else--but you pouting over having to turn him down only endeared you more to him. “Tomorrow, then,” he said. He pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Should we head back? This was nice,” he slipped his hand into your own again, fingers intertwined. “We should do this more.”

“Go for walks?”

“Be together,” he smiled at you. “I like being with you.”

You hid a smile behind your free hand, and the sound of Seokmin’s laugh only made the heat travel back to your face. Even if the night was a failure at getting him to open up, you felt... more certain that Seokmin liked you the way liked him. Maybe something would blossom further between the two of you. If you could have more little dates with Seokmin like this (and something told you, by that cute look on his face, that he’d be the kind of person to follow you anywhere), you’d be happy. Maybe he’d open up to you further as you grew closer.

He let go of your hand when you came back to the church, not wanting anyone to catch either of you in what was beginning to feel more intimate. But you turned back to him before the two of you could head down to rejoin the others, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Maybe he’d kiss you soon. You made him want to even more.

He watched you trail a few steps ahead, Chan looking up from where he’d changed for bed and been in conversation with Seungkwan, smiling the moment he saw the two of you had returned. He opened his arms out, doing grabby hands for you to come over.

“Let me change, you dork!” You called out, and Seokmin only smiled as he watched you walk off.

Cute. He liked how much you seemed to fit into their family now. He’d end up curled up between Seungkwan and Soonyoung soon enough, but he honestly ached to hold you in his arms again. Something about holding you made him feel safe.

He dragged himself from bed, quietly leaving the room to get a glass of water. The sound of someone coming in pulled his attention away from the tap, and he felt water spill over his fingers as Seungcheol stood in the doorway.

“Is everything okay?” Seungcheol asked once he grew a little closer, leaning against the counter.

Seokmin nodded, wiping off the side alongside his wet fingers. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Seungcheol nodded, arms folded across his chest. “How’s Mouse?”

“They’re--” He paused, hesitating. He figured someone would have noticed the way you two would sneak away to talk at night--and it didn’t surprise him that Seungcheol either would have been told or noticed on his own. You had been struggling before, but he promised he wouldn’t tell Seungcheol without reason.

“They don’t know I’m talking to you,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me anything they trusted you with, Seokmin. But... is there anything the rest of us can do for either of you?”

Seokmin caught that, too outright for him not to. “I’m fine,” he insisted further. “I think they’re having a rough time. They’ll come to you when they’re ready.”

Seungcheol nodded, busying himself with straightening up. “What about you?”

“Cheol,” Seokmin frowned. “I promise I’m okay.”

Seungcheol looked up. “You can always talk to us,” he said again. “I just wanted you to know that--”

“I know you worry,” he said. “I appreciate the concern. I promise I’ll come to you if I need you.”

Seungcheol drifted a step back. “Okay,” he said. “Sleep well. You know we’re here for both of you.”

Seokmin thanked him as Seungcheol began to head back to bed, and he called out a goodnight to him before he left completely. He sighed, feeling as though his mask was slipping a little too much nowadays. He had heard Seungkwan venting frustrations to Hansol the other night, talking about how much of his previous life felt like it was right there at the tip of his tongue. He heard Soonyoung swear that Jihoon’s songs reminded him of something. That Jihoon was getting frustrated again, because now he was struggling to write lyrics in general--and even though he never managed to finish those songs, something blocking out any inspiration to do so, it was... more frustrating this time.

Seokmin decided he would be the sunshine they all needed to clear away the rainy feelings. He could deal with his own feelings later. But when he went back to bed, to curl up next to Seungkwan and Soonyoung again, he looked back at your sleeping form. Chan’s arms were wrapped around you, your back pressed against his chest so he could bury your face in his shoulder. Mingyu was on the other side of you, holding your hand. That little stuffed mouse you slept with was nestled close to you, too.

Maybe Seokmin could tell you, first. You’d been open enough with him. Maybe it was his turn to open up.

There was a little pressure to do things well whenever Seungcheol was working with you. Most of the time, you realized it wasn’t necessary. While he would check in with whoever was on the same chore as him, he wasn’t going to hover over your shoulder and chastise. Sometimes he’d catch mistakes, but they were always met with a firm correction and an explanation on what you were doing wrong if you needed it. But most days, he’d go off and work on harvesting his own things, or he’d focus on his own share of the laundry. He was a leader, yes, but he still had to complete his own share of the chores every day.

Yet he stayed close to you that day, watching the way you were pruning plants the way he taught you. Just to observe, he told you. Yet he stayed kneeled nearby, picking his own share of fruit from those bushes while you dropped yours into the basket between the two of you. Sometimes clipping away at the dead leaves that had shriveled up enough that you could safely remove them. Seungcheol watched on with the slight sense of pride in his eyes that you had listened well.

After the longest time of not talking, save for the occasional note of praise, he spoke up again: “Is everything okay?”

You said nothing, caught off-guard by the sudden question. Did Seokmin say something...? Had you said something worrisome by accident? You weren’t sure. You hadn’t had any problems lately, after all. Was that what worried Seokmin...?

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me about it,” he continued on after a moment, not looking up from his own gardening. “But you should know you can always come to me if you need to.”

You nodded. “Right. Thank you, Seungcheol.”

He frowned immediately at that, looking over at you with a pout. “Cheol,” he corrected you, only slightly whiny as he did so. “Don’t call me Seungcheol...”

You almost laughed at how cute he could be sometimes. Despite being the leader of this rag-tag bunch, he still had his moments where the “strong, responsible” leader melted away and revealed him to be someone stubborn and sweet. You hadn’t seen it during your first week there, and you assumed it was because he was still in his “leader” mode to make sure you were comfortable with your new surroundings. But he wrapped his arms around you two separate times before, complaining about how the others (Seungkwan, once, and another time it had been Chan) wouldn’t tell him that they loved him back. He had smiled, teasingly asking if you’d say it back.

You had laughed a little, but you told him both times that you loved him. He giggled, pressing a kiss to your temple before saying that you were his new favorite. It was sweet. You were glad to have someone like Seungcheol guiding the group.

“Sorry, Cheol,” you said, trying not to laugh at how he was still sulking over your slip-up. “I guess I have a lot on my mind.”

He nodded. “Are you talking to someone here...?”

Shit, would it offend him that you only talked to Seokmin...? “Sometimes Seokmin and I talk,” you confessed. “Is that okay?”

“As long as you have someone you’re comfortable talking to, I’m happy.” He stopped in his work, looking up to meet your gaze. “I know it’s still hard, but we’re all here for you whenever you feel ready to open up.”

You didn’t think before you started to speak. “It’s hard to open up when it feels like no one else wants to.” You tore your gaze away from his, going back into your work. “I mean... Sometimes Seungkwan will talk about his feelings, and so do a few others, but it feels like we’re all still holding everything close to our chests. I know you want us to be open and honest with each other, Cheol, but I think it’ll take more than just telling people we have the space to do so. We’re fourteen people,” you dropped a berry into the basket, and then plucked a dried-up leaf that’d fallen in. “It’s hard to bring up things without feeling out of place,” you tossed it away. “Like we’re intruding. Vulnerability is hard.”

Seungcheol watched you carefully. “Is there a way we can help with that?”

You swallowed the doubt you felt. Hopefully you didn’t cross a line. “Maybe you should lead by example, Cheol,” you finally looked back up to watch him. He was serious now, taking in every word you were saying. So you continued on, “I think we all look up to you. If you talked about what’s on your mind... Maybe it’d help all of us feel more comfortable, too.”

He nodded, letting the words sink in. He reached out, bringing you in to press a kiss against your temple. “I’ll try,” he said, although it felt... too quiet. Too light, too airy. Like it was a lie in its most obvious form, but surely Seungcheol wouldn’t lie so obviously to your face. “If you think that’ll help...”

“I do,” you insisted. “I think he looks up to you a lot. Maybe it could... inspire people, I guess.”

Seungcheol watched you for a moment longer, just studying the way you gazed off into the distance. He knew. “You’re worried about someone.”

“Huh?”

“It’s okay,” he said, voice soft. “But... Mouse?” He smiled, “Promise me you’ll pursue what makes you happy.”

You blinked in confusion, and then once more. “What do you mean?”

Seungcheol didn’t answer you, giving you a gentle pat on the head as he stood up. You could already hear the sound of someone--two people, actually--running through the trees. You looked up to see Seokmin and Soonyoung standing there, smiling and out of breath as they caught sight of you.

The two greeted him casually enough, and then Soonyoung looked at you. “When you’re done, you should come join us--”

“They’re done,” Seungcheol said, casual as can be. You immediately looked toward him, fully aware you had more work to do. “I can carry these inside, Mouse,” Seungcheol told you. He nodded for you to go on, to join the others, and you said nothing.

Soonyoung looked from you to Seungcheol, not oblivious to the fact that you were clearly not finished. But Seokmin held a hand out to you, happy to help you to your feet before he started helping you dust yourself off. He was already explaining the card game he wanted to play with you and Soonyoung, and Soonyoung took one look at Seokmin before it clicked. He met Seungcheol’s eyes, and the leader merely smiled at him and nodded toward the direction of the church.

The three of you headed back toward the church, and Seungcheol noticed the way Seokmin tightly held your hand in his own. He looked back at where you had abandoned your work, and sighed. He shook his head. Maybe he shouldn’t take over for you--at least not make a habit of it--but... What was one more day of picking up the slack if it meant you could be happy? He saw the way you lit up when you saw Seokmin had come to find you. If you smiled at him that way...

Seungcheol sighed once more, and smiled to himself. He hoped you’d take his words to heart in the end. Even when he was carrying both your and his parts of the day’s harvest, he could hear the way your laugh carried down from the attic. You were calling Soonyoung a cheater, and trying to get Seokmin (who was laughing, too) onto your side.

He wondered when you’d realize that Seokmin was already right there, and that he’d likely stay right there if you’d let him.

Seungcheol was the first to confess a few days later that he worried about his leadership being enough. He spoke up in the middle of dinner, surprising most of you aside from Jeonghan and Joshua--who seemed to be fully aware of this in advance. Everyone fell in to support him, praising him or giving him critique about how he can do better if he truly felt that he needed it. It led Jihoon to admit he was worried about his own talent. About whether he was chasing something empty by writing so many songs, even though he’d never finish a single one. He felt like he was getting a part of himself back.

Soonyoung understood the feeling. Sometimes when he danced, it felt like he was closer to something. Chan could understand the feeling--as did Jun and Minghao. Hansol could, too, when he worked on his own lyrics.

All Seokmin did was provide support throughout all of it. Not everyone shared something they’d been holding to their chest (Joshua said nothing, and neither did Mingyu or Chan aside from any feelings they could understand), so it didn’t feel obvious that Seokmin was holding something back. But he met your gaze soon enough when you admitted to feeling... incomplete.

“It’s hard to love someone incomplete,” you said. “But I think I understand how other people do it. I just need to learn how to love myself again, I think.”

People loved and supported you in that, just as Seokmin knew they would. Yet...

He wanted to say something. The words were lost in his throat, letters bundled up tight and staying lodged there no matter how he tried to word them. Maybe another night, he told himself. Tonight was everyone else’s night, perhaps. Seokmin didn’t need to add too heavily to it.

Another night, he promised himself. When he was ready.

A few nights later, Seokmin sat with his back against the wall of the church, legs tucked up close to himself. Most nights, it was easy for him to go on a walk to clear his head and cope with the feelings building up. That nasty, bitter taste of not being enough. He made others happy, sure, but what about himself? Seokmin was happy. He loved being there with everyone, with you, but he understood your own plights too well. The desire to remember more, no matter what pain it might bring. Forgetting could be seen as a blessing, especially if the world had ended and left you fourteen behind. Not remembering his mother’s smile or babies he used to make laugh, his school teachers growing up... That would be a blessing, wouldn’t it? Yet he yearned to have part of himself back. Perhaps some might call it selfish, especially if this was it, but he wanted to know.

He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath, and let himself rest a little. To let that happy air down, to make way for a pensive moment just for himself. Yet he heard footsteps, and the quiet groan of someone pulling themself up into the church. The fabric was folded back.

“Seokmin?” You called out to him. Of course it was you. The one person he felt like saw through him and called him on it too often now. You had told him that he could be vulnerable with you: he let you be vulnerable, after all.

“Mouse.” He looked up, forcing a wavering smile as he saw you. This was not how his night was supposed to go, yet he felt the exhaustion build up too high. His walls too short to prevent the onslaught of emotions that were rising further and further inside him. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

His smile wavered a little more, the corners of his mouth twitching. Even without his answer, you started making your way over to him, and all he could do was raise up a hand to try and stop you. “I’ll be fine--”

You kneeled before him, and opened up your arms. “C’mere.”

And that was all he needed. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and he immediately dove into your arms and held on tight as he felt the tears well up as words started spilling from his mouth about everything he felt he needed to swallow and keep to himself. His job was to help take care of everyone, to make things happy. That was why he suggested the celebrations. Yet before you, he was reduced down to a whimpering man whose hot tears were staining your shirt as his emotions reached their crest and crashed over his walls. You rubbed circles onto his back, letting him cry as he needed to.

Seokmin wasn’t a man afraid to cry, and you knew that. But when was the last time he let himself truly break down and let everything go? He couldn’t remember.

“It’s hard,” he soon said, voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt. “It’s so hard sometimes...”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Your voice was gentle, no anger or accusations of him hiding things. Just the desire to understand.

His fingers bunched up the fabric of your shirt into his palms, eyes squeezing shut. “Everyone had enough to deal with,” he admitted, breathing evening out. “You had enough to deal with, too. I didn’t want to add to that.”

“Seokmin...” He watched you frown as he drew away from you, his hands resting at your waist. You were so warm and real underneath his fingers. If he let go, would you stay there? Would you disappear into stardust or light, like a lost memory? He liked knowing you were real and right there with him. “It’s okay to struggle,” you finally said, hands covering his own. “You don’t have to struggle alone. We’re all here.” You squeezed his hands. “And I’ll always be here, too, if you aren’t ready to tell the others yet. Or you can talk to Minghao, or Jeonghan, or... or anyone. You don’t have to talk to all of us. But we’re here,” you took his face into your hands, “and we love you, and we want to support you. You just have to let us in.”

He watched you, gaze flickering to your lips for only a moment. He wanted to kiss you, to tell you that he’d fallen for you. Not tonight, he told himself. The time to tell you was later, during a good day. He didn’t want you to think he was confessing because he was upset and not thinking straight. You deserved to know just how much he’d grown to love you.

His lip quivered, though, and he felt the warmth of being loved rise in his chest. He squeezed your hips again, and shut his eyes as you leaned in, lips grazing his forehead.

“We’re right here,” you promised. “All you have to do is ask.”

He loved you. It was all he could think about: he loved you with everything he had. He knew that was the kind of person he was. “I know,” he breathed. “It’s just... hard. Everyone’s hurting,” he said quietly. “It’s hard to take care of yourself when others’ have worse problems.”

“I know.” You sank down a little further to be on eye level with him. “But it’s okay to admit you’re hurting, too. It’s not a competition.”

He nodded. Despite the ache in his chest, the pain of being vulnerable that peeked through the warm love he carried for you, he could feel other thoughts clouding his mind. The desire to kiss you, to hold you, to tell you and be vulnerable in a different way. “Thank you for being here,” he said instead. I love you. Please don’t leave me alone. “Can you cuddle with me tonight?”

Seokmin watched the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. “Of course,” you had said, “If that’s what you want. I’m happy to be here for you.”

He held you tight in his arms that night, as if you’d disappear if he let you go. Despite confusing dreams of tired nights and days with hot, heavy lights pointed at him (maybe his thought that he was an actor in his past life wasn’t too far off, after all), you served to be his guiding light. The person who made him feel complete as he was, like life was crystal clear when you were around. He missed so many things about himself, yet those feelings seemed bearable when you were right there with him. He woke up when Minghao curled up close to him, an arm draped around him as a reminder that he wasn’t alone. That everyone in that room loved him.

If he was the sun, then you were the moon: reflecting the light back to him and reminding him that he wasn’t the only star in the sky.

Being vulnerable with you was hard in itself. But he spoke up days later, fully admitting to the others during dinner that he felt.. lesser. Like he had to make up for everything by carrying the burdens of everyone else. It was met with genuine care and conversation in return. No moments of making him feel like his feelings were wrong, like he shouldn’t feel like that.

“You’ve brought us all a lot of joy and comfort,” Seungcheol told him gently. “We want to be here for you, too.”

Everyone agreed. Even you, who pretended that you hadn’t heard any of this before, gave him a reassuring smile. He whispered to you to meet him in the attic half an hour after the group dispersed, before he disappeared to talk with a few others a little more. The full group had listened and validated him, yet Seungkwan had asked him to sit with him and a few others a little while longer. They, too, felt the guilt of wanting to remember despite knowing that forgetting could have been a blessing.

“I think being honest is hard,” he admitted to them. Hansol had nodded along as Seokmin continued, “but I think I need to start being completely open from now on. Even when it’s hard.”

Soonyoung knew. “Then you should go wait for them,” he hugged his knees close to him. “Right? That’s what you wanted to do.”

Seokmin hesitated. “I don’t want it to seem like I’m running away from you all--”

“You don’t,” Hansol said. “Go confess or whatever,” he smiled. “We’ll all be here for you whenever you want to talk more, alright?”

He was thankful for people who understood. Seokmin returned to the church, climbing up into that sun room. You hadn’t come up, thankfully, giving him time to think about what he wanted to say it. Should he even say it? He didn’t want to waste time anymore. He needed you to know how he felt. If he waited, he’d back down and make up excuses for a “better time” in a world where they never knew what day would be their last.

So he had to do this. He had to tell you.

He could hear the ladder buckle slightly, the sound of you making your way up it. Soon enough, you peeked over the top, and then climbed in to face him. His name was already on your lips when he turned to face you, back to that sun-window that was painting the room in orange hues from the dying light of day.

“I love you.” He watched your eyes widen in surprise, and steeled his nerves. “You make me feel confident in myself. If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I would have decided to open up like this to the others. And I know it’s sudden, but I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

“I... love you, too?” You paused. “Seokmin--”

“Not in that way,” he said. He knew he’d said it before to everyone. He’d heard you say it, too. “I’m in love with you. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” he curled his fingers into his palm. Stay strong. Tell them outright. “I just wanted you to know that I love you and I’m glad you stayed. I... I don’t think my world would be the same without you. Thank you for being you.”

You took a slow step toward him, and then another. “Seokmin, I...”

His chest ached at a lack of response. Maybe it was foolish, but he needed to tell you. If he didn’t, he felt like holding that feeling in forever would kill him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand--”

And then you kissed him, closing that distance too quick for him to process. His hands fell to your hips, holding you against him as he kissed you back. He shut his eyes, savoring the warm feeling of your body against him. Yet you pressed a little harder against him, and he staggered back, almost falling onto that bed as he steadied you. You drew back, barely getting a chance to apologize before he pulled you back in for another kiss.

You drew away fully soon enough. “I love you, too, by the way,” you smiled at him. “Thank you for being my sunshine.”

He felt his face heat up. “Can I... kiss you again?” He almost felt bad for not asking before, but you had stolen the first kiss. Was it a crime to steal one in return?

He’d steal as many kisses from you as he could, in the end. He didn’t have to convince you to stay with him up there for the night, just so he could hold you close without anyone else intruding. Other nights he could sleep with you close and someone else nearby, because Seokmin was more than okay with still cuddling with the others (he was a touchy person, after all). He just wanted to fall asleep with you next to him for once, and maybe again in the future when he wanted to steal you away for alone time. Your head rested on his shoulder, arm draped across his chest as he held you close.

“Are you still awake?” His voice was quiet in the calm of the night, and he felt you stir a little next to him. He almost wanted to call your name to ask again, but you yawned and settled back in next to him. “Thank you for being my night.”

He could feel you smile against his chest. If you’d be the calm night to end the day, he’d be your morning sunshine from now on.

general taglist: @wonuziex

under the sun taglist: @shiningstar-byulxx @twogyuu @maijunejuly @strawberri-uyu @junhui-recs @bbmyungho @thedeeppoet @min-tata @silvsie @heeseung-lover686 @lilactangerine @jeonncafe @bfwonu @junsimpsquad @fifty-shades-of-mischeif @wh4txium1n @svt-rouge @blackwhiteandshadesofgradient

#wooahaes.uts #wooahaes.fic #seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #seokmin x reader #seokmin x you #dk x reader #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom x you #lee seokmin x reader #lee seokmin x you

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reviewsbyliam · 5 months

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“THE PRELUDE: ACT OF RECLAMATION” A LIVE SHOW BY OSÉ [SOLD OUT]

Headline Show Review - 09/12/2023

[Pictured below; Osé and band]

[Photographer: @bygideooon_ on Instagram]

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*DISCLAIMER* All photos and videos from this event are over on @reviewsbyliam on Instagram. Please head there after reading this article to witness the greatness that we did. Thank you and enjoy reading!

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I arrived in London on the 29th of November, suitcase in hand, 5 hour coach journey behind me and a now 45 minute Uber journey to Deptford. My boyfriend met me at the coach station, we spent the first evening just settling into the area, getting some food and having a few beverages (as you do), and then some well earned sleep after both travelling from separate parts of the UK.

Experiencing a day of being a tourist in London the next day was bewildering - I wanna live there now.. I'm definitely made for the big busy city life. We headed back to the hotel, and got ready to make our travels towards one of my long time internet friends first ever SOLD OUT DEBUT HEADLINE SHOW!!

The emotions were at an all time high, before we get into it though..

Here's a little backstory..

I've known Osé for 3/4 years now, first meeting on Twitter (now X) and forming a mutual connection through Ariana Grande and our overall love for music. I always knew that Osé loved to sing, I also knew that one day, he'd be on a stage somewhere giving it his all performing his music and not looking back - little did I know how real that thought would actually become.

Shortly after debuting this blog, Osé called me and told me the tear flowing news that was him booking his first ever headline show to debut his first new project. We screamed, laughed, I cried for him because I was so elated with pride, and then he asked me if I would join him in London, interview him as well as review his show, and help write the description for his event. I must've asked him several times if he was joking, following up with a loud !!YES!! and getting to planning..

Fast forward to the night of the show..

Entering the venue and the thought of not knowing what I was about to hear from Osé was anxiety inducing but extremely exciting nonetheless. I'd heard the music from his project prior to the show as he wanted me to be able to catch a feel of what was to come to help my own personal work, which was such a beautiful gesture. So I kind of knew the sounds of the night, but chose to not listen to them like they were the last songs on Earth so I could re-experience my first listen.

On stage before Osé was another uprising artist called Josh Pace, who was a very good musician to have before the main act as he drew the crowd in and the vocals were so raw. His bass tones were unreal.

After listening to Josh melt our ears, we mingled for a little while, grabbed a couple of drinks to calm the nerves, and then realised it was time..

I knew that when Osé took to the stage, it was going to become HIS world. We weren't here for us, we were here to witness a spectacle that can only be described as out of this universe.

Opening the show with an interlude describing who Osé is, some words being uplifting, some words describing Osé in a more vulnerable, judgmental light.. it was very honest and intriguing. The interlude interpreted that many people have things to say about Osé and his character, including himself, but nobody really knows the true him - hence the reclamation of his story.

Osé walks on stage, the room is flooded with screams, claps, hoots and hollers, he smiles and tries to take in the reception he has just received (which was extremely deserving) and starts to sing one of the most ICONIC songs of all time; Creep by Radiohead.

The raw power that exonerated from Osé’s vocal box was like watching a superhero find their power for the first time. The moment he opened his mouth, he was unstoppable, it was Osé’s time.

I just knew he was about to SMACK us in the jaw with this show after blowing us away with his rendition of Creep and my heart was racing, my knees were weak and I had a dry mouth. I was SO nervous for Osé, but one thing I noticed, Osé wasn’t nervous, because he was home.

Osé started singing his songs from his project, including one song that had a very personal meaning which Osé spoke to us about before he performed, allowing us to see that artists we listen to, admire and idolize are struggling with personal battles just like us. I wont be revealing the track names, because the project is still under review by Osé himself and this night was just about getting a feel for whats to come. But when the project is birthed, you'll see. The night was all about the people closest to Osé finding out why this project is in the works and how he is choosing to utilize it to expand his character and knowledge of the world, which in my eyes is a very safe choice to make as an upcoming artist because for you to do well, you have to make sure your work is cohesive and relatable, and that is what Osé's project embodies, truly.

The raw talent that exudes from Osé, whether its through speaking, writing, singing, anything - it is a talent to be acknowledged and afraid of. Osé's vocals were so strong, and the evidence of his ability to explore across genres is even stronger. We went from sad, to funk, to healing, to rocking out. Not to forget that the band which accompanied him on stage were well into their element also. The guy on the drums? I could've watched him go crazy for hours. And don't even get me started on the saxophone, we will be here for eternity.

Stage presence is a HUGE factor into an artists success, because nobody wants to see an artist just stand there on stage like a bowling pin and sing into a mic and then wave and walk off. Thank the Lord that wasn't the case for Osé. He walked onto that stage, announced himself, and just let his inhibitions go. When the crowd hyped him, it was like the funk spirit had taken over his soul and he just threw his hips like there was no tomorrow. He laughed, he jumped, he clapped, he cried but he also joked with the crowd and made it the most safest space I've ever had the pleasure of being in.

At the end of the night, Osé thanked everyone for attending his first sold out headline show, and had to halt a few tears (so did I, many times). I have never heard a room erupt into screams, whistles, chants, you name it, so loudly before. I was watching Osé on stage just taking in the love that he so righteously deserved, which made it a full circle moment for everyone involved. The gratitude displayed was immense and he truly and authentically cracked the egg of success and stepped into the rest of his life as a vocal powerhouse that night.

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Raw vocals, warming stage presence, immaculate band and organisation. Venue was cozy and made the vibe so much more intimate than it already was. Location was easy to find.

OVERALL REVIEW OF THE NIGHT: OUT OF THIS WORLD!!!!!!!

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If you're wondering whether to give Osé a chance when he next does a show, wonder no more because I'm here to tell you that it would be one of the biggest regrets of your life if you didn't attend a show of his or at least take a dive into his socials and hear the heaven that leaves his mouth when he sings. I have an upcoming interview to be released with Osé, and we discuss his early life, career, fears, and so SO much more. We dive into topics about the night too, and just have a good old catch up about how much Osé's life has changed since his sold out headline show. Keep an eye on my Instagram page for more details surrounding the release of that!

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A message to Osé: Thank you for coming into my life and showing me that being creative is okay, it's okay to be vulnerable and show it in your work, it's okay to struggle and share that with people because we are all human and deserve peace. I will be forever thankful for the opportunities you graced upon me surrounding this event and I will forever be in debt to you. You are one of the most intelligent humans I've come across, and watching you blossom as an artist and a friend is a blessing that I will never let go. Never give up on who you dream to be, because the ability that you hold within yourself to make that happen is a lot more stronger than you'll ever know. I love you and I'm forever proud of you! L x

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Thanks for reading! Photos and Videos from

“THE PRELUDE: ACT OF RECLAMATION” LIVE SHOW BY OSÈ

will be posted to my Instagram @reviewsbyliam !

Head over there and check them out!

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Written by Liam Wibberley

09/12/2023

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notquiteaghost · 2 years

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this is going to, eventually, be part of a longer thing, but the longer thing is being difficult & i'm damn proud of this scene, so. here is the set-up for Musings On How To Become A Superhero You Really Need To Have CPTSD

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When Dick is nine, his parents die.

His parents are killed, violently, while he watches, helplessly. And someone did that. Somewhere out there is a man, and that man killed Dick’s parents, and Dick wants to scream and scream and scream. And he’s nine, so mostly he does.

The social worker tries to talk Bruce out of keeping Dick, Dick out of staying. Has a lot to say about emotional support, and commitment, and the right fit. There are lots of people who would want to take Dick, apparently.

But none of them were there. None of them saw, and none of them gathered him in their arms and didn’t try to say anything, and none of them, when Dick could talk again and the first thing he said was, "They didn’t fall, someone killed them," none of them looked Dick in the eye and swore, "I will find whoever did this, and they will face justice."

Anyway, that’s why it takes Dick a good long while to realise that Bruce’s whole crusade thing is absolutely batshit.

When he’s a kid, and so angry all the time it feels like something in his chest has grown teeth and is trying to eat its way out, it makes sense. Of course Batman exists. Of course you can’t just sit at home and let other people get hurt. Of course you have to do everything, anything you can, because the worst possible thing happened to you and you wouldn’t wish the thing that lives in your chest now on anyone. Or, well, you would, and that’s why you wouldn’t. You want to destroy the man who did this to you, but you wouldn’t just be destroying him, because that’s how it works. You can’t know who else you would catch in the blast. You can’t let it be anyone.

When he’s thirteen, and there’s other kid heroes popping up, and the Justice League is starting to reckon with whether they’re okay with any kid being a hero at all, Clark talks to him. That’s how he realises.

They go to a diner. They always go to a diner, when Clark wants to talk. Clark feels safe being emotionally vulnerable in diners for reasons Dick can’t piece together yet.

"It was your idea," Clark asks, once the waitress has brought their food, "Wasn’t it? Being Robin?"

Dick’s not an idiot, he already knew what this would be about, but he’s a bit blind-sided by that being Clark’s opening. Is that not obvious?

"Well, yeah. B kept trying to lock me in my room."

Clark blinks. "He did?"

"Not all the time," Dick says, rolling his eyes, several years now out of patience for everyone immediately assuming the worst of Bruce. "Just when he went on patrol, ‘cause I kept following him."

"Right." Clark hesitates, then visibly decides not to ask any follow-up questions. On that topic, anyway. "But he changed his mind?"

Dick hums, non-committal. The first couple months of being Robin are pretty hazy, now. He’s starting to suspect something in his ability to form long-term memories has gone permanently wrong. "I wore him down, yeah. It’s not– I know it was a bad idea, okay. But it’s not like anyone else could copy me."

"Really," Clark says, one eyebrow raised. "No one your age looks up to you?"

Dick rolls his eyes again. It’s rude, but Clark is usually smarter than this. "Obviously kids look up to Robin, but kids look up to loads of people, and actually doing this as a kid is hard. A shit ton of adults have the means to be heroes, and there’s still only a dozen of you, and at least adults can drive."

"That’s why it’s hard? Because you can’t drive?"

Dick takes a long sip of his milkshake, to give himself a moment to imagine a world where not being able to drive is his biggest problem.

"It’s hard," he says, "because I want to believe people are good and kind and compassionate, and every night I go out and on purpose seek out proof I’m wrong. Because it’s not even that I’m wrong, it’s that it’s easier to be shitty. Caring hurts. It really, really hurts." He takes another sip of his milkshake. "But you know that. You know exactly what I mean."

Clark lets out a heavy breath, and doesn’t say anything.

Dick steals one of his fries. "The problem isn’t if I’m old enough," he continues. "No one’s old enough. Could Bruce have put me in therapy instead?" He shrugs. "Probably, but it only would’ve worked if he quit too. And then everyone we’ve saved since would be dead, or worse. And we’re already worse. I can’t imagine anyone being able to talk me into being okay with that, with letting other people go through that."

The look on Clark’s face isn’t one Dick’s really seen before. It’s not one he’s enjoying seeing now. "You realise everyone else’s problems shouldn’t be your responsibility?"

"Sure," Dick replies, easily, brightly. "What else have I got, then? If I’m not allowed to help? My parents are dead, and I’m not. I should just keep going anyway? Go to school, see my friends, watch TV and do my homework?" He steals another fry. "Because that’s what they’d want, right, for me to be happy, and pretending like them being dead doesn’t make me want to set things on fire will start to look like happiness if I just do it long enough. Maybe I’ll forget what it’s like to not want to die, and then that can be what happiness is."

Now Clark looks like Dick just sucker-punched him, if Dick happened to be holding a fistful of kryptonite. It’s a long moment, before he speaks. Dick drinks more of his milkshake.

"You’re thirteen," is what Clark manages. "You shouldn’t have to think like that."

Dick wonders what Clark was doing, at thirteen.

This is the root of the problem, really, with Clark and with Diana – sure, both of them have their scars, but none of those scars are older than their adult teeth. Figuratively speaking, anyway; Dick doesn’t know if either of them actually had two sets of teeth. Maybe Kryptonians just keep growing new teeth, like sharks. It’d be rude, probably, to ask.

Anyway, they’re not Bruce. They got a whole childhood.

And Dick doesn’t want to say that, because he can never say it to anyone, because it wakes the thing in his chest up. He just grins, instead, brittle and bitter, and steals another handful of fries.

"That’s the problem the League has," Clark continues. "We know exactly what has to happen to someone, to set them on this path, and we don’t want to admit it happens to children."

"Other children," Dick can’t help but correct. Clark flinches, just barely noticeable. "Was there a point to this, or did you just need me to confirm what you already knew?"

"You’re thirteen," Clark says again.

"Yeah. And the other night I got two girls away from their shitheel of a dad," Dick says, "And they’re four and six."

Clark changes the subject, after that.

#dc #batfam #batman #nightwing #dick grayson #clark kent #yelling at clouds #fic tag #also like to be clear. clark's childhood was NOT free of trauma #but it doesn't look like dick's trauma. thirteen year old allowed to be an unreliable narrator yeah?

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0shewrites0 · 1 year

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heyyy, i hope you are having a good day 🖤 i have been following you for quite a while from the litg community and i had no idea you liked romance club!! (& malbonte <33 i love him so much too). how did you find this update & do you have any predictions for the next update :)

Heyyy! I’m having a very good day, thank you very much, I hope you are doing well too 🫶🏼

Thanks for this ask, because I have been wanting to philosophise about Malbonte, his intentions, his plans and whatnot for the longest time! Also, prepare for a very lengthy reply 😅

How did I find the latest update?

Well, just the scream I scrumpt when Malbonte kissed Vicky says it all 😩 I was the luckiest girl in the world ngl

I honestly loved every minute of the new update, especially that we had several chances to get closer to Malbonte!!!!! (🥹) But let me tell you, these episodes are so long and so packed with stuff happening that I needed a bit of time to sort my head out. Because every time new episodes come out, I'm more confused than ever.

So let's talk about some of my thoughts, shall we?

Spoilers under the cut!!!

I hate that Vicky doesn't see how much Malbonte still cares for her and that he's far from the robotic machine she always tries to make him out to be. There are all these little moments, like when he notices during their kiss that she's cold because of the stone wall right behind her, so he puts his hand between her body and the wall. Or when she's going through a roller coaster of emotions after War's mission on Earth, trying to catch her breath and come to terms with the fact that she actually liked the power War gave her to destroy people with, and there he is again, handing her a bloody handkerchief 😩 Can we also talk about how it was so obvious that he had a plan from the moment Plague set foot in the Citadel, and Vicky is only now starting to realise it? It's so infuriating and frustrating!

I posted about this and how Malbonte is a cold-hearted monster (in everyone's eyes, even Vicky's) on Reddit, so read that if you want more background on why I think Malbonte is by far the smartest Immortal and is not at all the monster everyone makes him out to be…

Also, I'm convinced there were tongues involved in their kiss, and he didn't do it because of some bullshit experiment, he did it because he fucking misses her. He can't let his guard down, but that's the closest he can get to opening up and being vulnerable. He's literally giving her so many hints that he's doing everything he can to save her, especially her, and I really really hope and optimistically predict that he will give in and that there will be a sex scene with him in the next update. Because we could have that with literally any other LI except him. It's clear that Malbonte plays a much more important role than all the others put together, so he has to be much more careful and it's always going to be a hell of a slow burn with him, but it's only a matter of time, I'm convinced of that.

How is it that new people keep appearing and no one is properly introduced - like Ulyssa and her son? Ulyssa is so obviously Misselina's sister, in my humble opinion, because not only do they look frighteningly similar, but they both have very similar names too. And then her son can speak the language of darkness - what's that about? And what’s with Torendo being able to understand it too, but at the same time claiming not to be able to speak it? There are so many inconsistencies and nothing makes sense to me. Why are Ulyssa and her son here now? What role do they play in the grand scheme of things?

I can't shake the feeling that Shephamalum will show up on stage at some point - I don't know if it will be in the season one finale or later, but he will definitely show up. I mean, Shepha is dead, but Shephamalum is not, and he appeared to both Malbonte and Vicky before Plague appeared on the scene. That has to mean something, I just don't know what yet.

And then there's Astaroth and his inexplicable hatred of Vicky. He'd kill her if he could, there's no doubt about that, but for some reason Plague has forbidden him to do so. And to be fair, Vicky isn't particularly arrogant, at least not in HS2 and especially not now after she's been held captive for god knows how long and Malbonte has practically ripped her heart out of her chest. I'm on the composure path, so she's especially not arrogant, and yet he seems to really have a problem with her, while Christopher seems very relaxed and is not constantly trying to provoke her.

Last but not least, what happened to Leeloo and Christopher in the last seconds of episode 8? I suspect it has something to do with all the arguments between her and Dino, although he never wanted to tell Vicky what they were about. He knows something and I reckon we will find out what it is in the next episode because Plague wants to know too lol

I think it could be that she’s part of the R.O. as well but I’m honestly not too sure

Dino also said that Leeloo wasn't herself when she attacked Christopher and even before that, during the tournament, she was obsessed with not letting him win. It seemed unnatural, definitely not purely driven by hatred. And why did she attack Christopher? Why not Astaroth? I didn't understand it and I still don't. Somehow he's important to the Horsemen, that much is clear, because Leeloo practically confirmed that when Vicky talked to her, but then she also said that Vicky should be killed and not protected by a stone. WHAT STONE??

Malbonte, I hope? But knowing RC the stone has to symbolise something specifically and I honestly don’t see the connection to Malbonte just now

I mean, obviously Vicky is going to play an important role in HS2, there's no question about that, but I wonder what Leeloo knew that everyone else (except Dino) didn't, and why she escalated it to the point where she thought it better to kill herself than accept the consequences that would come her way. Especially because War said they needed her alive and I feel like that wasn’t solely about him feeding on her hatred before she killed herself. It feels like there’s more to it…

#rc heaven's secret #rc hs 2 #rc malbonte #rc vicky #rc hs2 newest update and my one thousand thoughts #asks and replies #answered asks #thanks for the ask!#rae answers

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empressofthelibrary · 4 months

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Wound, secret, break for whoever you want

I already did two of these for Bailey, so we'll go with Gavin for this.

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

Gavin's reaction to small physical wounds would give you the impression he's a crybaby and a drama queen. He's the type to fuss over a stubbed toe or papercut, but when shit really goes down -- and it does, the man lives in Gotham -- he's surprisingly quiet. He'll try to leave the worst injuries up to his lycanthropic healing, withdrawing and tending to the wound himself.

As for nonphysical wounds, well. Gavin considers himself a pretty carefree dude. He lives in the moment, going with the flow. The horrors can't touch him if he never acknowledges them, right?

...Right?

As for severe wounds: Gavin came out to his parents when he was in college, telling them he wasn't a straight woman, but a gay man. He knew they wouldn't take it well, but... He still wasn't prepared for them to react that badly. It hurt, and he hasn't seen or spoken to them since.

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

I'm not sure. Gavin's a pretty open book. He's careful who he tells about being trans, obviously, and who knows about his deal with Neron. But for the most part? He doesn't care a whole lot about what people think. He has very few people he lets in, but those people get his full and complete trust and loyalty. No secrets from them.

If there is anything he's hiding from everyone, he's hiding it from me too, at least for now.

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

Gavin is difficult to visibly upset. He's the sort to laugh and quip his way through a fight, instead of yell and bear his teeth. And he tries hard to avoid the kind of deeper connections that leave him vulnerable -- if he keeps people at a distance, they can't put a knife in his ribs. The man keeps his emotions buried under several layers of masks and locks and mazes. He's got a soft nougat center in there, but it's under, like, a jawbreaker.

It would take a clear betrayal from someone he trusts to really hurt him. Realizing that he let someone in, and he shouldn't have.

The expression on his face starts as confusion -- head tilted, sure he's misunderstood something. And then realization dawns, turning to disbelief. Then, for a moment, agonized heartbreak.

And then the mask falls in place again. Gavin smiles, his canines already long and sharp. "...Of course. I should have expected this. Ah well, can't be helped."

He'd rather drown the emotions that result than process them. But when the distractions stop working, he'll vanish into the woods or some pocket dimension or something. Scream and howl for a bit. Just until it stops hurting. And then he'll head back home, and pretend nothing ever went wrong.

#Gavin Blakesley (oc)

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mimisempai · 2 years

Text

You are not the sum of your mistakes

Summary

There were nights like that. Nights when his guilt was stronger than anything. Nights when a darkness deeper than the night threatened to engulf him. Hob, tormented by the guilt of his past mistakes, can't sleep and talks to his sleeping lover.

Notes:

Another emotional and sweet moment between Hob and Dream

On Ao3

Rating T - 1083 words

There were nights like that.

Nights when sleep eluded him.

Nights when his vulnerabilities called to him.

Nights when his guilt was stronger than anything.

Nights when a darkness deeper than the night threatened to engulf him.

Hob was sitting against the headboard, eyes wide open and unable to sleep.

Dream moved against him, his nose brushing against his thigh, making him smile slightly. He looked down, taking comfort in the steady movement of Dream's shoulders with each breath, in his breath brushing against his skin. Hob couldn't help but to touch Dream's tousled hair softly, but his lover seemed to be sleeping soundly and didn't move an inch.

Then Hob sighed deeply and spoke softly, "I had a bad day today," he sighed again before continuing, "Some of the students came up to me with questions at the end of class and it stirred up memories I'd rather forget but I'm not allowed to forget, bad choices I made, consequences of those choices."

Hob had to stop to swallow the lump in his throat. Dream hummed in his sleep but still seemed to be asleep so Hob breathed in several times before continuing, "I don't understand how someone like you can be here with me, and sleep against me like this, when... when I feel soiled by the wrong I've done to others, people who have suffered because of my bad decisions. I wonder what I would have become if you hadn't shown me how bad I was, would I have become and remain what I condemn in my classes? Is that who I am deep inside? A man capable of depriving other men of their freedom just to make a fortune. Should I have asked to stop living to avoid making so many mistakes?"

He sighed heavily as he continued to stroke Dream's hair with his now slightly trembling hand.

"You make me so happy, that sometimes I think we are almost living in a fairy tale." Hob let out a small deprecatory laugh, "that I'm the toad you turned into a prince by granting him eternal life, but finally I see the truth, I'm not the hero of the fairy tale but the sneaky, greedy villain..."

Suddenly, startling Hob, Dream straightened up, put his arm around Hob's waist and, with a quick skillful gesture, made him lie on his back and lay on top of him, cradling his legs around his waist, his elbows over his shoulders and his hands in Hob's hair to prevent him from looking away.

Hob felt completely engulfed by the presence of Dream who was looking him in the eyes, his expression both serious and sweet.

He wanted to escape this gaze, this softness to which he did not think he was entitled, but Dream maintained firmly his head in place and, seeing his torment, leaned and pressed a lingering kiss on his forehead before moving away again slightly, his eyes still in Hob's.

Looking into Dream's eyes, Hob's throat tightened as he saw nothing but understanding, acceptance and love there.

He breathed in a barely audible voice, "Dream..."

But Dream shook his head and put a finger to Hob's lips, "Shhh... it's my turn to speak now."

Hob swallowed at the sound of determination he sensed in Dream's voice as he continued, "Never say that about yourself, Hob Gadling. Never say you're a villain."

"But... " he couldn't help but interrupt Hob.

Dream shook his head again.

"Have you made any bad choices? Undoubtedly. But once you knew the nature of those choices and their consequences, what did you do? You took responsibility for your actions and tried to fix them, as best you could. You are so aware of this that you lie awake at night wracked with guilt. You have turned these mistakes into the best way you know how, educating new generations so that they don't make the same mistakes you did. You've made some bad choices, made some poor decisions, but you're a good person, Hob Gadling."

Dream paused and again, gave him a lingering kiss on the forehead before continuing, "You have the right to doubt, you have the right to feel weak, but you don't have the right to say that you're a bad guy. I know a lot about what a real villain is. You have a big heart, you have an amazing ability to see the good in people, you show me your weaknesses, you don't hide any of your mistakes, and most importantly the greatest quality of all, you accept my own weaknesses and flaws. A villain would never do that."

These last words brought a trembling smile to Hob's lips.

Dream stroked that smile with his thumb and smiled back before continuing, a little mischievous glint in his eye: "And then, let's not forget that you are charming and extremely pleasant to look at."

Hob couldn't help but laugh, "I could say the same thing about you, you know."

Dream nodded, "You do it all the time. You encourage everyone all the time so it's time someone did it for you."

He pressed a light kiss to Hob's lips and said softly, "Don't sell yourself short. You're a good person, Hob Gadling."

Hob closed his eyes, chasing away a small tear that didn't have time to run down his cheek because Dream had wiped it gently with his thumb.

"Come here, my love."

Dream slid onto the mattress and encased Hob in his arms, cradling his head in the crook of his neck. Hob wrapped his arms around Dream, holding on as tightly as he could.

Dream whispered against his hair, "I love you, Hob Gadling."

Amidst the few tears he allowed to escape, Hob smiled into Dream's neck, feeling the warmth emanating from every part of Dream's body. Sighing, Hob surrendered completely against Dream and whispered, "I know. "

Dream hummed because by acknowledging Dream's love, Hob was accepting that despite what he saw as his darkness, his flaws and weaknesses, Dream loved him. Unconditionally.

Lulled by the words of love and comfort that Dream continued to whisper into his hair, Hob fell asleep.

There were nights like that.

Nights when sleep eluded him.

Nights when his vulnerabilities called to him.

Nights when his guilt was stronger than anything.

Nights when a darkness deeper than the night threatened to engulf him.

But this was not one of those nights, for tonight the light of Dream's love had dispelled the darkness that threatened to engulf Hob's heart.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Dreamling Masterlist here

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #dreamling fic #centennial husbands #centennial boyfriends #morpheus #morpheus x hob #hob x morpheus

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bonesandthebees · 1 year

Note

This part is just going to be about theories as to what could happen and details that I think are neat.

1. Reason behind Tommy's attack: So Tommy's been more skittish and on edge since Wilbur almost murdered him, that is a big given though he's been fairly good at hiding it. He's been carrying a knife around with him so that was a Chekhov's gun, very well played Bee. My best guess is that something happened that caught Tommy off guard (he hasn't been out since the ball, people are constantly pointing that out so I'm assuming it's a mix of him being anxious about almost dying and him being out for the first time in a while), he accidentally slashed Jack who saw it as an attack, maybe he said something before that gives him reason to suspect that that's why he was attacked, I don't know but people are not very logical if they have just been stabbed or otherwise endured bodily harm via knife. We don't know what Jack's exact wounds are so that is my best guess under the assumption that it was a slash of some kind on maybe his leg or something since Niki was helping him up but I'm not dying on this hill. Jack is a smart guy and probably won't jump to 'attempted murder' over one jab and if it was on his leg, it probably wasn't very severe since he would need to run back to the temple.

Basically, I don't fucking know but that is my best guess. My theory is about as solid as swiss cheese.

2. Ponk not giving the bottle of pills out of fear that Wilbur would overdose? Yeah that checks out. Even Niki is afraid of that. I do think that while Wilbur is not actively a suicide threat, he is very unstable and all it takes is one night or moment when he's alone and a sharp downward spiral for him to decide to restart the Pythia cycle. It's a smart move by Ponk but very very sad. But now that Tommy has joined the attempted murderer club, currently populated only by the dude who tried to kill him, I wonder if he's actually going to get those pills. I would hope so but I'm not sure who would get them for him other than like Phil and Techno but they'd be very occupied and I'm unsure if Wilbur would ever think about opening a door for anything when Tommy is in emotional distress and not the Deathlings favourite little guy right now.

Even if Wilbur knows that they wouldn't hurt Tommy, I don't doubt that his protective streak will kick into high gear, maybe to a point that he wouldn't trust anyone around him, especially if Tommy doesn't want to see anyone & in general his reaction to possibly seeing other people once he is out of crowd and back in his room with Wil.

But idk, we will see

3. Shrike symbolism!! I love that Wilbur is like "man, the little birdie in my chest could be a shrike but like, I'm not cool enough for that. I'm just a songbird" but Niki is kind of gently nudging him towards "don't underestimate yourself" while also just making a general statement, at least that's how I see it. But also maybe foreshadowing. Wilbur finally snapping and going sicko mode?? I'm waiting for it. I will not be caught off guard again.

4. Niki and Jack's backstory :((

We get another look at how dogshit and corrupt this country is and we get it from the perspective of someone outside the palace. Someone who first hand experienced the brunt of the corruption and just wahhh. She's being so open and vulnerable as to what happened, it's fucking awful with what's to come. I cannot put into words how distraught this makes me, especially when I was so happy with like 'oh Niki and Techno crumbs!!'. How dare u.

I think I'm done for now though. You'll know if I have anything else to say lmao

Great chapter, I am so nervous about the next chapter and what's going to happen in it.

2/2

- 🦈

oooo interesting theory as to what happened, you'll have to wait and see :)

yeahhhh the bottle of pills thing is probably okay for wilbur right now given he's a lot better than he was doing just a week before, but ponk and niki weren't sure of that. also not gonna say anything else regarding tommy getting painkillers. you'll have to wait and see for the next chapter.

the shrike symbolism was so fun to include i've had that written down for AGES now. niki was definitely trying to nudge him into thinking better of himself, so we'll ahve to wait and see how that progresses

(also just a note bc I don't really know where else I could talk about this, but shrikes are known for impaling their prey sometimes with their beaks. chapter 11, which is when wilbur has his panic attack after slipping up about schlatt, is called 'a beak jammed into a bone' referring to the bird in his chest and how it felt like it 'impaled' his ribcage when that happened :))

niki's backstory gave me a lot of opportunity to flesh out how fucked up the society they live in is. just the corruption that sits at the heart of it all. and yes techno and niki crumbs i love their dynamic <3

tysm for this shark anon!! i've missed seeing you in my inbox i hope you're doing well!!

#ask #shark anon #through a glass divine

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youwillbeokayamemoir · 1 year

Text

I've always been a writer...

But I never had a purpose for writing (outside of academia) beyond expressing myself.

I never engaged in an exercise intended to improve my writing. I never tried to write for a particular audience. Yet, I knew I had one.

I'm told my writing is eloquent. Thoughtful.

I knew that I could write something for an audience. But it's been so hard for me to come up with what that might be... because I don't want to write a dense, tome.

I want what I write to be accessible. I want it to be somewhere between the cryptic posts I used to write for my mostly anonymous Tumblr audience and the oversharing that I do when I'm trying to help someone understand me.

I don't want to write something for people to understand me. I want to write something that helps people feel connection. Maybe to me. More likely, what they're actually connecting to is themselves. But that's just being the analytical human that I am.

Here is what I know about myself that I think is worth sharing with others. I have an ability to look deeply at darkness. And overtime, my relationship with the dark has made me INCREDIBLY sensitive to the light. Some might call it resilience. I think it more as acceptance and gratitude for the full range of emotions.

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to start cataloguing all of my "positive" memories. Because like physics of light, most memories are a blend of positive and negative, this isn't going to be a memoir empty of the darkness or fullness of life. I'm just going to approaching a review of my life through a "positive" light.

I'm going to recollect my youth through age 33 by focusing on moments I'm deeply grateful for and remember with a smile. Some of these memories are incredibly dark. Some of them involve trauma. But I treasure them nonetheless.

I'm naming this memoir, or collection of somewhat disconnected memories, after a piece of my writing I wrote in one of these moments. After experiencing, several psychologically abusive relationships in my late teens and early 20s, I had sworn off finding love. Even before I started grade school, I remember being obsessed with romantic love. I've been crushing since I was five. And after chasing that feeling and feeling like I was actually going to have a psychological break the next time... I just wanted to spend sometime resisting the urge to partner up.

Then I met someone. I wanted to resist. But it was super time bound and I just wanted to... enjoy him. I was terrified of losing myself again. And I just told him all of the feelings I was having about having met him. And it didn't scare him off. He just expressed gratitude for my vulnerability and openness. So I decided to risk it.

To date this is still one my favorite things I've ever written for myself. I think it represents so much of the way I've tried to live my life since I've decided that I didn't want to seek happiness or a romantic relationship anymore and then met someone who made me want to risk experiencing deep, devastating heartbreak again...

Life is funny

I’m presented with someone who just might be able to handle me, someone who would be good for me, and I know from the start that it’s only a moment.

maybe it’s a lesson, I won’t know until it’s all said and done what that lesson is. But, for now, I’m sticking with lessons I’ve already learned:

Cherish what you have, while you have it.

Don’t worry so much, it makes things worse.

Go with the flow, it’s going to be a bumpy ride. One that is so much more fun when you aren’t trying to fight it.

Don’t have unrealistic expectations about the way someone else will behave, you can only control your own behavior.

Be realistic, but take time to appreciate what is truly awesome.

Live in the present tense.

No matter what happens, you’ll be okay.

#memoir #autobiography #writing #youth #love #life

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giffingthingsss · 2 years

Text

The Trip/T’Pol scenes in The Good That Men Do. I compiled this mainly for myself, but just in case anyone else needs therapy, here. I trimmed, especially the explanations that people who watched the show don’t need.

Spoilers. Finish the show first.

[Trip:] “Minister, if it’s all the same to you, we’d like to begin the ceremony for Elizabeth now.”

T’Pau nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Certainly. The priests have prepared the chamber for you. They have only to deliver the vessel containing the child.” She turned to walk away...

“Thank you,” T’Pol said, her voice flat, and quieter than normal. She turned to look at Trip, her dark eyes wide.

He hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and pulling her into a hug with his uninjured right arm. He felt her frame stiffen against him before relaxing almost imperceptibly...

During the few days since Elizabeth’s death, Trip and T’Pol had tried to comfort each other, but something seemed fundamentally broken now. Even when Phlox had related his subsequent discovery that whatever incompatibilities might exist between human and Vulcan DNA wouldn’t prevent Trip and T’Pol from reproducing together in the future, the news had seemed depressing rather than hopeful.

Now, Trip felt T’Pol push away from him, away from his embrace, away from the safety of his arms, away from his emotions. She did not look up at him, but turned quickly.

“We should go,” he heard her say, but all the strength was gone from her voice. She may not have been crying outwardly—her face displayed no emotion—but Trip had never heard her sound so…crushed.

As T’Pol walked away, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was really the moment when their relationship finally ended.

Meditating here, in front of the sepulchers that contained the remains of her mother and of her own daughter, T’Pol felt herself clinging to the hope that neither of them was truly gone. That perhaps their katras did exist, perhaps embedded in the very stone, sand, and soil of this hallowed place.

Of course, she also had to admit to herself that her hope was undeniably born of emotion...There were times when she blamed [trellium damage] for her continued feelings for Charles Tucker, and yet she knew that even that explanation was disingenuous. Love, while commonly thought of as an emotion, was certainly possible for even the most logical and restrained of Vulcans.

Partners loved each other, family members loved each other…it wasn’t the love itself that was the issue, it was the emotions that accompanied it. Joy, sadness, ambivalence, anger, fear, comfort—all of these had come to her, and had sometimes threatened to overwhelm her, during the times she’d shared with Trip.

Even now, as she looked over to him, kneeling on the stone floor, his head bowed in prayer, tears streaming down his dusty cheeks, T’Pol felt herself torn. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to comfort him and seek his comfort in turn, but she also wanted to reject him, to gird herself against weakness and vulnerability.

She knew that their love was undeniable. Just as she knew it was untenable.

Unbidden, she felt a sharp laugh escape her throat from deep within her. It was a laugh born not of mirth, but rather spawned by something very akin to despair. It seemed to echo inside the chamber for an uncomfortable eternity, though she supposed it had probably remained in the air only long enough to cause Trip to open his eyes and look at her.

In that moment, she was lost. T’Pol squeezed her eyes tightly, willing away the tears that welled up in them. She clenched her teeth as her lips trembled. She felt the IDIC symbol that hung from the chain around her neck...The metal and stone in the symbol were cold in her hand. Cold and dead. As was her mother. And her child.

No. Their child was dead.

In the short time she had known Elizabeth, she was astonished at the instinctual bond she’d shared with the tiny creature. The girl had laughed and cooed several times, but mostly she had just stared at T’Pol and Trip with those dark, round eyes, a sense of nearly complete serenity radiating from the core of her being. Even while in the throes of her terminal fever and sickness, if T’Pol and Trip were both present, Elizabeth had barely cried. It was as if she suppressed only the negative emotions, allowing only the positive ones to come through.

Was that happiness and calm related to the synthesis of her parents’ Vulcan and human DNA, or had it been a function of her individual personality? The answer to that question would never be known.

T’Pol felt herself trembling, could hear a keening sound she knew was coming from within her. The waves of loss rolled through her mind, washing over every emotional barrier she possessed.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and opened her eyes. Through the blur of unshed tears, she saw Trip in front of her, tears streaming down his own face. This was a recently familiar sight; he had cried in her quarters last week, and then again several times during the Coridanite ship’s flight from Earth to Vulcan. But this time, she was crying with him.

Every part of her wanted him to enfold her in his arms, wanted him to protect her from her own feelings. But he was more emotional than she was. She knew that the more she was with him, the more she would lose control of herself, of the carefully constructed mental barriers she had erected, of the intense passions they kept at bay.

She was broken inside, and she knew that both now and in the future, Trip would only keep the fractures open.

Their child was dead. And she knew that their feelings for each other must, by necessity, by logic, die as well.

And yet, through her tears, she saw her own arms reaching out for him, saw him moving toward her, felt the comfort of his embrace, the strength within him.

For a long time, they held each other and cried, for all the losses of their past, their present, and, perhaps, of their future.

As the trio moved through the hallways to a docking pad and boarded Shuttlepod One to return to Enterprise, Archer couldn’t help noting not only that Trip and T’Pol were not talking much, but also that they both seemed to be going out their way to avoid making any kind of physical contact.

It’s to be expected, I guess, Archer thought.

“Our intelligence sources show strong indications that the Romulans are on the verge of perfecting a new generation of starships, vessels capable of reaching speeds of at least warp seven.”

Trip couldn’t keep his jaw from falling open. “Warp seven...”

Trip gripped the sides of his desk tightly. His head was spinning, and only in part because of all the tequila he’d just consumed with Malcolm. “How do you know all this, Harris?”

“As Lieutenant Reed has no doubt already told you, Commander, I am part of an organization that has access to numerous intelligence networks and other resources, including some not immediately available either to Starfleet or most of the other agencies of United Earth’s government.”

...Trip blinked in surprise. “Why contact me?”

“Because your skills could prove invaluable to us, Commander. We need engineers capable of neutralizing the Romulans’ plans directly. People like you who already have a hands-on grasp of the inner workings of Romulan technology.”

..“All right. I’m in,” Trip said at length. “At least until we get done neutering this Romulan invasion. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

“Harris plans on putting me under deep cover. From the sound of it, it’ll involve some surgical alterations, to make me look like a Romulan.”

...“Do they know what the Romulans look like?”

Trip shrugged. “Harris says they don’t. But they have connections with people who do. People who supposedly can make me look enough like one of them to pass.”

“Well, at least we know they’re humanoid,” Archer said, half under his breath.

...“I’ll be working alongside one of their most experienced operatives.” Trip said. “Our job will be to infiltrate their new stardrive project and sabotage it. They need someone with engineering experience to pull this off. That’s why they can’t use Malcolm.”

...“If you feel that the threat is real enough for you to take a leap like this, Trip, I’ll do my best to make it easy for you. I’ll approve an extended leave of absence.”...

“Actually, Captain, I won’t need a leave of absence,” Trip said quietly as Archer took another swallow from his coffee cup. “Because I need to die first.”

...“Now you’re talking crazy talk,” Archer said, frowning.

“No, think of it as a kind of witness protection plan. If I’m dead, it insulates Enterprise, and Earth—and my family and friends—from any sort of retaliation or repercussion. Politically or otherwise.” ...

“What about your family? They’ve already lost your sister.” Archer hesitated for a moment, knowing he was treading on shaky ground, then decided it would be better to forge ahead. “And what about T’Pol? Are you really ready to give up on her?”...

Trip wiped the palm of his hand across one cheek, and then the other. His voice was tremulous. “They won’t know,” he said. “They can’t know....There are two people who will have to help me with this, besides yourself. Malcolm is the one that got me into this...”

“And Phlox,” Archer said, nodding. “He’ll have to be the one to sign the death certificate.”

“Yep.”

“What about…? Are you sure?” Archer let his words trail off, trusting that Trip knew exactly who he was talking about.

“She can’t know,” Trip said, his face creasing as if he was about to weep again. “She’ll be fine. She’ll control her emotions and meditate and move on. Hell, after what we just experienced together on Vulcan, I think maybe she’s already starting to move on.”

The captain flipped the communicator’s grid open. “We need help in sickbay,” he said, his voice now sounding strained. “Trip’s been hurt.”

“Alerting sickbay personnel now,” T’Pol said, her voice issuing from the device. “What has happened?” Phlox could hear the concern in her tone as he moved to a nearby com panel to enter the command that would summon his emergency med tech staff.

“The intruders were trying to get to Shran and Theras,” Archer said to T’Pol. “Trip tried to stop them. He got caught in some kind of plasma explosion.”

Trip listened quietly to the sounds of his own death. A chill slowly navigated the length of his spine, reminding him of how his mother described that very sensation: “Somebody just walked across your grave.” ...

He closed his eyes again, and in the resulting darkness he saw a slow parade of faces.

His mother, Elaine. His father, Charles. His brother, Albert.

T’Pol.

The pain came then, like a barbed lance piercing his heart.

T’Pol reached for the small framed photograph on Trip’s desk. The image was of him scuba-diving in Earth’s Caribbean Sea...

She felt sadness welling up inside her again like a towering wave, and stopped to concentrate, willing the emotion to be suppressed....

She started to fold Trip’s uniform, but found herself, without cause, pulling it close to her face. She inhaled deeply, directing the residual musky scent of her former lover on the garment...The door to Trip’s quarters slid open, but T’Pol didn’t turn to see who was entering.

“Need any help?” Captain Archer asked, leaning against the bulkhead beside the bed.

T’Pol began refolding the uniform, handling it as though it were a precision scientific instrument. “No, thank you.”

Archer gestured toward the case she had been preparing. “For his parents?”

Nodding listlessly, T’Pol asked, “Will they still be coming to the ceremony?”

“We didn’t talk long, but I’ll try to make sure that they do. I think they know that Trip wouldn’t want it any other way.”...

Aware that the captain was watching her expectantly, she said, “I’d like to meet them.”

“His parents?” asked Archer.

“Yes, I’d like to meet them.”...

“They’re a little eccentric. I think you’ll see where Trip got his sense of humor.”

“My mother was somewhat eccentric, as well,” T’Pol said....

Archer sat on the bed and leaned toward her. “When I took command of Enterprise almost four years ago, I saw myself as an explorer. I thought all the risks would be worth it…because just beyond the next planet, just beyond the next star, there would be something magnificent. Something…noble.”

He paused, as if searching for the right words. “And now, Trip is dead…In a few weeks, I have to go give that speech at the Coalition Compact signing ceremony. I have to talk about how all the risks were worth it, about how worthwhile it’s all been…”

“Trip would be the first to say it was worthwhile,” T’Pol said, her voice barely wavering as she swallowed still more of her sorrow.

...He opened his mouth as if to say something further, then looked away, to the viewport and the warp-distorted streaks of starlight beyond. Finally, he stood and walked to the door. “I’ll leave you to finish here, T’Pol. But if you need to talk to me—even if you need to let down your famous Vulcan guard—you’re welcome to. I won’t tell.”

T’Pol regarded her captain for a moment. She wondered what he would think if she revealed that one of the last things she had told her mother before her death was that she didn’t want anything further to do with her. How would Archer feel if he were to learn that when she had first learned of little Elizabeth’s mixed parentage, she had wanted nothing more than for the child to disappear?

What would his reaction be if he knew that Trip and T’Pol had decided to break off their relationship completely on Vulcan, but that she had found among his belongings an undelivered letter written after their journey—a letter in which Trip had described his deep and full love for her, and the pain their separation was causing him?

And worst of all were her own traitorous thoughts, full of love and other emotions as well, all of which brought her anguish every time she considered life without Trip.

And now, she had no choice but to forge ahead alone. Her mother, her child, her lover. All gone.

She swallowed and blinked, masking her shame behind what she hoped was an impassive Vulcan mask. “Thank you for your offer, Captain. But I believe I can deal with such things on my own.”

The words seemed to echo in the air after Archer exited.

On my own.

T’Pol lay her head down on one of Trip’s pillows. Then, silently, agonizingly, before she could halt them, tears rolled down her cheeks.

Although his apprehensions about what lay ahead—particularly about what awaited him in the surgical facilities—hadn’t entirely abated, they had at least receded somewhat.

Maybe I really did make the best decision I could have by agreeing to come out here, he thought. And the sooner we get the deed done, the sooner I’ll be able to tell my folks and T’Pol that “the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

That was assuming, of course, that he’d find a way to survive a sojourn in entirely unknown space, while hiding and spying among deadly adversaries, people that no one from his planet had ever even laid eyes on before.

As the sleek torpedo casing was launched into space, the majority of Enterprise’s crew who had assembled in Shuttlepod One’s launch bay stood silent, while some wept or sniffled. At the forefront of the crowd, near Captain Archer and the other command staff, T’Pol neither cried nor sniffled, nor even felt the strong need to suppress the emotions that were no longer battling within her.

The feelings that had so wracked her mental disciplines when she had been in Trip’s quarters had given way to an almost preternatural calm. She had wondered at first if she were in shock, but earlier in Trip’s memorial service, when she had touched the smooth surface of his metal coffin, another thought had sprung into her mind.

For some reason she couldn’t properly identify, touching the torpedo casing had given T’Pol a gnawing disquiet, a suspicion that something was not right. But the precise nature of that something, however, remained frustratingly obscure to her.

Now, as Trip’s casket drifted away into trackless space, T’Pol wondered idly if the decision to jettison his remains here, so far from his native Earth, was really what Trip would have wanted. But when she had brought this objection to the attention of Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed, they had both assured her that the action had been taken to honor one of Trip’s final requests...

Oddly, not only was Archer adamant about following Trip’s wishes, he also seemed particularly intent on carrying out the memorial ceremony and services quickly, weeks before Enterprise was due to return to Earth.

It seemed to T’Pol that the logical course of action would have been to wait until Trip’s remains could be taken to Earth, so that his family, friends, and colleagues could commemorate him, and then launch Trip into space afterward. But the captain had disagreed.

T’Pol looked to the side of the launch bay, where she noticed Doctor Phlox studying her intently. She stared back at him, and they locked eyes for a moment before the Denobulan physician turned away. For some reason she could not identify, the doctor’s inquisitive stare made her apprehensive.

How much has she figured out? Phlox thought, more than a little concerned.

“Thank you for coming to see me, T’Pol,” he said, doing his best to sound casual as he gestured toward one of the sickbay’s biobeds. “I was going to request that you pay me a visit anyway, so I’m pleased that you’ve saved me the trouble.”

T’Pol leaned against the bed, keeping her hands at her sides. “Why did you wish to see me, Doctor?” she asked, one eyebrow slightly raised. She seemed to be making no effort to conceal her curiosity....

“In addition to my role as a general physician, I often function as a mental health practitioner, in lieu of any other officer aboard this ship acting in that capacity—other than Chef, I suppose.” He spread his hands and smiled widely.

“I don’t know if that’s because of my bedside manner, or because doctors are bound by their medical ethics to hold anything their patients tell them in strictest confidence, as long as it doesn’t endanger the ship.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment, but T’Pol merely stared at him curiously, making no immediate effort to step into the conversational breach.

After thirty seconds or so, she finally opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again, then spoke at last. “Are you saying that you believe that there is something confidential that I wish to share with you?”

Phlox tilted his head, returning her curious stare with one of his own. “I didn’t say that, Commander, but if you were burdened with such a secret, I’d be more than willing to hear it—and I’d be obliged to be discreet about it.” He folded his hands in front of his stomach, waiting. Beyond his genuine concern, he also hoped to gauge exactly how much T’Pol might really suspect about the truth behind Trip’s “death.”

T’Pol dipped her head, then spoke again in a much quieter voice than usual. “I have had difficulty controlling my emotions ever since Trip’s death.”

She began twisting her hands together, evidently unconsciously. “I had a very difficult…breakdown of my emotional barriers last week, while I was packing up Trip’s personal effects.”

“That isn’t surprising,” Phlox said gently. “Losing a compatriot is difficult enough, and losing a…lover is wrenching, to say the very least. But when one factors in the extraordinary emotional strain you’ve been under lately, on Vulcan, and on Mars, this…event might be—as the humans put it—the proverbial ‘straw that broke the camel’s back.”’

She stiffened, as though offended. “I am a Vulcan.”

“T’Pol,” he continued, “Vulcans are most certainly not devoid of emotions, however adept you have become in the practice of suppressing them. Vulcans experience feelings as full and rich as those of any species. But suppressing emotions tends to put them under pressure. And when something is under too much pressure for too long, it can erupt unexpectedly, sometimes with rather alarming results.”

He turned and grabbed one of his handheld medical scanners, then approached T’Pol more closely. “Lift your head, please.” He began scanning her, holding the glowing, whirring device next to her temple.

“Were there any physical side effects to your…breakdown? Other than your eyes, I mean.” He had noticed that her nictitating inner eyelid had suffered multiple broken blood vessels, which gave their normally clear membranes a slightly lime-colored tint...

He backed away slightly to study the readings on his scanner, then set it down on a countertop and turned back to her. “Beyond recent events in your life, I can think of another possible causal factor for your recent…emotional lapse,” he said. “The aftereffects of the trellium.”...

“I have been able to control my emotions since that time,” T’Pol said, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. “Until now.”

Phlox nodded. “Have you? Or were you struggling to control them on a deeper level?” He approached her again, staring into her eyes. “I’ve seen you fighting your emotions, T’Pol. More and more....If you are susceptible to emotional outbursts due to a residual chemical imbalance in your body, it may be more harmful to you not to give in to your emotions, at least from time to time.”

T’Pol nodded, but Phlox could see that she had discarded his advice the instant he had voiced it. He stepped away and pretended to tidy up his counter.

“There is something else,” T’Pol said, her voice clearer. “Something that I do not believe can be blamed on the trellium, or on my present lack of emotional restraint.”

Phlox stiffened slightly. This is where she tells me her suspicions, he thought. He turned back toward her.

T’Pol crossed her arms across her chest and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Despite these telltale signs of nervousness, her face remained an all but inscrutable mask. “I believe that Commander Tucker is still alive...I know that it’s a logical impossibility....”

[Phlox] paused and modulated his voice. “Why do you think he isn’t dead?”

“There are…things we shared, which have forever linked us,” T’Pol said. He could tell that she was holding something back, and wondered if she was talking about a mind-meld between Trip and herself.

...”Today, when I touched the torpedo casing that contained Trip’s remains, I felt nothing but…cold. Absence. Though I know it is not logical, all my instincts told me that he was not inside the torpedo.”

“He wasn’t,” Phlox said. T’Pol looked at him inquisitively. He stepped closer to her. “The body that was in that tube was not Commander Tucker. The essence of what Trip was still exists out in the universe. He is still out there,” he said.

“More importantly, Trip is also here,” he said, touching a finger to T’Pol’s forehead. “And here.” He touched the right side of her ribcage, where he knew the Vulcan heart to be located. “And he will be with us forever.”

T’Pol stared at him, the area between her eyebrows twitching and wrinkling as she struggled with the maelstrom of emotion that was clearly roiling within her. And then, abruptly, her forehead smoothed, and she nodded.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said.

Half an hour later, alone in sickbay, Phlox looked up from feeding his Aldebaran mud leeches. He realized, in a flash, that although he had managed to talk to T’Pol without telling her any bald-faced lies, she, too, might have pulled a canny maneuver on him.

T’Pol sat in Shuttlepod Two with the others. Ensign Mayweather was at the helm, and a pair of MACOs sat at the ready. The cabin was dimly lit, and the ship rocked sharply as they entered the troposphere of the planet.

“I went to see Phlox this morning,” the man sitting next to her said.

She turned, and was startled to see a Vulcan sitting there. Had he been there all this time? And yet, he was not a Vulcan, despite the dark hair, arched brows, gracefully pointed ears, and slightly green-tinted skin. Something about him was different, yet comfortably familiar.

“I saw the doctor today as well,” T’Pol said, unsure of what else to say.

The man turned toward her. “Did he talk about me?” T’Pol’s eyebrow rose reflexively. “You?” “Us?”

“What about us?” T’Pol asked. “This is illogical.”

“Why’d you bring it up, then?” the man asked. The shuttle continued to rock around them, but none of the others present were speaking, as if they were frozen in place.

Exasperated, T’Pol turned and looked more closely at the man. There was something in his eyes…He smiled and winked, and then reached up to tug on the zipper at the top of his head. His skin unzipped down his forehead, over his nose and lips, down his chin, and to his chest.

T’Pol reached over and pulled apart the skin, revealing the far more familiar face underneath. Trip smiled at her, his expression both sweet and haunted. He was most certainly not dead. “Wherever you are, do you ever miss me?” she asked, pitching her voice low to prevent the others from hearing. It didn’t matter, since it appeared that they were no longer aboard the shuttlepod anyway; they were in his quarters aboard Enterprise.

He looked surprised. “You mean…”

She nodded shyly. “Yes.”

He picked up the toy armadillo from above the bed and idly played with it as he looked out the viewport at the stars, which looked like so many twinkling lights set against a black velvet curtain. “You know how long it’s been?” he finally asked.

“That’s not what I asked you,” she said, standing, nude, and approaching him from behind. He bent forward as she began applying neuropressure to his shoulders. “Well…uh…yeah…I guess, sometimes.” The remainder of the green-tinted Vulcan skinsuit began to slough away under T’Pol’s ministrations, exposing more of Trip beneath it. She grasped it in the center of his back and tore it away. The remnants fluttered to the floor and became fine gritty sand, like the parched red soil of Vulcan’s Forge.

“I haven’t thought about those days in a long time,” T’Pol said, reaching around his sides to hug him from behind. He turned around and looked down at her, smiling slightly. “Benefit of being a Vulcan.”

She lay back on the bed with him, sweat beading on her collarbone and forehead. A wave of ecstasy moved through her. His skills were so different from the savage couplings of Pon farr.

“After speaking with Doctor Phlox, I realized that we might never see each other again, dead or alive,” she said finally, the warm glow ebbing.

He climbed on top of her, pressing her down into the mattress as he placed his hands against her temples, spreading his fingers and placing his thumbs beside the bridge of her nose. “I can guarantee you that we’re not going to lose touch. My mind to your mind. Stop thinking like that. My thoughts to your thoughts.”

The tears flowed out of her again, pouring over his fingers and down her face in rivulets, filling the bed, submerging them both in seconds. Trip pulled her close as they sank into the warmth, his mouth coming to hers, his eyes seeing into her soul.

However long it may be…I believe I’m going to miss you, she thought. And in her dreams, the tears and regret and happiness and love caused T’Pol no pain at all.

Trip could see T’Pol lying on the bed beside him, although he knew that her presence here was a physical impossibility. Even so, there she was, warm against his body, speaking with him, making love to him.

It was obvious that she was no phantom image from some transient dream; she was every bit as tangible and real as he was.

...She was here with me, right in this room, Trip thought, still unable to relinquish the sense of reality the absurd dream-reality had carried with it. I know she was here.

The power relays, Trip thought woozily. He used the power relays to stun me...

Trip fought harder than ever to move his body. He was rewarded by a loud tapping sound that he quickly realized was one of his boots coming into sharp contact with the bottom of one of the cockpit chairs. H

e was elated to have achieved movement, albeit uncontrolled. But Ehrehin must have noticed, because a second brief but crippling surge of current shot through the cable and into Trip’s body, penetrating his insulated suit as though it weren’t even there.

As consciousness began to flee behind another salvo of bright, vision-obscuring spots, his final coherent thoughts were of T’Pol, with whom he still shared an intimate if tenuous mind-link. And whom he would never again see, nor bring any succor from the grief to which he had already subjected her.

He tumbled over the edge of oblivion wondering whether she would sense the distant echoes of his death.

“You’re saying you want to send me back to where I just came from—where I damned near died—because I’m the only one who’s already dressed for the part?”

Harris seemed not to notice Trip’s unhappy tone. “There’s no better candidate...we need you back...”

“You need me to stay dead,” Trip stated. The idea was very nearly unbearable.

“Only for a while, Commander. A year or two, perhaps. Our most pessimistic experts foresee perhaps five years of Romulan conflict at the very outside.”

Although the Kemper family quickly passed out of his view and into the milling crowd, the child had remained in Trip’s sight long enough to churn up the painful memory of standing with T’Pol in the parched, red Vulcan desert to bury little Elizabeth.

At that instant, all the tragic might-have-beens he’d either faced or turned his back on throughout his life returned to him at once, threatening to bury him in an emotional rockslide. Not wanting to allow anyone to see a weeping Vulcan, he stuffed his rising agony back down as best he could....

Trip moved on, more determined than ever to do what he’d come here to do. His parents might not have been sufficiently trained in the art of keeping secrets to allow him to risk revealing himself to them today.

But T’Pol was a different matter. Of all the people he cared about—and had been forced to deceive so cruelly, thanks both to the Romulans and Section 31—she was certainly capable of handling the plain truth.

Archer returned to his ancient, crumbling dressing room to finish making the final preparations for his speech, for better or worse. When he opened the door, he found a black-robed male Vulcan waiting for him.

“Can I help you?” he asked....The Vulcan responded with an incongruous ear-to-ear grin—and spoke with a voice that he had half expected never to hear again.

“Cap’n, it’s me. It’s Trip.”

Turning toward T’Pol, the captain favored the Vulcan with a wry grin. “You’d better get out there. You don’t want to miss me screwing this thing up.”

T’Pol looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “I’m going to remain down here, if you don’t mind.”

“You never liked crowds, did you?” Archer said, smiling....he remembered the note that Trip had entrusted to him—a note that Archer hadn’t looked at and whose contents Trip hadn’t explained. He reached into his coat and extracted the single folded sheet, wondering whether it contained a final farewell—and if he’d see his oldest friend ever again.

Archer wordlessly handed her the note, then withdrew a few paces as she unfolded the paper and read its contents, her unlined face betraying not the slightest reaction as her dark eyes absorbed Trip’s message. Then something unidentifiable, and perhaps even worrisome, passed behind T’Pol’s dark eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come up and watch the speeches?” Archer asked. She nodded.

“Thank you, Captain. I am quite certain.”

As T’Pol opened the door to Archer’s dressing room, apprehension and eagerness struggled within her even more vehemently than the debates between Sessinek, T’Karik, and Surak that her mother T’Les had told her about so often during her childhood.

She was greeted by a young-looking male Vulcan who sat in the small room’s single chair as if he had been waiting for her to arrive. The first peculiarity she noticed about him was his rather prominent brow ridge. The second was his voice. “Hello, T’Pol,” he said...

“Trip?”... A sheepish grin spread itself across the man’s face, confirming his identity as conclusively as had the sound of his voice.

“Maybe I dreamed it, but I’m pretty sure I told you we weren’t going to lose touch,” he said. He approached her and gently took the folded white sheet of paper she still carried between her suddenly nerveless fingers. “Mind if I take this back? I have to keep the fact that I’m still alive a secret. From most people, that is.”

He folded the sheet again and tucked it into a pocket inside his black traveler’s robe. It occurred to her then that the instinct she had experienced immediately after Trip’s “death” now stood vindicated. Her early, and apparently illogical, conviction that Trip—along with the mind-link she’d shared with him before their romantic entanglement had dissolved—had indeed somehow survived had been borne out.

She was dumbstruck for a seeming eternity, until she found the one word that best expressed her bewildered state of mind: “Why?” His smile faded, and a look of intense regret colored his now uncannily Vulcanoid features.

“The Romulans were about to perfect a new warp seven–capable spacedrive. Somebody had to infiltrate the project and stop them. Somebody who already had some close-up familiarity with their technology.”

“And did you succeed in stopping this project?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, I’m still not completely sure about that...”

“The devastation on Coridan Prime would have been far worse had we not warned them. I assume you had something to do with enabling us to do that.” She paused, then added, “You were Lazarus.” Trip nodded...

“So out of all the possible candidates in Starfleet, Starfleet Command selected you to infiltrate the Romulan Star Empire.”

“Yes. But it wasn’t exactly Starfleet Command. It’s a covert ops bureau buried deep inside Starfleet Intelligence. In fact, Starfleet Command would probably deny even knowing about it.”

“Deceit,” she said, her voice edged more sharply than she had intended. “How very human.” ...

“Humans sure as hell don’t have a monopoly on deceit.”...

She stared at him in silence, not trusting herself to speak again until she succeeded in calming her roiling emotions, or at least in centering herself somewhat. “You should have taken me into your confidence,” she said at length, finally breaking the silence that had begun to stretch awkwardly between them.

“You’re probably right, T’Pol. And I’m sorry.” His eyes glistened with regret, and she was startled when she realized that her own eyes were waging a struggle of their own against a rush of unshed tears.

“Probably”? “Who else knows?” she said aloud.

Tears finally began running freely down his cheeks. “Malcolm. Phlox. The captain.” Only those with an operational need to know, she thought, understanding but still somewhat resentful. And angry. And hurt. “I’m so sorry, T’Pol.”

Still battling her own emotions, she said, “I am…gratified that you survived.”

“Gratified, but also damned pissed off,” Trip said, smiling through his tears.

“Vulcans do not experience such base emotions.”

“Horse apples they don’t.”

“I certainly hope no one else sees you in this emotional state,” she said, though in truth she wasn’t eager to let anybody see her anytime soon either.

“What, are you afraid I’ll give Vulcans a bad name?” Trip said, chuckling at his own comment as he wiped at his still-flowing tears with the heels of both hands.

T’Pol stood watching him, feeling awkward and inadequate to do anything to comfort him, or herself for that matter. Her arms felt like useless vestigial appendages, so she clasped her hands behind her back to keep them out of her way.

...He had said he had been sent into the Romulan Star Empire as an infiltrator. Therefore Charles Tucker now wore the face of a Romulan. And the face of a Romulan was all but indistinguishable from that of a Vulcan. “Your…appearance suggests that Romulans and Vulcans are kindred species,” T’Pol said once she’d found her voice again.

“Looks that way.” Oddly, her emotions began to calm now that she had an external problem of some importance with which to occupy her mind....“If the Romulans truly are a throwback to the warlike, colonizing period of our ancient ancestors, then all the Coalition worlds are in grave danger. The Romulans will never stop attacking us voluntarily.”

“I know,” Trip said. At that moment T’Pol understood with immediate, heart-breaking certainty that he intended to go back among them, and probably quite soon....

“The Coalition will be fragile for a long time, Trip, even after the delegates sign the Compact,” she said.

“I figured that kind of goes without saying,” he said, regarding her with evident curiosity. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“I speak of Vulcan’s…evident kinship with the Romulans. Should this secret ever get out, the other Coalition members—even Earth—will distrust us. The Andorians would almost certainly demand our withdrawal from the alliance, or else abandon it themselves....”

“Looks like we’ve both done the political math the same way,” he said after she’d finished making her case. “Don’t worry, T’Pol. Your people’s secret is safe with me. And I’m just as sure it’ll be safe with my…associates here on Earth. And with Captain Archer, too. As far as I know, that’s everyone else who’s seen the dirty family linen. I’m sure it’s going to be kept strictly off the record.”

She gathered Trip’s meaning clearly, despite his often perplexing human metaphors....“And your secret is safe with me.”

“...I finally came to understand that when I was in Romulan space and thought I was going to die there. I only wish I’d realized it sooner.”

He approached her closely then, put his arms around her, and gathered her in for a kiss. Though surprised, she did not resist, and even found herself reciprocating.

Nearly as soon as it had begun, the kiss was over. “So long, T’Pol. I’ll see you again after this Romulan business is finished. I promise.”

Then he turned, headed for the door, and was gone. T’Pol stood in the tiny dressing room for several minutes, stunned and silent, alone with her thoughts and her regrets.

So much still remained unsaid between them, though she supposed that neither of them had any real need to hear any of it spoken aloud by the other. After all, the vestige of their mind-link still remained.

She knew that the only constructive—and logical—thing she could do was to look forward, hoping, if not entirely believing, that their paths would indeed cross again someday.

MY NOTE: I'm reading the rest of the books and will probably do another post with cliffsnotes. But I do believe in paying the person who writes the thing, so consider buying it.

#the good that men do #enterprise things #gets a little sessy #don't read if you haven't seen the whole show #also probably buy the book cuz ethics

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