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posletsvet · 9 months

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On the Making of Gojo's Goals: Thoughts and Assumptions

One disclaimer which I feel I need to make before getting into this: This is my reading of the events of the JJK manga, and my reading only, no more and no less. I am not claiming that my opinions are anywhere near being correct or true to the meaning intended by the author, I'm just sharing my take on the story I'm currently deeply passionate about.

And spoiler alert, of course!

Okay, but it is actually so interesting to me to be able to trace the events all the way back to how Gojo's goals and motivations begin to take shape, gradually solidify and get put into motion. So here's how I see it.

It's discussed a lot how Geto's presence in Gojo's life provided the latter with a moral compass and an empathetic outlook on things he lacked himself, giving him a sense of direction and playing a role of somewhat guiding and grounding force for him -- even if he more often than not nonchalantly rebelled against the prospect. He could always rely on Geto's judgement, so it spared him from the bother of thinking about what's righteous and what is not and instead gave him space to enjoy his youth and be careless, relishing this breath of fresh air which his friendship with Geto became. And for quite a while, I imagine, they were both content with how things were. Their warm spring of youth, you know. But when Geto left, he as well took that ideological guidance away from Satoru. From that point on, I believe, is when Gojo really takes to crafting his own ideals.

Unnecessarily lengthy discussion of how, in my view, Gojo's goals came into being below the cut!

1. The loss of the moral compass

When the events of SPVI put uncrossable distance between Satoru and Suguru, not least because of how they chose to cope with their trauma, Gojo got separated not only from his one and only closest friend, but also from somebody who, essentially, told him 'Of course, there needs to be a reason to kill people'. But at that time Gojo was driven by inertial forces, stuck in perfecting his technique and prioritised realising his potential to the fullest, because he blamed his failure on his own shortcomings as a sorcerer, as the strongest. And for the time being getting stronger, really claiming the name of the pinnacle of jujutsu for himself seemed enough. Because being the strongest would solve all the problems. Why wouldn't it? In the end, that's what his society trained him to think, preaching that might is always right. He made growing in power his goal, because he genuinely believed that is what he needed in order to prevent another failure, another Riko from happening. He seemed honestly excited and proud of his hard work while presenting his newly mastered ability to Shoko and Geto.

Look, now he's strong enough.

He's got it all covered.

Something that terrible will not happen again.

He was certain at least in this, so he moved in that direction.

Geto's defection left him without as much. I guess at least some part of why the news came as such a shock to Gojo was because it ripped that certainty away from him, made it painfully obvious that strength alone was not enough. It's cruelly ironic that, more or less by coincidence, this blow lands on him right after his cheerfully boastful announcement of the finally tamed Limitless. Because the thing is, I cannot imagine an outcome where Gojo doesn't blame himself, at least a little, for what happened to Geto. He was the one who got too far ahead, got too strong. He made a point of making himself untouchable, unreachable. (Although, in my eyes, it's not entirely true -- as Gojo was the one who actually tried to reach out to Geto. Even if he failed in this, we do see him try. On Geto's part, there was never such an effort. He didn't reach back, nor did he reach out himself. But it's a topic for a different discussion, I guess.) And, in the end, perhaps he trusted Geto and his ability to stay true to his ideals a bit too much.

2. Being the strongest alone is not an option

After Geto's spiral at least one thing was made clear: everything's that's broken in the system won't be fixed merely through sheer power. Yes, Gojo reached his destination, became the strongest, but him being strong didn't stop Geto from breaking and leaving, did not do anything to help him. If anything, it only made things worse, creating a gap between the two which deepened Geto's self-isolation (and perhaps enabled it in the first place).

When Geto leaves and Gojo's belief that simply being the strongest is going to fix everything falls short, Gojo is forced to reconsider his ideas and figure out a different solution. And that's what he comes up with: if being the strongest alone is not enough, then everyone should be the strongest. His thinking still relies heavily on the concept that power is everything in jujutsu society, but from what happened with Geto (who, in Gojo's eyes, failed to catch up with him in strength and therefore broke under the weight of his responsibilities and went down the wrong path) he derived that, basically, strength comes in numbers. The system isn't going to provide its sorcerers with necessary support, so they themselves should be able to shoulder the load without faltering. Therefore, they need to be strong like him.

And secondly, there's that:

He can only save those who are already prepared to be saved. As I see it, with this phrase Gojo comes to a conclusion that there's only so much he can do. Even if his cursed technique is called the Limitless, he can't do the impossible. He can't be his society's Atlas holding up the weight of the world (though he tries to), can't blame himself for every loss and tragedy, so he's consciously narrowing the list of things he holds himself responsible for. Now, allow me to put a pin in this thought, I will get back to it shortly.

3. No support in the system

The next stepping stone in Gojo's journey to forming his final goals is taking Megumi (and Tsumiki) under his care. It's after this decision of his, I believe, he becomes determined to become a teacher and educate the youth. And it also somewhat ties to the 'saving only those who are prepared to be saved' bit.

For me to elaborate on this, let's take a few steps back. Throughout both seasons, but the second one especially, the story goes to great lengths to show how alone young sorcerers in fact are in their duties. Students are basically left to their own devices from the very moment they enroll into Jujutsu High, and the stakes are as high as they get, with the obligation to carry out missions more often than not putting them into life-and-death situations. And Geto and Gojo being considered the strongest sorcerers of their generation is still no proper excuse for delegating responsibility for the thing that their whole society relies upon to them. They were still literal teenagers who had not even finished their education as sorcerers at that point. They were sixteen and held responsible for somebody's life and well-being, with it constantly being threatened by members of two exceptionally dangerous organisations -- not to mention the whole price-on-Amanai's-head business. And all the while we get no notion of any teacher, any adult in charge and authority over them, bothering to check in on their progress with the mission whatsoever. And what about their emotional state, what about the severely traumatic -- nearly fatal -- experience they both endured? Did anybody make sure they went into, I don't know, therapy, like they should have? Were they provided with at least some extra emotional support from their mentors? I would gamble the chances of this actually happening are little to none. Almost like the system adopts this 'don't care' attitude merely because there is no point in tending to emotional well-being of somebody who they already view as disposable.

That being the case, it comes as no surprise that Geto did not know how to give voice to everything that was troubling him, did not know how to reach out for help when he found himself drowning in doubts. The system does not give the youth any room to develop healthy coping mechanisms, does not provide its sorcerers with any support in case they find themselves struggling mentally. No one is ever there to give Geto and Gojo or Nanami or even Shoko comfort, advice and guidance they all needed. Thus they just don't know how to apply for help -- because they are simply not used to, not taught how to. To circle back to my previous thoughts, the system does not prepare young sorcerers to be saved. The end result is inevitably trying to reach out to somebody struggling without that person ever reaching back or even recognising there is a need for them to do so in order to get help.

Gojo starts to break this pattern by taking in a child with no support system. And while no, I'm not saying Gojo was anywhere near equipped to play the role of that system to Megumi at that time, this decision on his part still counts as a step forward, even if a baby one (no pun intended).

4. Educating the youth

So, after taking it upon himself to help take care of two children, Gojo eventually drives to the conclusion that making sure that the younger generation in jujutsu society gets necessary support is indeed in order.

And I think there's somewhat a relation to be found between the role Gojo plays in Megumi's life and the way he delivers on his responsibilities as a teacher. Although Gojo oversees Megumi and Tsumiki's upbringing, he does so not as a parental figure, but rather as a mentor and a benefactor who ensures their well-being. The same may be applied to how he treats his students. He does not offer them emotional support himself, he isn't even by any measure the one who ties them together as a group, but he does in fact bring them together and does actively try to create the environment where they can bond and become each other's support system. Gojo's flawed personality is something even he himself admits to have, so he isn't necessarily the best man for the job when it comes to handling children's emotions. But he still, for instance, recognises that Yuuji has high emotional needs, so he brings him to Nanami -- an adult who is actually equipped to take care of his mental health. One other example of this is how, when the Goodwill Event fails in its purpose as an 'opportunity for the students to get to know each other in the spirit of competition', Gojo goes out of his way to instead organise a simple baseball game for them to play -- a team sport and an actual, normal as in 'non-lethal' bonding activity for teenagers.

There's an argument that Gojo too, in actuality, is not exactly always there for his students, but it's rather due to Gojo's high demand as a sorcerer than negligence or indifference on his part. In the end, Megumi does make a habit of calling Gojo when something goes downhill on a mission. And I would say it's a significant improvement in comparison with how things were back in Gojo's (and Geto's) day.

Also, that 'being a jujutsu sorcerer is an individual sport' reasoning on Gojo's part during his conversation with Megumi straight after the baseball game kind of speaks against everything I have been talking about for the last couple of paragraphs. Except that, as I personally take it, it's more indicative of the fact that Gojo, due to his inability to go beyond the bounds of power-oriented thinking, still puts too much weight on being strong as a sorcerer. Therefore here the more pressing issue for him was Megumi trudging behind and struggling to catch up with his own potential. That one thing which Geto didn't manage to do: keep up with the strongest. And Gojo does not want another Geto case.

After all, even Geto himself, the one who arguably suffered the most from the lack of concern towards young sorcerers' mental state and their detachment from literally everybody who could and probably should provide emotional support for them, somewhat gives credit to the improvements made since Satoru became a teacher.

(Whether Gojo's secret intention to push Yuuta to unlock his true potential by sending two children into the fight they couldn't win does or does not cross out the fact that he's forcing his students to stand up for each other. *coughs nervously*)

5. Conclusion

Perhaps it's somewhat inappropriate for me to go throwing around assumptions in a concluding part of this post, but I have very little experience with writing analysis and making concrete conclusions, so please bear with me for just a bit longer.

What really succeeded in striking me as odd when going through the story for the first time, is the interpretation which states that what Gojo really seeks to achieve by becoming a teacher is influencing his students and cultivating a particular mindset in them -- the one that would allow him to use them as valuable assets when it comes to overthrowing the current system. But how could that possibly be true if he doesn't even try to discuss politics with any of them, let alone force his own ideals and goals upon them? The only thing which he keeps insisting on in his students' regard and which is linked to his views is that they should be allowed to be kids, to have their youth inviolate.

While there's no doubt that Gojo wants the system to change, my guess is that he also wants to bring about this change through his students, with them truly living out his ideal, not simply parroting it at his prompting. And Gojo actually does want to raise strong and reliable comrades who can think for themselves and recognise the need for the system to change, making them into trustworthy allies -- not only to himself, but to each other, too.

His students really are all his hopes and dreams, huh?

In case everything written above seems to lack logical connections, here's the train of thought which led me through this rambling:

losing moral guidance and falling into power-oriented thinking → recognising that strength is indeed needed, but being strong alone is not enough → coming to take care of two children → decision to become a teacher → fostering the younger generation into strong allies capable of providing help for each other when needed and being each other's support system → how to do that? let kids be kids and forge strong relationships which they can rely upon

Thank you for reading through this mess of my making!! 🧡

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stuffnonsenseandotherthings · 9 months

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Crackpot Predictions - Only Friends Episode 1

Welcome to a new thing I do where I try to predict (*cough* wildly guess *cough*) what's going to happen in a show based solely on my read of the first episode. I'll try to cover all of what I think are the main story beats, record them here for posterity (and so I can either say "ha I told you so" or you can all point and laugh at me later), and hopefully by the end of the series we'll all be able to see if I'm a clairvoyant with a magic orb or, alternatively, a numpty with a glass paperweight. Some of these predictions are completely serious, others are complete crack, and some are just random thoughts that had the misfortune of wandering into my head.

With that, let's get started shall we?

The Hostel

Setting up a hostel for your graduation project? How cute!And with your best friends too? How adorable!

Too bad that hostel is absolutely Not Going To Happen. And not only is the hostel Not Going To Happen, its also going to be the site of some of the worst moments of your entire lives!

Prediction: is this is where it's all going to go down, this is where they're going to have the final argument, this is where the climax is going to happen, this is where shit hits the fan and then explodes. I mean why else would you introduce a building site if not to have all your characters have mental breakdowns symbolically in the middle of it? Scaffolding and painter's tarp is for screaming matches and for saying things you never meant to say.

Mew

Oh Mew. Soft, virginal, innocent Mew. Mew who lives in a completely different world to his friends where he wears cute pastels, gets a teen movie montage when he wakes up in the morning, gets a public confession like something out of a romance movie... Surrounded by people with impure thoughts and even worse intentions. What on earth is going to become of our sweet pastel boy?

Who am I kidding, he's going to be fine.

In fact he's probably going to be one of the few people who is fine by the end of this series, and will probably be at least partially responsible for quite a lot of other people being very fucked up (especially Top, sorry my man but you are doomed by the narrative). He's definitely doing to be hurt and he's definitely going to lose his honour student title and he's definitely going to have less friends by the end of this but he'll be fine, he's literally the only one in the friend group other than Chueam with the emotional maturity to cope with and process what's about to happen.

Prediction: He's going to lose friends (but not Chueam, she'll stick with him), his academic record is going to be messed up (but not irreparably so, he'll just have to put in extra work to repair it), and he won't have a boyfriend by the end of the series but he'll be okay, he'll be able to walk it off when it's all said and done. He may even start to get his man back (if he wants him, that is).

Ray

Poor Ray, he's a rich brat who clearly has some self-esteem issues and is whipped for his best friend. He's in for a rough ride I fear, especially seeing as he currently deals with his emotions by getting very drunk and/or lashing out.

Sand will probably be good for him (perhaps a little too good for him) in both bringing him down a peg and hopefully giving him the kind of ego boost he actually needs (no Ray you are not a burden but please stop ruining your liver) and I'm really looking forward to the development of their enemies to fwb relationship and all entails.

Unfortunately for Ray he looks like he might be a bit of a bleeding heart romantic on the inside so he's probably going to get his heart broken twice in a very short space of time; once by Mew and his new relationship and then once again by Sand and his refusal to play second fiddle and Ray is only going to realise this when it's a bit too late. Needless to say Ray will probably not be having a fun time for most of this series and of all the character he is tied as most likely to end up in hospital at some point.

Prediction: He's going to lose friends, he's going to fail his degree, he's going to get his heart broken twice and he's probably not going to be okay about it (but hopefully he'll be on the mend by the end of it all). Ray is going to start shit he can't finish and he, more than anyone else, is going to be a victim of his own actions but hopefully he's also going to be the character with the most growth. Sand might be around to scrape him off the floor at the end, but Ray is going to have to work himself out first.

Boston

Boston, what to say about Boston other than currently he seems to be trying to break the record of most men slept with in a single episode (his competition is Brian Kinney from Queer As Folk btw).

There's definitely a lot more than meets the eye when it comes to him and I look forward to unpacking all of his messy laundry when the time comes. He seems to be both incredibly confident with his life choices (good for him) and incredibly insecure about them at the same time which is fascinating and I definitely get the feeling that he has issues with Mew (to the point where I wouldn't really say they're actually friends) because of that insecurity. I genuinely wouldn't be surprised is at some point we get a lot of pent resentment spilling out from Boston about Mew because no one casually mocks someone they're genuinely okay with that many times behind their back.

Prediction: Boston wants but he doesn't quite know what. He is definitely blowing up every single friendship he has in the process of working it out and he's probably going to find himself on his own for a while too, which might actually be what he needs. That being said, if anyone decides to put forward a laurel at the end of the show though, I also think it's going to be him. I also predict no romance, but I also don't think that's what he wants or needs.

Top

Top the Top Tier player who's never not got his object of interest before. He likes casual sex, comes off as a bit of a sleaze (but at least a sleaze who respects boundaries), and is apparently looking for a new challenge now sleeping around has got boring (but not boring enough to not sleep with Boston again).

The problem for Top is that he thinks he's approaching Mew in his world and on his terms where in reality he's already dancing to the tune of Mew's fiddle and it's only going get worse. Mew's world has rules and regulations and things you just don't do (like sleeping with your boyfriend's best friend) and Top is going to find himself caught up in them. What's worse is he's probably going to find out (much too late) that he wants to be caught up in them. Top might be the big man now but he is well and truly fucked.

Prediction: Top isn't going to take his relationship with Mew 100% seriously until he realises he's already completely invested in it and at that point it's going to be too late. He's definitely going to break Mew's heart but Mew is going to break his ten times over and he's not going to recover easily from that. He might have a chance at redemption, but only once he's completely wrecked himself first.

Sand

Sand was just trying to live his life and then he threatened to pee on someone's head and it all went down hill from there.

At the moment he seems like the audience stand in: watching all the chaos and wondering what on earth is wrong with all these privileged brats (semi-affectionate). Like Mew he definitely seems to have himself together in a way that makes me think he'll come away from this pretty okay emotionally (it'll hurt but he's not allergic to emotions, he'll heal). Unlike Mew he definitely doesn't seem to completely together life-wise (i.e monetarily) though, which does make me wonder if our 3 friends (I'm not including Chueam in this, she's not a guilty party) are going to mess that up for him instead.

Prediction: Emotionally he's going to be okay (although he probably has heartbreak in the cards), in every other aspect I think he'll sustain the most damage (and therefore will be entitled to compensation). He feels the most like an innocent bystander and, as such, is definitely going to regret the day he lay eyes on the back of Ray's head. Out of all the characters, he's probably going to be the one due the most apologies all while having done very little to anyone else.

Nick

Wow well Twison changed when he went to uni, wasn't expecting that trajectory at all 😋

In all honesty I feel like I have the least to go on for Nick in terms of predictions (not that I have much to go on for anything else I've been saying). He seems to be completely gone for Boston already (oh Babe he is not a good target to fall head over tits for) and I like the idea that's floating around that Nick is already familiar with Boston somehow based off his reaction to their first meeting.

That being said, I am getting a little bit of a creep vibe from him (maybe it was the invasion of his client's privacy and subsequent masturbation scene that pinged the alarm idk) but I can't help but feel like everything Mew said he'd do if he slept with Top? Yeah Nick would actually do all those things and more. So yeah, while Boston is going to mess him up with their ambiguous relationship, it's only because Nick was pretty messed up in the first place and he'll end up messing Boston up right back with his clingy/obsessive tendencies.

Prediction: Looks like a marshmallow, is actually on fire. Things are going to go wrong for him but only because things were not right in the first place. Possibly the most likely to actually need therapy. I also wouldn't be at all surprised if he's the one to swing the bat that brings it all crashing down, in fact in this crack-pot prediction, I'm expecting him to.

The Friendship Group

Is going to be in tatters by the end of this series, I'm so sorry Chueam. (I mean is this even a prediction or am I just stating the obvious?)

Prediction: Mew and Chueam are probably still going to be friends (they seems like the closest to each other) but no one else is going to be talking. Ray might have Sand (and Chueam if he doesn't fuck up too much) but Boston going to be on his lonesome and so is Top unless they want to throw a pity party together. At the end of the show there will be a tentative reconciliation, but with the knowledge they're never going to be the same, never going to be as close as before.

TLDR + Extra Predictions

Mew: About to have the worst time of his life but he'll make it through, his pain is going to end up being other people's problem.

Ray: Poor, unfortunate soul checking in at heart-break hotel twice in the space of a few months. Most likely to get his man though.

Boston: Needs to figure out what he wants. Probably going to end up completely cut off from everyone but also most likely to extend the peace offering at the end.

Top: Fucked. (Might get a chance at redemption at the end if he's lucky)

Sand: Emotionally fine, financially screwed. Out of everyone he has to most to complain about and he doesn't even go here.

Nick: Most likely to need actual therapy.

Climax: A big argument at the hotel surrounded by the ruins of their hard work

Likely scene: All of them at Yo's bar they used to go to as friends but this time ignoring each others existence.

Likely scene 2: Boston unleashing a load of suppressed resentment towards Mew, possibly to do with their different lifestyles/world views.

Best chance at romance: Chueam

Best chance at staying friends: Chueam and Mew

Key theme: The importance of friendship

Me: happy to be proven right or wrong with these predictions and here for the wild ride regardless.

And that's it! As I said, these predictions are completely pulled from the air around a single watch of episode 1 so they're not at all serious. If I'm right yay, if I'm wrong also yay, I'm just happy to be watching, I just thought it would be fun to test how well I can predict a narrative based on very little information indeed. If anyone wants to share their own crackpot predictions I am more than happy to hear them, let's clown together.

#only friends the series #only friends #ofts #crackpot predictions #if I'm going to make predictions it will be with absolutely no information #because how else are you going to make them?#with actual information?

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saphirered · 1 year

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Would a Mollyxreader be possible where they briefly had a relationship when the circus passed through the reader’s hometown, but when they meet again in Trostenwald and the M9 forms, neither acknowledges that they know each other until the first night in Alfield. Molly has his drink and panic attack. The reader goes down too because they just saw Molly get shot and have emotions about it. Some combination of angst, fluff, and pda ensues

Hope this turned out how you hoped! Sorry for the wait. Currently going through all the requests assembled outside of the autumn prompts. 😘

The memory replays in Mollymauk's head, over and over. No amount of drink can quell this but he can certainly try. If he’s knocked out cold, he can’t think about this, can he? That’s reasonable logic, is it not? Not at all but that won’t stop him from doing it anyway. He blinks and again it flashes; pain spreads through his body. Arrow strikes true. He’s been injured plenty of times, has lost consciousness plenty too, but never so close to death. The suffocating earth burns in his lungs again. His eyes wander, searching for anything, anyone to show him he’s not alone, this is not history repeating itself, this won’t end in him digging himself out of yet another grave, if at all. When his eyes land on you he wish he hadn’t seen. You look at him in horror. The world turns to slow motion. You shout his name and when you try to run to him, escape the attacks of the creatures that attack you, you only manage to dodge the first, but the second rakes across your abdomen, and that’s that. You drop. Still with your last strength you try to crawl over to him, bleeding and broken, but then the blade stabs down into you once more and you are unmoving, hand stretched towards him. Your eyes close, brow furrowed in pain before you go limp. Had he the strength left to shout or cry, he would have but he feels himself slip from consciousness too. And then he returns to the tavern, pulled out of that vision again when you sit next to him.

“So what number of drink is this and how many do I need to catch up?” You make yourself as comfortable as possible. Still Molly sees the violent of blood, ash and dirt, the holes in your clothes show the bandages beneath. Even with magical healing did you need more extensive wound care. You’re out of the thick of it so that’s good at least but you’ll need another boost in the morning once the resident healer has had time to recover.

“None of your business, and none.” He answers swinging back the contents of his cup. “You should not be drinking right now.” First time ever he’s the voice of reason here. You roll your eyes and order a drink anyway. It was worth a try.

“I’ll just take a guess then. We did just almost die.” There’s humour in your voice but it’s morbid and he comes to realise this is your way of coping. He sees the tremble in your hand as you lift the mug of ale. He sees it in his own hands too. Breathing is more difficult and Molly wonders; do you feel it too? He waits for you to finish your drink and order another while he nurses a refill of his own and thinks.

He knows if he’s dead that might be it. Does he want to go? Hell no but death is part of life and he’d be a fool if he wasn’t going to fight tooth to nail to stay. That’s within his control but when he saw you fall… When that blade stabbed through your back and he swore he saw the light leave your eyes, he has never been more terrified of death in his life. This is all too much. This violence. Perhaps he is not meant for adventure. Stories are fine. Pretending in the circus is too but this is real. This is very very real. These are real people and not some strangers. He might have just met them but he cares about them. And then there’s you. He’s not spoken the words and neither have you so he doubts the others know of your previous involvement. You’ve not given them a reason to figure it out. It’s been strange but what short-lived romance he shared with you, he’s come to realise runs much deeper than he thought. He thought he could separate it, thought he could leave it in the past, if only to see if you’re still the same people, or how different you’ve become, but he can’t separate you from his past, from you now. He cares. He cares very much and the thought of losing you, especially because you tried to save him, that is too big a burden to bear upon his heart. He’s been wasting enough time.

Molly feels lightheaded, bends over the bar holding onto the cup in his hands so tight his fingers begin turning lilac. His breathing is strained and he trembles. Then he feels a gentle palm hesitantly lay against his back, another pulls the cup from his iron grip and replaces it with a warm hand. He holds on tight, not crushing, stills somewhat mindful of his strength and the fact this hand belongs to another, to you. You tell him to breathe. You tell him all will be well. You whisper sweet nothings. You sit closer to him and he is thankful for your warmth because he feels so incredibly cold. You have him sit up, have him focus on you and while he has some trouble to not let his mind slip and wander, you succeed in keeping him grounded. You never once let go of him as you stabilise his breathing until the lightheadedness fades enough to no longer feel like he’ll pass out any second now. Still his breath is somewhat shallow and the tremble remains, you force a smile.

“How about some fresh air?” It’s not quite an order but it’s definitely more than a suggestion. His lungs burn at the thought of an open space, where he does not feel confined. When did this place start feeling so heavy? You wrap an arms round him, let his drape across your shoulders. Despite Molly’s insistence he’ll be fine, you ignore him and he’s thankful because the moment his feet touch solid ground, he loses his balance and you catch him. You give him a look as if to say ‘I told you so’ and Molly cannot even find it within himself to argue or counter with some witty remark. You begin guiding him outside, through the back because neither of you feel like setting foot in that street again. The smouldering fires still remain, as does the gore and blood and you do not need a reminder of everything that happened just an hour ago.

“How-how are you?” Molly once he feels comfortable he can stand on his own two legs takes up residence at some of the empty supply crates set against the wall as you pace. He doesn’t know why he asked the question and is already quite certain he knows the answer.

“Just peachy.” You deign a sarcastic eye roll. Molly snorts. Should have known. “You?” He thinks. How is he doing? Terrible would be the short answer. The long answer, he doesn’t know how to put words to that. He takes a deep breath, his shoulders sinking. In an instance you’re at his side, your hand on his shoulder, the other lacing with his. He’s thankful for you, for your attention and your care.

“Why are you so good to me?” It’s a genuine question but he didn’t intend to speak these words aloud. You again force a half smile.

“Because months ago a man living larger than life walked into my hometown and told me he liked leaving every place better than he found it. And I thought, a man like that may have known few kind things from the world beyond the circus tent. Perhaps that could be changed.” You reminisce to all those times, when you grew closer, to something more. You recall the intricacies, and how Molly made you feel wanted and alive. When you’re with him you’re not a victim to the whims of this world, of other. When you’re with him you make your own fate. To see that same man right now, scared of something you cannot begin to comprehend. He never felt like he needed to know every single detail to understand. Neither do you. That doesn’t make this any less frightening.

“A wise man. Handsome too, he must be.” Molly finds his humour. You bump your shoulder into his and shake your head. That forced smile turns into a true one, and a giggle even escapes your lips. That’s what brings joy back to his mind. It’s so easy. It’s so easy loving you. He’s been trying to ignore it for a while, after all he left with the circus but you’d known even back then one day he would stay, and you would remain. You were given a second chance and look what you two had done with it? You’ve been dancing around each other, been denying that you were once more than familiar and instead opted for being strangers. And for what?

“Very handsome. And boisterous. Enigmatic yet an open book. A true charmer too. Anyone would be a fool to not fall for that philanderer.” You lift your fingers to his chin but he brushes them away and angles to fully face you, eyes filled with judgement and jaw dropped.

“Philanderer? Excuse you! I pride myself on my charm but I will not take judgement from your hedonistic arse, thank you very much!” He scoffs crossing his arms. You cup his cheeks and Molly forces himself to not lean into your touch.

“You’ve had plenty of positive opinions of my ‘hedonistic arse’ in the past. Something changed?” You muse. His hands land over yours and pull them from his cheeks, instead lacing with yours, playing with your fingers, brushing along every callous, cut and scrape.

“I suppose your hedonistic arse has its charms.” He sways. “Does that make you feel better?”

“Does it make you feel better?” You retort.

“If I said yes can we forget us being fools and will you let me kiss you?” A bold spark of confidence. He caught it, and used it and when you chuckle, he’s afraid he might have made the wrong move, that he might have ruined it or you weren’t on the same page. When he feels your lips against his, any doubt in his mind disappears. It’s a short and sweet peck but in that moment Molly truly realises what he’s missed and knows; he doesn’t want to miss out on any of this anymore. He’ll take every second he can get because time spent with you is never wasted.

“Just a kiss? Did you leave that creativity in Trostenwald?” He nudges that spot just below your ribs, at your side that has you double over instantly. You catch yourself onto him and retaliate, still mindful of both your injuries, but whatever pressure there was, seems to have disappeared and been replaced by this familiar comfort. You’ll have your tough times and so will he but you’re here for each other. When you can’t brave the world, he’ll hold your hand. When he feels abandoned, he’ll know that no matter what he’ll have you at his side. Not a moment is wasted.

#mollymauk x reader #critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role mollymauk #critical role #critical role fanfiction #critical role fanfic #critical role imagine #the mighty nein #mighty nein

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marshmallowsqoosh · 1 year

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[Ghost (Band) | Happy Endings]

Short squiggle~

Terzo copes with his retirement and Omega does what he can to help.

word count. ~1.260 warnings. headcanon, soft angst, drinking mention, author chooses to believe Nihil didn’t hate his kids and they have names that aren’t 1 / 2 / 3, Omega is a soft Ghoulie

Pulled from discord, also on AO3 cuz I guess people prefer reading there??? (The past few have been added to AO3 as well :3)

♥

When Omega finds his way back to Terzo's room, he's... perhaps ashamed to not be surprised by the empty vodka bottle on the desk, Terzo carelessly laid out in his armchair—slouched, at an angle he can hook his left leg over the chair arm, his left arm over the back of the chair, while his right arm and most of his upper body are over the right arm of the chair. His right hand is near the ground, barely holding the empty glass, his attention fixed intently on the ceiling. He doesn't even raise his head to acknowledge that Omega's returned.

The Ghoul pulls and releases a deep, slow breath and carefully makes his way over to take the glass and try convincing Terzo to get into bed. He could just deposit the man on the mattress... but, he'd like some effort of compliance.

He's not surprised, when he leans over to pick the glass up, that Terzo catches him by his grucifix to hold him in place while he squirms his way further into a slouch so he's actually in the armchair instead of hanging off of it and just... stares for what feels like forever.

There's a moment where he lets go of the glass so he can remove Omega's mask—he releases the grucifix at the same time, allowing his Ghoul the freedom of motion to shake the glamour off. He doesn't grab the necklace again and instead studies Omega's face at the close proximity before he lets out sigh that... Omega probably hasn't heard in a few years.

Not like his theatrical, exasperated sighs or the heavy ones when he realised he was going to be forced to do something he was trying to get out of. But a quiet, dejected breath that usually meant he... didn't see the point of what he was doing.

"Valentino?"

"Mmm... it's nothing, ombra mio. I must have lost time, I didn't mean for you to be coming in to cleaning this up."

It's... progress, that he's at least kind of taking responsibility for his behaviour. Still, Omega frowns. "I don't mind. You know I wish to tend to you—"

"You shouldn't have to, though." Terzo struggles to sit up right and, when he succeeds, raises his arms up towards Omega to gesture that he wants him to kneel down. Without reason to argue, he complies; he carefully settles to his knees so he's sitting between Terzo's legs, arms carefully and meticulously holding up against the arms of the chair so Terzo doesn't get any ideas to immediately make this sexual to distract himself.

Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be looking for a distraction. Yet. He doesn't try to pull Omega into a kiss or any other compulsions; instead, he runs his hands back through his Ghoul's hair, gently working through the few tangles before his fingers begin to skim gentle patterns across the surface of his horns.

"I know this transition has been difficult for you... I should have seen that earlier. I don't like making things difficult for you."

Omega hums a little to show he's still listening, even as he's steadily distracted trying to follow the touch on his horns. "It's worse for you, though, isn't it? Let me ease the burden. I want to."

"I know you do." The gentle patterns cease and Terzo drags the tips of his fingers down from the horns to Omega's face—a gentle touch before he cups both hands around Omega's face, gently coaxing him to actually make eye contact. It's a gentle, sad smile. One still full of adoration, even as he tries to think of how to apologise for things Omega's either already forgiven or didn't think needed an apology.

"Every day I'm reminded how fortunate I am to be graced with your presence. That you saw something worth devoting your loyalty to, even when I've done nothing but cause you trouble and heart ache."

Omega doesn't get a chance to protest; Terzo silences him, gently, by pressing both thumbs gently against his lips. It's a short stretch to ensure Omega doesn't try to speak around the gesture.

"Every day, I remind myself to try being worthy of that loyalty. And I've failed miserably at it lately... and it made me realise—for the first time in years... there is no happy ending, is there? Because the moment I think there will be, it will simply be taken away... won't it?"

Omega doesn't have an assurance against... that particular fear. Things had seemed to start going south the very second Terzo actually started enjoying his time as Papa again. When he finally stopped adhering to the clergy's expectations and focused on his own goals and standards—higher than the clergy's and simultaneously more manageable. For everything he accomplished there was always a consequence.

Omega and Alpha being decommissioned; Water and Air following close behind and Earth stepping down to tend Primo's quickly failing health. Needing to summon new Ghouls to cover for the ones forced into retirement, when none of them really understood why they needed to step down. Forced into retirement, himself, when he finally thought things could be okay—that he could take a break and spread the church's message in tandem with Copia, covering more ground with two of them, if he proved he could succeed with Ghouls that weren't his.

"... Does it need to be a happy ending?" Omega tilts his head as best he can without dislodging Terzo's hands. It lets him nuzzle into the hold to show he's not trying to argue or make things worse and he certainly isn't trying to escape the gentle touch on his face. "Why does it have to be an ending? Why can't it be happy in the moments? Happy right now moments?"

Human constructs of time never made sense to him. He doesn't think they ever will, truly, no matter how often Terzo and Cowbell tried to stress he needed to keep track of time. He knows humans are fragile, finite things. That time has meaning for them and that an end is inevitable. He doesn't understand what fretting over the end will accomplish.

Terzo looks surprised and Omega finally, gently, shakes his head to free himself of the gentle hold and pushes up so he's standing on his knees, instead of sitting, and leans forward, barely an inch from a kiss. "Nothing needs to end. We certainly don't. Even when this life ends, even if there is no life after, I will follow you into Hell and I will remain yours, so long as you will have me. Why does it need to be a "happy ending", can't it just be an eternity of happy moments?"

He feels the laugh against his lips, seconds before Terzo leans forward the short distance for a kiss, his arms curling tight around Omega's neck to keep him from getting too far away, even when the need to breathe forces him to pull back.

"I genuinely don't know what I would do without you, Omega... you truly are my breath of life, aren't you?"

"Only so much as you are mine, luce mio." He almost calls him Morning Star. It's on the tip of his tongue and he desperately wants to pay that affirmation....

One day he'll be able to say it, outside of the moments he knows Terzo doesn't hear him. The moments he's too distracted, too tired, and doesn't process the adoration. One day he'll be able to tell Terzo exactly how brightly he shines in Omega's eyes.

One day.

#sqooshy writes #ghost band #ghost fanfiction #terzomega #terzo x omega #fluff #soft angst #rating: general #papa emeritus iii #Omega Ghoul #terzo #one shot #ao3 link

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canmom · 2 years

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there is a sequence in disco elysium where you find a dead man in the docks, and you must go to tell his wife what happened to him. it's a standout impactful scene in a game full of brilliant writing; there is no joking, the many voices in your head are quiet - just you having to work out how to tell someone the worst thing they're ever going to hear. kim kitsuragi counsels you on the approach to take before you go in, and i never felt like the stakes were higher, and there was a serious sense of relief when i picked the 'right' dialogue options and played the role i needed to for that fictional woman.

it is so simple and yet, now I'm in this situation, it comes back to me.

we have cultural scripts around death and grief. in the past, when my friends have been hurting, i always feel like the things i say must seem like platitudes. things a robot could say. i tried to find a way to say something more substantial. but now i realise that these phrases - the I'm so sorry. the simple 'yeah.' the hug and heart emoji. the 'is there anything i can do' - are invocations of ritual. they need to be done. it's not the content itself but the act of expressing it.

i have been reading the Wikipedia article on grief. it might seem like a strange thing to do - to turn to a dry and rather meandering summary of scientific research on grief.

it's odd in a way - i feel like i need to show the world that I'm grieving properly - which is in a sense a way of saying that Fall was worth grieving. when i suddenly burst into sobs and someone says 'oh, honey...' and reaches out to touch me, there is some small part that observes this and says, good, I'm playing my role properly. my performance is convincing. which is crazy because like... there's as many ways to express grief as there are people. i would never think someone else is doing it 'wrong' somehow. someone who turned to black humour as a way to cope would be just as ~valid~ as me. and yet... i want the proper story to be observed. by doing this i cement that this really happened, and i cement what Fall meant to me.

one thing the scientists puzzle over is what exactly is the evolutionary function of grief. it seems maladaptive, to the evolutionary biologist. some reach for various kinds of signalling explanations. but the answer that makes emotional sense to me is that, you might as well ask what's the evolutionary function of blood spraying out when an artery is cut. this isn't proper functioning. a hole has been punched in the fabric of relationships - the 'trim'. everything falls into disequilibrium.

so why post through this? it's a work of magic I guess. I believe Fall was important, that she shouldn't just be forgotten by the world. so... i try to act like it. without really thinking about it, i make a show of the pain I'm in. i build an online memorial. i reach out to all the other people who are hurting and try to care for them and talk about her. if Fall's life continues to have an effect, if we carry her in the way we live now, then she's not truly gone.

there is another thing from Disco Elysium i keep thinking about. the working title of that game was No Truce With The Furies. for some reason, this phrase keeps coming into my head. it was written by the Welsh poet, R.S. Thomas. Thomas was an Anglican priest and a nationalist, which predisposes me against him, but i feel like there is something truly powerful in that line. even though i don't understand what Thomas meant by it, i can feel a sense of heartbreak and defiance and determination to fight on. the furies suggest something supernatural and unknowable, beyond our power. to make truce with them would be to accept the limits of this existence and live less than fully, to close yourself off and become numb for the sake of avoiding pain. to make no truce is to continue to feel everything strongly, to accept the pain and still live passionately and furiously. that's what it means to me.

perhaps I'm simply projecting the atmosphere of Disco Elysium itself. regardless, this phrase has become something of a mantra. it pops into my head at random moments. (i imagine Fall would have had a way to build on it, some really fascinating cross cultural link.)

and this is what art is for, i guess. one of its purposes. if we can touch the truth of this things safely, in fiction, we have an anchor to hold onto when the horror reaches us in reality.

i don't really believe in afterlives. but i do believe in creating one through our words and deeds. the world would have it that Fall's body is the property of her parents, that her life is just a tragic statistic. reject it. we will remember her as she was, and she was brilliant. we will live on in the same way. no truce with the furies.

#memorial #suicide cw #introspective nightposting

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deliriumandmelancholia · 1 year

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I feel like nobody even realises I have a real, debilitating addiction; simply because it uses my own mind rather than external drugs. My maladaptive daydreams are wreaking havoc on my life, to the point where I’ll spend days doing nothing but daydream, maybe eat and drink if I remember, and sleep. To the point where I forget about my loved ones and just can’t be bothered to come out of the daydream long enough to call my mother. I struggle to remember what’s real and not, I have a hard time telling time and day, and I don’t know when I last showered or anything like that because I’m so deep into it.

People have told me in the past that it’s good, it’s strong of me, to use my own imagination instead of drugs. What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? All it means is I’m too broke for drugs so my brain started using itself to cope with its inability to cope with reality. It just means I can’t even take myself away from the source of my addiction because the tools to “get high” are always there, always with me. I have to constantly think about not imagining unreal things if I want to stay sober; it doesn’t make me strong, it makes me exhausted. I’m constantly fighting my own mind and physically wasting away just like any other addicted person without help would. What does it matter which substance I use? Why is my own thoughts and imagination better than crack or heroin? Sure it doesn’t wreck my finances. It doesn’t literally kill me if I do it too much (unless I go long enough without water because I’m so caught up in the daydreams, I guess).

I’ve been thinking about that experiment made on rats; where a group of rats were offered drug-infused water as well as regular water, and the rats that had nothing to live for or entertain themselves with chose the drugs, while the group that had enrichment and shit steered clear of it. I think about my trips in the past, where I’ve been around people I feel safe, happy, and loved with; and my need to daydream quickly diminished. I still did it, but a lot less, and it felt more like habit than necessity. I want enrichment. I want reality to be bearable, and it isn’t in my normal life. It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m so tired of feeling unseen and like my addiction isn’t real because it’s my own mind. This is affecting every single aspect of my life to the point of neglecting everything, and now that I know it doesn’t have to be this way… I just want to talk about it. Be vocal about it. I need support and for my struggle to be recognised as real. Perhaps it is, and I’m just blind to it? I don’t know, but I sure as hell feel alone and not taken seriously. I don’t know what I want by writing this, either. I guess I just want to receive some recognition that my addiction is real and I’m not crazy or horrible for feeling like it is?

#maladaptive daydreaming #delirium and melancholia #addiction #mental illness

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katyspersonal · 2 years

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Okie let me see... can you do 2 and 6 for Gratia, 5 for Antal, 9 and 10 for Gascoigne?

Odd combo, I know ahahah

(Asks from this ( x ) meme)

(Gratia)

2) What animal they remind me of

I would like to say gorilla as they are the strongest animals in the world (the last time I checked!), but for some reason I always think about a tiger instead! It is hard to explain why, maybe because tigers are cats that can only roar but not purr (fitting image of her lack of tact and gentleness despite what society would expect from a woman in this setting). Or maybe it is that she is practically a female Snatcher in my ideas because of her Pthumerian genes showing :p And they do have strange curving stripes pattern on their skin - something I believe she has too.

6) Psychological headcanons (tastes, fears, talents, regrets, how they deal with anger, just anything that comes to mind on the topic)

She is a good barker but not a great biter! She might be very blunt, direct and tactless but this is the peak performance of the mental "harm" she can cause! Even very emotionally sensitive people would have to be abnormally naive to not realise within like, one day of knowing her that she doesn't harbour genuine hate or ill will, she just focuses on what to say, not how. However she has a history of trying to be more gentle and polite whenever her words accidentally cut dip, but is comically bad at it. The 'reading blurred writing on her hand' kind of jokes.

Just like with Henryk, the only thing that can put a crack in her great power is pain of losing a loved one, however as long as there is at least one friend of hers is alive (even not a very close one) - she will recover soon. She is not prone to play tough despite what you expect and she finds time to cry or to smash a building or two to vent her aggression if she needs it. However, if she loses someone dear for her, her coping includes giving too much care and protection to the friends who remained in her own awkward way. To the point they have to ask her to stop! I think her real downfall was going insane, just like Yamamura, and not knowing if Simon survived upon escaping or not. But if she at least got to be in the same cell with Yamamura and could hold him, that would've saved her. Holding on what she does have left, however little it is, is always the way.

Prefers to hunt alone which used to be not a normal thing amongst Old Hunters; they tended to hunt in pairs for the sake of full 360 degrees sight, avoiding any beast creeping from behind. But we all know that no beast could really inconvenience her like that x) She says the real reason is her "not wishing to save some weenie's ass if they get in trouble" which is... true, but you can see that's how she expresses concern.

She is very good with animals and can make even the most rabid dog be a good puppy with her. Perhaps she might knock a person on the ground by simply 'gently' pushing them, but when it comes to animals, Gratia can hold even the most tiny and fragile ones right. If she was to own pets, they'd live abnormally long and healthy lives.

Hunt times aside, she really likes wearing feminine things like ribbons and accessories and and very open, pompous dresses, though it always comes across funny in contrast with her rude, nearly barbaric behaviour. Had she known Gehrman can make not only hunting clothes, she'd commission a wholeass dresses wardrobe from him. (Inb4 all of these get ripped when she flexes her muscles lol)

She has the intuition that allows her to understand whether someone is a good person or not on the spot, that compensates for her not being able to understand complicated talks about philosophy, arcane and evolution. Like, yeah, she might be not smart with terms and ideas, but she can guess the intention and person having their heart in a good place is often enough. However, if you are full of shit, expect many practical pranks from her! Gratia is good at them (as long as they don't require using any sort of tech).

For the reason stated above, she is not sensitive to the authority figures at all - unless they have their heart in a good place! Would have called Logarius a bitch in his face without a trace of doubt and whatnot. The only thing that could stop her from getting into social sort of trouble is the risk of her friends being endangered or emotionally hurt, hence she doesn't speak ill of Laurence if Gehrman is listening and whatnot.

(Antal)

5) Social headcanons (what do they think of their friends/allies if they have any, what are they looking for in relationship, what people tend to think about them…)

His presence in Yahar'gul is endless state of 'I am surrounded by idiots' - and towards actual Mensis scholars rather than towards fellow hunters! His strange sense of intellectual/mental superiority before others is just his delusion though; he is not aware that his true feelings are envy. Others have more clear goals, more collected thoughts, more determination, more ideals after all. How little he got his motives and morality figured in life despite old(ish) age comes to bite him in the end when he turns against School of Mensis when it is too late for it to matter much. But he can do what he still can nonetheless! He is similar with Damian in this.

Many other hunters in Yahar'gul, however, envy him too as for them it is clear he is not as 'dead inside' as them, albeit very conflicted internally, but it is good sort of envy. They call him a softie and gently mock him for hypocrisy when he demands to not be cruel with victims when he knows what Mensis Scholars do to them in the end anyway, but they sorta just... know that he still can't accept this is his life now after Healing Church started repressions against foreigners. After Micolash yeeted himself into Nightmare they remained a society within Yahar'gul anyway, but they agreed to "not notice" how Antal sometimes sabotages what they do, releasing captured victims if he can or deactivating traps here and there.

He cannot better the Yahar'gul hunter that defected decades sooner than him and helped Yamamura to run and now ended in Hunter's Nightmare, though! Remembers that guy very enviously fondly, feels bad that he never had his sort of courage. To think of it, he is very perceptive towards good traits of others, he always notices them. The process of adopting them himself is painfully slowly, though.

His self-esteem is permanently nerfed after what he's done in his life and as result he could not accept deep, genuine, healthy relationship anymore. Not even with those who did the same as he! Especially with those who did the same as he. Doesn't feel deserving of any. But he definitely could enjoy affairs sometimes, preferably with pretty vigorous people younger than him, as this sort of energy helps him to forget his own pathetic state for just some time.

(Gascoigne)

9) Headcanons about their past

Like the canon states, he did become a Father (religious) in his homeland, so he was seeking for a similar position in Yharnam. He was one of the unique cases of Old Hunter + Healing Church cleric hybrid, usually you are either one or another. He was fully authorised to do any of Healing Church practices while not having to subscribe to how Church's hunters operated!

He was not old enough to pass his status to someone else, but he did however leave his post and town because he knew he was sick and religion or not, his days were numbered. But it was a matter of honour to stay in the city that healed him and serve it to his best ability!

Religious aspect remained very important for him for a long while. In everything. Healing Church was a religious institution as well, so he revered its teachings with no less passion than Ludwig or Logarius. When Laurence happened to turn into a beast that was very traumatising for Gascoigne as he believed that vicar's holiness was supposed to protect him of all people. Healing Church deacided to blame foreigners for this (Brador, who always was near Laurence and a foreigner agreed to be a scapegoat just as long as Laurence's pursuit lives on). However, they made their grave mistake refusing to chase Gascoigne away and trying to rope him back in and have him covered for his services. He could not stand the corrupt attitude and left heartbroken, not able to find faith in anything again.

He got along with Henryk almost instantly which other Old Hunters were amused by because nobody could get along with Henryk! Needless to mention that his habit to be silent kept endangering fellow hunters when he'd be supposed to warn them; but Gascoigne's fighting style was so compatible with Henryk's that they did not need to communicate verbally to fight efficiently. Despite this, it was only when Gascoigne turned away from the Healing Church (and started to wear their sigil as a scarf to flaunt his disrespect) that Henryk decided to introduce him to his adopted daughter.

By the time Gascoigne and Viola had kids, whatever schools Yharnam had left were governed by Healing Church so the girls were home-schooled. As result, they both know more 'normal' things than any other kid in the town.

Naturally, Gascoigne snatched the key to Oedon Tomb by force as Healing Church not only created very unpleasant narrative against that chapel, but even planned on taking it down. He declared they'll only get to it through his corpse and that Chapel Dweller had way more righteousness and virtue than what they could have dreamed about. They could have taken him down by sheer amount, of course, but by that time remaining leaders decided against it for sentimental reasons, and the following staff just accepted a 'crazy guy' guarding the area as a given not questioning why he was being tolerated.

There was an attempt to rope him into League's mission that failed, as even seeing Impurity rune didn't do anything to Gascoigne. It was the same reason why Valtr stopped seeing Vermin too - internal loss of discern and acceptance that everyone deserves to die anyway. However, Gascoigne did not realise how much his spirit was broken then and later.

10) Content about them I’d like to see more of

Interactions with other characters! Like Maria, Djura, Gehrman, all that! The vector for majority of content for him is easy as he is already close with Henryk and has a marriage with kids, so exploring what other friends and what enemies he has sounds cool for me!

#bloodborne #ask replies #simple gratia #defector antal #father gascoigne #bloodborne headcanons #thank you val but... it was a very random bunch hehe #always fun to ramble about characters though!#some of this stuff i made up just now because i don't like to admit that i don't have hcs yet xd #plus my imagination is too hyperactive anyways #i want moooooooore.

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strawberry-nugget · 3 years

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Stargazing [through the five stages of grief] | K. Bakugo

★Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki/ reader

☆Synopsis: after Izukus sudden death you and Bakugo find comfort in each other

★Warnings:18+, minors do not interact, sexual themes(SMUT), aged up characters, grieving and coping mechanisms, depression as part of a stage of grief, language

☆A/N: I wrote this for @starstruckkittensweets 's Summer Romance Collab collab I also cried multiple times while writing this for so many reasons. Dedicated to my friend @aichiin in hopes this is any comforting to her <3

★Word Count: 10.6K

i. denial | 3.28 am Just when you think silence is going to engulf you in lethal restraints, he's got you. Held and embraced, away from all the evil in the world, pouring a fountain of tears in the burgundy of his tank top. The beauty of the seashore is unmatched at this time of the year -end of July- honey colored sand spreading to as far as your eye can see, lining the white foams of the water perfectly. It shines under the moonlight beautifully golden, as if Midas' touch has grazed each and every speck of sand; it's almost a pity to watch some weather away in the soft evening breeze. Not many stars are visible with how bright the moon is and you simply can't stop thinking about it, the numbness in your heart as you're trying to spot the only few constellations that you know, but even them seem unable to shine brighter than the light of the moon. But he- he shoots a hand to the sky with one eye closed as he mutters something under his breath. It makes your heart pause. You don't catch it though -whatever it is he said- ears deaf to the feeling of being pressed too tightly into his broad chest -to an asphyxiating point, even- but you catch your heart fluttering again for the first time in weeks. A good sign, you guess, the little excitement that you feel can overthrow the buzzing void in your heart, or your head. "That's the Hercules one right? You've been trying to find it for years huh?" You feel the humming in his own hollow chest more than you hear the soft muttering that leaves his lips. This heat he usually emits is probably gone by now, from how tight he's holding you and you're not entirely sure why he's putting on that show for you. The soft pretending of searching for the stars when he won't let your face turn to the direction of the sky, or why he just so effortlessly knows all the constellations you've been trying to find. Under any other case you'd call him a show off, a self contrasting asshole and his sloppy hold around your chin and neck proves that you've never been this close, as expected. He doesn't know what you like or how you'd rather be held, or even, how anyone would like to be held and you don't know anything about how to handle someone like him but social expectations don't matter when comfort is needed, or whatever Mina and Ochako said. The air smells like salt and seaweed, musty and a bit heavy, but refreshing at the same time. As refreshing as hot July air could ever be yet you still find the breeze chilly, so you coo into chest even more, throwing a leg over his thighs, and flexing your palm on his ribs. In response he soothes his hand down your shoulder, trying to create some much needed friction for you. "You can drop the act now" You mutter, rubbing your cheek comfortably onto the soft cotton of his tank top

"What act?" "Trying to comfort me, trying to use me to comfort yourself" There's hurt in the way you talk, and it jabs his heart peculiarly, making him push you off his chest just one but so he can meet your gaze. When he does, you realise you've never been met with such a serious look, and your mind vibrates in what your own confrontation towards him should be. "I mean, why be comforted? We're strong. We're heroes, we-" He shushes you, with a gaze and a snake-like lisp sound that rattles out of his teeth. "What's insufferable for me, I'm guessing, is even worse for you" He clears his throat just when his voice gets a bit raspy from laying on his back "and I'm a hero, it's what I should do. He would have wanted this as well you kno-" "He would have wanted you to be yourself not try to become him" You nuzzle your nose deeper into his chest, avoiding his eyes and the prying stars that decorate the sky above, feeling watched, betrayed by how they're able to shine so brightly despite the loss you're feeling. But then again, why wouldn't they shine? Isn't life just supposed to move on even after a loved one isn't with you anymore? Stars aren't supposed to go out, to become more or less as time goes by, they've seen distraction and glory and fall -it's only you who finds

it cruel that they can still shine in times like this. "He would have wanted me to be better. It pains me more than you to admit" Katsuki has never shown such an appreciating side of himself when it comes to your late friend. Or he has and you've just not been there to witness. Or, perhaps, you've chosen to turn a blind eye to anything that's ever brought them close because you weren't the most fond of him since childhood. Yet, a feeling inside your chest commands you to oppose him and his word. Even by the comfort of his own chest. There's no denying that you've wanted to hate the one who's nothing but comforting you, but you find yourself stuck between grief and a burning heart. It leaves you numb, maybe, to think that he so graciously holds you as if nothing else in the world matters. When this shouldn't be the case. "Why, why does this have to happen to us? We're supposed to save people, losing people is-" "The biggest part of the job" He finished your words for you, strobing that little rattle of reluctance he senses in your voice "We didn't-" "Sign up for this?" You nod at his inquiry "in a way I think we did. He always pushed himself and if you say you never saw it coming, you're lying" "I didn't" "There you go" "No, no" You shake your head "he was strong. This shouldn't have happened, it's unfair and it's-" "It fucking damn is unfair but there's no rematch for him. I wholeheartedly agree, it shouldn't have been like this. We shouldn't be here, days after his damn birthday, hollow and mourning. He should have been here, we should be celebrating" He's not going to call him an idiot. Not anymore. Not even because he's hurt you or anyone as a matter of fact, but because he's come to respect his dead, he's come to lose the attitude when it comes to seeking help, or giving it. It's something Izuku has taught him, a strong moral that no longer rests in the back of his head as a possible value to characterise a hero. It's rather a reality, such a strong wave of consciousness and coinsense that washes through his body all the time. You think, qualities of Izuku, wash through your soul in waves too. "But suggestion is oceans away from reality" Katsuki whispers and just then, the tender touch of his fingers lingers in between your locks. Only for a split second, and for the sole reason of flicking some hair on top of your ear, to shield it from the chill of the air. You're not certain if you act on your grief's accord or not when you grab onto his wrist to prolong the soft petting of his hand on your head. But he complies with you wordlessly, sighing out a heavy bubble of air off his lungs. "That's not the hercules one" You whisper "Huh?" "The constellation" It's oddly satisfying how you coo deeper into his chest, even if you can't see him pop one eye open to peak at the sky "that's Ursa Major" "Like fuck it is Ursa Major" "Katsuki, is this your first time stargazing?" You ask quietly and he wraps a hand around your waist to drag you a little closer towards his chin. When he does, he rests his chin onto your hairline. "I can't believe I opened a goddamn map for this and couldn't even distinguish the hercules one from the Big Dipper" You hammer out a little giggle. It sounds mechanical but still, he mimics you, and you can not only feel the vibrations in his chest, but the movements of his chin too, as he mellowy rubs his soft skin on your hair, soothing his lips on your head from time to time. The breaths he lets out of his nose are silent, yet you feel them calming you down, so warm and so calming against you. "The Hercules is a big constellation but it's not bright at all, you have to catch it on a moonless night and it's usually gone too early" Katsuki sighs. The process of taking in your words in analogy with late Izuku is too strong and it's too early for him to touch a subject that even so reminds him of the situation. It's more than enough that you two got to talk about it tonight, or rather, about your feelings, but at one point the line is drawn on what's harmful to his soul. A sole mention of the condition of a constellation should be making his stomach churn, and it definitely shouldn't make him hug you tighter into him. For one, the phenomenon of the constellation's nature has been around for longer than he has been who he is, and will still be when he's not. This small coincidence, even if it rubs salt to the wound, is not the fault of a small mass of stars gathered together to form something human eyes can recognize as a kneeling figure. Izuku's life is probably just a parallel to the greek myth of hercules, or so, he likes to glorify, but when it comes to him, there's noass of stars for anyone to remember him by.

Izuku falls and dies so long as the memories of his friends live, finding shelter behind a myth, a legend, a course change in the history of humankind that lead to this specific moment. Him, mourning with you, on the beach that Izuku cleaned years ago, feeling his heart ache in sync with yours. And maybe, maybe if- "If I close my eyes and fall asleep, will I wake up and realise that this is all a bad dream?" You ask as if you don't know what the answer is going to be and he tries to not indulge in feeding you a void of hopes just to make you feel a bit more sure of your future, or try to convince himself he'll have a good one too. He wants to reply positively, just as much as he wants to wake up too in a reality where Izuku is still alive, and he's got to say everything he's ever wanted. He knows, some nights he'll find himself thinking he would like to go back and change the course of his own history, whatsoever, to never hurt Izuku for naturally having qualities he had to work for, or change the fact that he's been harsh and cruel. The 'why us' inquiry that arises in his chest as he's stroking the slightly greasy hair on your scalp is what's left to bounce in his head for now, eating away every curly corner of his brain, turning any other thought into a wasteland, yet, still his answer to you is what he would rather not hear, bathed in a cruel nature he's tried so hard to lose from his persona. "I wish it were just one bad dream" There's so many questions in his head; are you asleep? Or will he hurt you by trying to force himself into accepting Izuku's death? Are you prone to being hurt and pricked by how raspy and serious his voice sounds? Because you don't make a noise, nor a sniffle, and your hand isn't tightening around the collar of his shirt anymore. He wishes too, it's all a bad dream. For the lover that you lost, and for the person he's known better than anyone, the person that knew him better than anyone. But it's not. And the mellow sound of waves crashing on the shore bears a tune to convince him to forget, but the water won't reflect the stars he can see with his bare eyes. Thus he's asleep before the lurking darkness in sound and sight gets him too. Just for a while, just until it's his own turn to face oblivion. A small part of his brain, though, convinces him he'd face any oblivion so long as he gets to fall asleep in your arms like that, over the soft, warm sand, on a chilly July night.

ii. anger | 9.47 pm If you could only know the reason you're yelling, tears wouldn't be spilling from the corners of your eyes, down your cheeks just to drown on your overly stretched mouth, wetting the lips that are stinging in splits and bruises of dehydration. He's not one to back down while facing the disdain of his own feelings. When that disdain should be directed on how petty the cause for your irritation is, you're both focused on the snap of nerves inside each of your heads, chests heaving as you're staring at each other dead in the eye; you, from the cold seat of your couch, Katsuki, from the numbing howling that seeps through the cracks of your front door. The bags in his hands are heavy with groceries and the weight of this peculiar, unspoken agreement to settle together. It's hidden in the affection behind every piece of vegetable and fruit in the tote bags. Even if the night is young, he's got a look in his eyes that mutters how

willing he actually is to grab a pot and a spoon and cook for the two of you. But you know- he shouldn't put pressure on himself after a late patrol for a chore you were supposed to fulfill. If only he wasn't on your ass about ordering take out. "You can't fucking order again." He speaks, grunting more so than accentuating the words as he probably should. But he's irritated you, so much that you've spent the last ten minutes yelling at each other while standing frozen in your places. Probably, a neighbor has heard and your mere response to the alarming social anxiety that arises from that fact is apathy. You're already directing a big amount of angry spouting at the blond, there's no such room to experience other feelings right now. "Fucking hell, Katsuki just stop! I don't fucking care if you think ordering isn't fucking good. I can't cook right now. I won't cook" You say in a higher pitch "and you won't cook either" When he opens his mouth to speak, you roll your eyes, away from him -you just know what he's going to say- though you instantly regret it. The sight of him frozen, with bags in his hands before your door is upsetting, and begs to stir up your mind in horrid imaginations of him throwing a tantrum at you and leaving you, of him never opening up his door to you ever again. Maybe, just maybe you should have thought this through better before yelling at him. "Fuck you" He says through greeted teeth and scrunched up nose huffs "fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck" He's not a punching bag, he's the only person who's here for you and your heart won't forgive you if you lose him. Your head turns or snaps to his direction, eyes too gooey to meet his gaze properly, but you still do look at him so desperately, you're sure your heart makes a ripping sound at its very seams. And that firm dedication of his to closing himself off is evident again; in that wet anger in the corner of his eyes, seeping like magma just at the tips but never falling down on his cheeks. In his pursed lower lip -and oh, will it be so infuriating to think, you don't wanna fight, you just want him to press those lips against your forehead and forget those arguments that always arise? As he's headed for the kitchen, step after step and upper lip overlapping the bottom one to hide his irritation, his eyes are averted from you and you chase after him with counted movements; a little limp to your left leg by sitting on it for a long time bubbling up inside your bones. Unwillingly, non-eagerly. Regret and remorse for yourself are feelings that rush through you, making your tongue run faster than your mouth, making your head dizzy with guilt and drowning you of a trillion of things you want to say to him. "Katsuki" You plead with half a breath, eyebrows forming an impossible frown above your eyes "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, i-" "Fucking save it. Order if you want, I don't care" "Katsuki-" He huffs air too harshly out of his scrunched up nostrils again and shuts his eyes closed, hands resting over the groceries as he's leaning over the kitchen table. Not once in the minute he's taking from himself does he spare you a glance, but you can rather listen to him mutter a soft 'be patient' under his own breath. To himself, you realise, but your heart's too heavy as you anxiously suck your upper lip inside your mouth, wondering -will an apology fix this? It may irritate him even more, and taking the risk is probably not worthy of him getting riled up, but you go for it nonetheless, hidden away behind the stall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Your little hiding spot for the moment, a place where you can safely hide behind as you choke on your own spit, trembling at the thought of any possible outcome of your next choice of words. "I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm snappy lately" He won't respond and you notice how he's counting his breathing with eyes still shut, though, ever so slightly; that's your sign to step back, give him space and time as you make your first step to the living room. Though small glimmers of regret

springle inside your heart, landing in small needle-like jabs on every stretchy wall of the overly sensitive organ, your brain begs to be the voice of common sense, just to push you to just give him space. But what if he doesn't want space. What if he wants to be held? Like you do. What if he doesn't want to fight? "I'm sorry" You mutter under your breath, again Your step is almost crippled as you try to approach him, lost and scared at the sight of him still struggling to compose himself still. The guilt in your gut is immense and spreading like a wildfire on rotten land, but you feel like, perhaps, you -and him consequently- soothe down when your hand touches his shoulder, or, when your forehead rests easy on the crook of his neck, just after you out your weight on your toes, You can't help but repeat your previous statement. "I'm sorry, talk to me, tell me if you're good or not" He grunts, letting out a short breath in the form of a sigh. 'I'm not', you translate and your chest tightens Your right hand comes to curl around his chest over his shoulder, your left, mechanically even, cripples around his waist enough so you can press his back into your chest. "Fuck i-" You don't make a move to shush him "I feel so bad, I just. What would he have to say about me if I left his girlfriend on her own, to eat crap everyday. That's not healthy for you. I shouldn't be fucking yelling. I shouldn't-" He's so out of breath, that you consider punching some air into his lungs, with the softest CPR to have ever been performed, but the thought leaves your head immediately, your heart drowning your stomach in guilt at the imagery of your lips on his. The snap to reality after that little moment is so intense, you don't know how you handle yourself and your heart. "I shouldn't be yelling" In all your years, you've never heard him be so sincere while being so furious. When it's true that he's nothing of getting into drama or anything of sort, Katsuki is always too prideful to admit when he's made a mistake. You figure, it's unfair to still judge him as if he's his UA self, or his middle school self even. He's a different person now, having lived through so many events that could crush even the most strong willed person -and that's what he gets from admiring All Might, you think- and all he's ever done is try to be here for you. Understanding each other in such difficult times is mandatory and compromise is a foundation that you both need to work on. You find yourself opening your mouth and shutting it again for several seconds as you're trying to voice it. The dry, chapped feeling of your lips colliding makes you want to shut your eyes and wordlessly communicate your thoughts to him, but it's impossible. For your quirk isn't transmitting your thoughts to others, nor is it keeping track of one's thoughts. Everything you do to comfort him, has to be done by yourself, strictly. "Katsuki, I don't want you to-" You nuzzle your face into his back in hopes that perhaps, it muffles the intensity of your speech "I don't want you to overwork yourself for me. Izuku-" His name is whispered like words of sin or ruthless statements of atrocities, when it shouldn't "-wouldn't let me do that to you." He doesn't talk, or sigh, or even place his hand on yours and a whole minute passes like that. Or two, or three, or an eternity. The clock is ticking so loud that it's unbearable, his heartbeat muffling your ears while his scent is musking your nose. It's a funny thing, that perhaps, everything feels so warm, so comforting like this, you'd like to keep hugging him, if he allows you too. For as long as this minute's eternity can last. "Don't leave me cause I'm angry and snappy" It's so barely audible that you think he's only trying to calm himself down again, but it strikes you like a swift slash of a sword to your chest to realize the weight of his words. You thought you were the only one feeling this way. 'Don't leave me'. As if- as if it's an option that's hunting the depths of his chest, or perhaps as if your situation isn't a granted part in your lives for a little over a month. You're not one to inquire of a person in panic why they said what they said or if there's a cryptic meaning behind his very words. Because, frankly, there isn't. He's pretty clear, even while being tenderly desperate about it. And oh, you feel your heart pull and pinch at the thought of it.

"I'm not leaving" "Good" When he turns to face you, he's gripping onto your palms like it's painted out to be for dear life, a plea to not let him go as he turns his body around; you feel as if he needs you, as if, you're necessary to comfort him as well. You're too far gone in the joy that gathers in your stomach to hear him utter the words "I'm not leaving either" but you find some meaning of this statement in his embrace, when he shoves you into his chest. There's a little awkward cripple to your gaze that causes you to steal a stare outside the window or, perhaps, it's something bigger, or even the drive in your heart to hope for something more as an outcome for this. In the worst case scenario, you're pleading for forgiveness, if, by any chance, Izuku is still out there and can witness this little happening. That's when you find it, and truly, you have to catch a second glance at it to feel certain about what you just saw. Subtle little shimmers of stars, painting a large part of the sky, patiently awaiting to be noticed, in agony and tiredness that only a hero could recognize. And if you're a hero, you can feel it too, the kneeling of the legs, the flexing of the arms -it's all there- drawn by little stars of other galaxies in front of your very eyes, after searching for them for years. That's perhaps what people mean when they say, happiness is found in small things. Katsuki's arms around you, his faint breathing grazing the skin of your nape tenderly as he's calming himself down is more than enough, but the sky tonight has managed to make a compromise for the two of you, shining the diamond colors of the hercules constellation to the two of you. It's a blink and you'll miss it, no reason to break away from his arms, so you coo into his mellowy neck, speaking against his skin. "I found it, the hercules constellation" "What? Where" He's not shook at all as he speaks, and it doesn't surprise you either; there's this dazzling tranquility in the air, so much for getting you to calm down after such rage, but you'll take it over anything else, anytime. When Katsuki seems to detach his resting lips from the crook of your neck, he lays the side of his face on the very spot, inquiring again about the location of the constellation. You're more than happy to provide him with an answer. He drags you to the balcony with slow steps, a million steps away from the lights of your apartment as it seems before snapping his head towards the sky, squinting his eyes to comb through any star he could probably set his gaze on. You help him find it, not because it's before his very eyes, but because something inside you is flickering to rush you. Hurry it up. Look at the pretty stars and embrace him again, because it feels good, and you don't mind that you get mad at yourself for thinking this way. You don't even want to question your morals as thoughts of holding his hand pass through your head. Maybe a finger or two tangled in his like messy strands of hair, too hard to detangle- maybe that'd be comforting. Perfect even. Despite your best efforts to tickle his pointer finger with yours shyly, you come to realise he won't respond -you better behave, or, you should have know, but the insecurities that make you question everything are as evident as they'll ever be- you wonder if you've made him uncomfortable. But he's wrapping an arm around your shoulders, by grabbing that hand you're using to guide his gaze across the constellation and this time you can't help, but tangle all of your fingers through his, like a hair clam, fitting so perfectly, your heart cracks even more than last time. "I can pop some rice in the rice cooker and you can buy some Teriyaki" He sighs, though not once does he pry his eyes away from the stars

And that's where you feel a weight lifting off your shoulders, only to drop to your stomach; it's not a half hearted compromise, rather, it's sincere, something so eerie and far away from the usual 'take it or leave it' Katsuki Bakugo, but… you'll take it. With a broken smile and a coo into his shoulder. You turn to look at the stars as well, and Katsuki cracks a small smile now that you can't see it, because compromising actually feels good, relieving or whatever. He doesn't want to think about whether, in any sense, he's on your mind or not, he'd rather show you a piece of his own mind, a crack opening to see inside his heart -it's almost too painful that he has to be the one to calm things down. He's never been one to do so, but standing on his feet right now is mandatory. For you, him, whatever the two of you have got going on, because if not, coping won't be effective. He likes to think, you have each other in this, and that's enough for him. To keep things peaceful he has to take an occasional step back, and if that's the price to pay, he guesses he will. Izuku may be gone, he may have turned the two of you into what seems an unfixable broken mess, but at least he's left you with each other. Perhaps, he'll once appear again, in the form of new love, or a smile on your face at the sight of an old childhood photo, and things will be fine again. If only he could have been kinder, or better, or not as competitive, he wouldn't be sorry or trying to fix his own self. For now though rice and teriyaki ought to be the only problems he wants to face.

iii. bargaining | 7.30pm "What if I could have prevented this?" His voice is anything but loud, his chest too hollow, bouncing the voice of his concern around the broadness of his muscles, just to graze into your ears in soft vibrations. The statement alone makes you perk up and swoon your face away from him, hands laid flat and firm against his petrocals as you're finally fixing him with a gaze. Saturdays always bite his ass and Sundays are ever so depressing. This weekend is no less easy for the two of you. Katsuki's barely able to slur words without hissing or cursing, seeing as his jaw is bandaged up by being sliced by a villain at work today, and you've both decided that it's best if he gets to have an early night. "You'll be fine by next week, I'll help you change your bandages" He shakes his head before he buries his face behind his palms, as if trying to hide his emotions from you; you give him the right, with a worried face to match the situation "Not that, shit- no 'm taking 'bout Izuku" Oh You can't really place yourself into why but you've been having the same thoughts as of late. It's only natural, you dare say, to convince yourself not to be persistent on guilt tripping that little mellow voice in your head that tried to tell you that everything's going to be fine in the end, but it's in vain- for every time this happens you have to find a new way to occupy yourself to shove the destructive thoughts away. It's probably not right in any sense, to prompt Katsuki to ignore the problem as well, but the thudding of your heart -always matched perfectly by the raindrops that hit on the roof of the house hard enough to make you feel oh so concerned- commands you to find a new coping mechanism to add to your little pile. "I- I just-" A look in his eyes and you're lost in a trance of whether you're going to break his heart by momentarily avoiding talking. It is more than enough to convince you to voice something, anything, but every word that sparks at the back of your brain is washed by astounding waves of anxiety that have your tongue swim in the sea of your mouth. You don't come up with anything to say for as long as a moment lasts. "It's like- I should have been there! I turned down that fucking call because I was sure he could do this on his own" "Katsu" "He fucking- I fucking- I-" "Hey, stop it-" You plea "It doesn't make it any different, I know that but-" He snaps

quicker than you can imagine, prospering away from another call of his name that slips from your lips. Irises turn away from you in wrinkly eyes, furrowed brows and pursed lips. His heart is palpitating so fast, his eyes flicker in what you can read is pain, maybe, you could take some blame to yourself. Not that you have any right trace if thought to come up with comfort, or rather, not like you have it in you to let Katsuki assign this all on himself. "I could-" You start, yet your mouth is dry "I could have been there as well-" It's such an awkward miniscule moment that you share but it's enough to make your heart feel like it's breaking in regret. You're only left to wonder if your friends are feeling that way too, about Izuku's call for reinforcements that Katsuki turned down, that none of them tended to on time. "Don't put this on you" Your stomach, unable to cooperate with any plea of yours to not drown in anxiety, stirs its contents to it's desire, making you sit up; Katsuki's embrace is too void for you right now, your chest is way too hollow for you to not feel alienated. It's in moments like these that you know trying to handle yourself or your life with each other is probably a mistake, a false emotional dependency that should not exist otherwise, and you always hope he gets to prove those intrusive thoughts of yours otherwise. You're taken aback when warm hands find their way around you; it's unexpected and you flinch, but you're soothed the moment your brain processes who it is that's hugging you, bringing you back to reality and breaking your short lived dissociation. He presses his ear onto the crook of your neck, this time, not hissing at the way his wounds ache as his skin tubs on yours. He notices that certain way your breathing's working and he sighs in relief, or sorrow, for he's too scared to ever speak of what's hiding in his chest, or what's adding to him feeling so twisted and evil. "Wanna go for a ride?" He says, unexpectedly, surprising even himself by how absurd it sounds "Where to?" "Niko" He purrs and you let out a giggle "That's too far silly" "I 'on know, heard it's pretty this time of the year" You finally turn around to him, only slightly so as to not disturb his embrace and ruffle a hand through his hair, and pause just before your lips find his forehead. Somewhere deep inside of you it hurts for this to feel so casual, a loving interaction with Katsuki of all people. It feels like some sick trick of betrayal but your eyes are burning onto his skin while your world moves in slow motion. A hand on his cheek isn't as harmful as the addition of another one, yet you still go for that choice, dry lips inevitably set onto pale pink skin, pressing a soft kiss of comfort. "We could go at that spot, near UA, we used to go there a lot when we were high schoolers" Katsuki's words are calm and collected, hidden between gritted teeth so he can appear like his chest is fuller than yours, but what you don't know is that his heart is trying to beat out of his chest, like it's the most secretive, harsh prison. He briefly wonders if by knowing so, you'll hurt as much as him. But your kiss on his forehead, the warm place in which he rests face against your chest it all points to you feeling the same- it's there and he can read every single sign, whether he wants to deny them or not. "Should I get dressed?" A grunt this prolonged means yes. And truth be told the set and scenery of this small driving outlet is almost idyllic; a silent car ride, tainted faces and the gloomy watery corners of one's eyes to match the pouring rain, the slow, mellow music matching in beats with the squeaky wipers. What a perfect, diligent harmony you've got. It feels like a cut to another scene in a slow paced movie. The time is still stuck at 8.15, signifying how it wasn't long ago that you were starting to drown in a pool of bargaining -and voicing it out loud- and a part of you is still sad for thinking that maybe, for Katsuki, you're a coping mechanism. A full rembrandt of what's left of

Izuku's that he doesn't want to give up. You keep wondering if that would be the case had he still been alive. Would he ever have such an attitude stored inside of him for you had you not been dating Izuku on what now counts as ancient history? He parks his car on a narrow little road that splits the woods in half and turns the engine off. Seeing that it's November already, you think about how this is a bad idea, you know how cold he gets, and he's not wearing any jacket but you keep it to yourself. Perhaps, had Izuku been here, he would have brought an extra jacket too. For now, it's foggy windows and died down warm breaths. Thus, with a quivering lip you settle lower into your seat and sigh. "I- I know you like stargazing" He coughs, vermillion eyes pacing back and forth between you and the rain that's clashing on the car's glass "and I got an app and a window on the roof of my car" "But it's raining" "Who caaaares!" He grunts when you pout and turns away from you, something that makes your stomach coil abrasively. You want him to look at you, you want him to- As ridiculous and bitter as it sounds, you're tired of asking yourself if any of this would be happening were Izuku still here. Because he's got a stupid little fucking app on his phone for you. Because you're dying to press your lips onto his skin again. Half an hour ago feels like an eternity has passed already. He cares about you enough to open the app -and switch the location of his phone on- and that's more than enough actually. You glue your eyes to the bright screen and follow it as it pops us with a dark window, asking for confirmation that it's authorized to use the camera of Katsuki's phone. A part of you sinks in the silent death of love at the thought that, yes, he downloaded this just for you. Joy in little things, you figure, is what keeps you grounded, it's what ultimately pushes you to rest your head on his shoulder as he lifts his phone up, facing it on the small opening on the roof of his car. "Can't see past all this water, dammit" "So?" You coo, and the previous small irritation in his voice dies down with a grunt that comes from the depths of his chest. "The app's fine. Feels just like stargazing." You've never done anything similar with Izuku. And there's not even a spec of comparison clouding over your head, despite the guilt that settles in your stomach once again. Looking up to Katsuki, you can see his jaw tensing in the slightest, most probably in pain -you wonder, does his wound still ooze- and you can't help but feel like your eyes are stinging. You sniffle nonetheless. And Katsuki retreats his shoulder, letting your head hang without support as he turns to you. "Maybe, even if we can't see them, they're still there and-" You purse your lips to the side of your cheek, thinking of a reply, anything to say to make his words seem like they've come out of his mouth. "You've turned into quite the poet lately, haven't you?" Your answer should be that no, he hasn't, he's just hurt and confused, numb and afraid, but in turn you're all those things as well, or so he speculates by looking in your eyes. Because he can read people, he can read you, and as much as this has been established, he can't find it in him to speak a word on it. Then again, what's the point in holding anything in if you're going to die one day? The life of a hero is expendable, he's got his rise and fall as number one set in stone, so why should he hold back? He can't bring Izuku back even if he wants to, and he can't possibly stop himself from feeling for you. He remembers finding salvation in holding Izuku down and apologizing. He now finds humility in words that are spoken from his mouth that slip past his consciousness. "I love you- Don't care if it's fucking raining or not- Fuck" There's no time for you to think of a response before he throws a fit; his phone is slammed on the backseat, rocketing to the floor, and the click of his door is heard before he steps out of the car and slams it shut. He's lucky- the rain covers most

of the scream that he let's out and fills the buzzing void in your chest, your head. He said the words first, and your head is pulling you instinctively to your right, just where he was a few moments ago, you want to see if he's facing you, you long to feel your eyes meet his. You manage to collect the only ever courage you have left and push the thought of Izuku away from your mind, click your door open and shoot out of the car. Just like him. Like you're his echo. "Don't say a fucking word" He dismisses your open mouth, as if he can hear your breath clearer than this deafening rain, but you're not having it. "But i- i" "Shut up, as if you know-" "But I feel the same way" You whisper "What" He yells, and you scream at him to get back in the car, so you can talk, clearer. Though when he does, he's burning his eyes on your lips, then your eyes, then he never makes any move towards you, as if everyone and anything is on you. But none of you takes the bigger leap towards each -justified, because there's trembling in your movements and hesitation in your heads. And then your lips meet his. Tenderly, painfully, religiously Your first kiss is cursed by numbing ache, but it feels so right, like the warmest summer evening, or the most hazing bonfire during a cold winter night. Regret can't eat you alive for that one. And Katsuki, even with his lips still pressed against yours knows he will think about this kiss as a sin and a betrayal for far too long, he knows it'll torment him through the darkness of whatever tonight could mean. If only he gets through this night, he'll be fine Tomorrow you'll wake him up with a soft "how'd you sleep'' again and he'll be fine. The void and guilt inside his chest will get filled up with the warmness of being embraced first thing in the morning. Perhaps in time he'll convince himself that Izuku would never mind what's going on between the two of you, if you're meant to be endgame.

iv. depression | 12.07 am

Soft bubbles that smell like carnation and the auburn flicker of the fire that shines on top of a plethora of candles set the atmosphere for this evening. The lack of bright light -being that the whole city has been in a black out for several hours- is gentle to yours and Katsuki's eyes. What should have been matched with some of the artificial warmth the heater next to the bathtub, that should be providing for the two of you. Instead, it's him that keeps the temperature high.

Your muscles hurt and his wounds ache, as always, after a tiring day of hero work. You guess that's your daily nature; after hours and hours of overworking your body and soul, two people like you only get to spend the little time they have together like this. Late at night, curled up against each other, borderline sleeping in a bathtub. You're sure the water has a pinkish red tint to it -somewhere, a wound of his or yours is bleeding more that you'd like to believe is natural.

Katsuki is unbothered to check who's wounds are worse.

For the first time in a while, his mouth isn't dry, or chapped, a killer to his heart, for he can't find the right choice of words to spell to you. He should be fine with having you curled up against his chest, but somewhere along the way he finds it hard to experience the warmth he's trying to emit. And he thinks he finds your response to this unspoken mind trick when he cups your hands with his, checking at your fingers. Not a single prune or puckered line to clasp a non indifferent reaction from the back of his brain.

He's content with the way time seems to have stopped, trapping you in a moment filled with cold granite tiles and blood spoiled water that smells like lavender. In a movement he abandons your hands, watching them float over his. You hum -it's warm and welcoming, as if you're saying you're content too- and rest the back of your head to the crook of his neck.

His only reply is to nuzzle his nose into your neck as well. Placing a tiny kiss to the skin against his lips, tangling his fingers through your wet hair.

Small reassuring acts of

love with nothing special into them help you relax completely into him. "Kinda nice that you can see the stars so bright tonight" If you're looking for a cynical answer, then Katsuki's ever your man. "Of course they'd show when it's pitch black outside. What'd ya expect?" With your eyes glued to the glass ceiling for a long while you wonder, what did you expect really? Words that spiral in your brain are always spoken, leaving you numb and inquiring, searching for an answer in the deepest curves of your brain. When burning your eyes into his will never work, he decides to let his gaze melt holes in the vast of his bathroom windows. The beauty of minimalism leaves him cold and lonely, as if there's facelessness in the black veil of the sky that mimics the inside of his home. He curls into you by pressing you against his chest tighter. You never ask him why his bathroom is built the way it is -with that little corner window in the ceiling, neither does he know what he'd answer to you were you ever in a position to. He doesn't know how to apologize for being who he is, or his that window makes him feel like he used to be assured and secured on what was assigned to him by birth. (His parents’ money, a strong quirk.) He doesn't know how to apologize for still living in traits of his life that could make you feel like he's been everything but fair to Izuku. And all you probably think about, he convinces himself is that It'd be ironic to say that you mind having a view of the stars while having a midnight bath. It's a full moon tonight too -the glowing sky orb floating just above the furthest line of the horizon, illuminating the sky. And you, with your eyes shut by now and facing the glass ceiling, seem like you feel the weight of the moon pulling you in. What Katsuki knows for sure is that you have a terrible migraine that has you frowning horrendously. It's because of the fool moon, you'll say when the blond asks you why you're suffering, it always gives you migraines and he'll sit by you as you're making him his bath, holding your hand while he asks you to join him. He's nothing but a lover of roughness and void, he doesn't know how you're still with him, or how you ever fell for him. He feels slow, like a worn out tire, washed to a shore by the sea. But his hands, calloused and sculpted harshly even only by the -not so many- years of being a pro, aid to your comfort, not in his need to be a hero -more like, in his need to be human, or not feel inadequate, to not feel like his life is a pit of guilt because Izukus is over. And it has been for a long time. And his, is taking turns so abruptly that his gut churns and pleads. Two bulky thumbs run over your eyebrows, smoothing the short coarse hair and soothing the bone, swooning the sore pain away; it feels like custom made heaven, sweet and fluffy, and the water in the bathtub won't get cold, nor will his hands. You're so relaxed into him, bones turned into jelly and skin tingling at his touch. Every circle he's rubbing on your forehead is releasing tension you didn't know you had piled up. The soft splashes of water are merely inaudible when compared to his heartbeat, but you can't feel it. Not yet. It's not tense enough for him to feel like his heart is beating out of his chest. "You any better?" Cold. Brutal. Almost as if his hands belong to someone else, but that's Katsuki for you, or anyone else as a matter. You turn your head to him, wearing a tiny, worn out smile as you lean you mean into him, clashing your lips over his, bumping your nose to his cupid's bow when you're done. Katsuki, you're sure, closes his eyes in a feeling that doesn't seem pleasant and you do the most expected thing -retreat. It hurts; watching you slip away, turn your head to face the stars outside of his window, wiggle your body away from his, to collect your knees and press them against your chest. It's devastating how a small denial to a kiss can harm you in such a way. It's either his fault, or yours. Because somewhere deep inside his head he's convinced

himself he's a rebound. Someone you'll get over when you start getting better. And he's probably convinced himselfhes viewing you in this way, somehow. "You could have at least kissed me back" You whisper, shivering. The water is cold, finally, it was so nice while the warmth washed over your skin. Almost like a lie. "I-" He huffs, buries his head into his wet palms. He can't speak, for if he does, the crack in his voice, the high pitch of it, will snitch on his torment. He tries to shove it away, when he shoots his hands to your direction, trying to pull you into him again. When it doesn't work, you swear you see the corners of his eyes sparkle just a tad. It's alienating, when you've seen him cry and have numerous break downs, more times than you've seen him smile or laugh, you feel like you're foreign to the slight emotion that gathers in his eyes, now forming a pit, never spilling down the harsh lines of his cheeks. The moment a salty streak appears on his skin, you can help but wonder, what would happen if only you could stop your own tears from falling. You can't ask him to talk to you, it's more than obvious. You're deprived of any logical sentence forming mechanism in your brain, knees like jelly, arms heavy as two whole buildings in the verge of collapsing. One word of his and your heart will unleash all the ache that gathers slowly in your throat. "'M not just here cause Izuku died" There you go, not once, but seven times, feeling your heart pierce holes in your body, hanging from his every word, cursing yourself when you grasp his meaning. Wild and unleashed and raw, a plea, an inquiry. A way of masking his insecurity and it's your fault he's feeling this way. "You're not," You start, lost and perplexed "I love y-" But it does down faster than you would have wanted it. You turn your head away from him for a second. With the moon so high, and the city lights non existent, you can distinguish the Taurus constellation, just below the moon, and so very faint. Your throat is tight, your neck is sore, your voice won't come out -you wonder why astrology is right about Taurus controlling the throat- and you don't know how to make him feel good about himself. If only you can show him the constellation he'll be fine, right? Do zodiac constellations make him as excited as they make you? Or is that just a role he's taken upon himself to stick with you? His lips clash with yours, water splashing around you as he shifts, and he hugs you close to him. It's your cue, to close your eyes and move your lips in sync. Its a sullen form of desire, that dangerous one, where you get his lips to bleed from how hard you bite down onto his lip and twist and pull and clash him into you again because you can't get enough. You tell yourselves you have to live for this present, even if the past makes it unbearable. Just when your hearts feel like they'll jump out of your chests and dissolve into the lavender smelling bubbles, this time painting the water in a deep carmine, you clash your chest to his and he feels as if, he's wanted, here and now, even if the feeling won't last for long. And then it's hands that roam bruised skin, fingers than dig into softness or thick muscle, fingernails that dig into scalps painfully, until they draw blood as your teeth clash. It's passion, and only in the way your hips ghost over his, swaying in the water, as he's grunting "see, am kissing you back" and "We'll never be clean at this rate" "I'll massage your head when we're done" You breathe, pulling back for a second, as he sucks a spot on your neck, handling your back just to press your chest to his face. "Fuck, I love yo-" You shush him with your mouth on his, forehead sticking to his when a slit on your nose gets smashed when it scrunches against his cheek. He doesn't have to say it, you don't have to hurt him like this. It almost doesn't matter -the cold- when he pulls you to the edge of the bathtub and buries himself into you, you simply shiver by the way his thumb rubs your clit, thrusting your hips in rhythm to

meet his. And he bites on to your collar bones, eyes teary and heart heavy after he lets you set the pace, occasionally thrashing into your touch, his gut churning more and more as you go. It's only when he takes matters into his own hands -lifting you and pressing your back again the wall, putting out some candles I'm the process- hand on your face to shove some hair away, and legs wrapped securely around him that you both find release. Screaming in agony, crying in what could be mistaken for pain, sticking your foreheads together as your breaths tingle into one hot huff of air that travels up and way from you. You lock eyes with him, just before he lets his body collapse into the water, limbs numb and sore. "Please don't leave too." You whisper, sinking down just behind him, fetching for the shampoo bottle from behind you. He doesn't respond. Instead, he mimics you and rests his head on the crook of your neck, eyeing you backwards, pressing his lips into an upwards line. You're not sure you'll be able to get over this void soon, and you can't help but plead. Later, as you're washing through his hair, you show him the Taurus constellation and his eyes beam like a child's when he says "hey I'm a Taurus" all while tending trying to tend for the bite that he left on your shoulder. He doesn't ask to find the cancer constellation. You don't remember where to find it. The moon is too bright for you to even try.

v. acceptance | 6.59 am

The last rembrand of a star shines in a portrait of purples and oranges. The beautiful afterglow of the previous night, the first ray of sun washes its shine away, almost entirely, before a second can come. To paint the sky in blues, sprinkle the marine shade as to spoil the darkness' leftovers.

The night star, or morning star, tolerates a third, then forth ray of sunlight, and your watery eyes flicker at the scene, your head curling deeper into Katsuki's chest, humming as his hand wraps tighter around you, rubbing frantically over your skin to create some friction. It's only then that you're reminded how beautiful warmth is.

Your ear is cold -after Katsuki's doing while playing with the roots of your hair- and you tuck it under a few strands, instantly noticing the difference in temperature. Katsuki is cold as well, shivering slightly even with the blanket that's wrapped around the two of you. You can't help but wish that you were in bed, curled in a blanket cocoon, sleeping in the most sappy, eerie way.

But spending the night at the beach in early September night's has been a favorite activity of yours for the past few years. Long gone are the July nights spent in agony at the beach in Musutafu, nights that have allowed you to know Katsuki like the back of your hand. You can't take them back, replace them with memories of a happier process of getting to know him. You're not sure he wants to do that too.

He yawns slightly, squishing your head under his elbow to rub his tired eyes, breaking the loudsy inhale to chuckle at your pretend squirming. Avoiding your hair as to not hurt you while scratching the stubble hair on his cheeks -flinching slightly at it- before he moves your hair away from your ear, laughing trumphically at his doing.

"Nooo, I'm cold"

He chuckles again, running the tips of his fingers through your hair and tapping his palm over your ear. "Better now?"

"Katsu!"

You smile into his chest, trying to muffle your giggles, deciding to cook into him further.

His heart might as well burst. He thinks to himself that this is more than something he could have asked for, years of putting the effort in being with you awarding him in moments like this. Moments where he can see Venus shine faintly in the sky, feeling blessed by the planet of love as he places kisses to the top of your head.

I'm times like these, it's hard to look back and remember he used to beat himself over trying to convince himself he was drawn to you only because Izuku died. It feels like there's more behind it. Some karmic pull, some aligned stars, fates arranged in such a way that

you were meant to end up in this moment. Even if none of this is true and he's lost in superstitial bullshit, trying to explain things with something that bears no resemblance to simple logic, he figures there aren't any fresh wounds in his body. Time has flown since the last time he caught himself bathing in his own blood, but he's not reckless any more -neither are you- he doesn't go tormenting himself with wounds that will take long to heal. He can't remember times that have been tougher than this. But he's attached to the warm sand, moist still from the night's angry chill, so much that he slips one hand out of the blanket and sinks it low into the ground. It's so pleasant that he doesn't feel the ground pulling him in, or down. He's got a heart that will withstand his will to get up any time he wants to, and a pair of legs that will at his command, a chest that heaves with breaths while you're showering him with kisses. He won't get to spend an eternity like this, not even as many years as he thinks will be enough for him to enjoy this, but he's figured that there's eternity hinged in every moment, of taking care of yourself before you take care of someone else, so you don't hurt others around you. He's surprised with how much he's changed; he is aware that change is inevitable, through all the compromises that he's had to not condemn, all the soft words he's forced himself to say to you, to himself, to the point he's become softer, mellowed. Knowing he'd never forgive himself if he came to lose you to his grief. "We should get up, I'm sure Mina and Ochaco will be freaking at this point." He chuckles, hiding his tongue in the back of his mouth, as if to fish for a reply. "Kirishima and Denki will-" "Let the fuckers do as they wish, it's my wedding day, I decide when I show up. I can't with this enthusiasm" "Oh my god" You fake gasp, clapping your mouth "this is it? You're not going to marry me? You've lost your spark? Oh me. Oh my, whatever do I do?" You laugh, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he's laughing too, ruffling your hair in the messiest way he can imagine "There, now your hair is unfixable and I get to say it's you who left me at the altar" You burst out in giggles as you're trying to get up -efforts wasted in vain, because he's pulling you back onto him, for a kiss, one that makes your lips feel like cotton candy that slowly melts away, fuzzily yet so watery and with such delicacy. He gets up soon after you, folding the blanket neatly -too neatly- only pausing to take in the moment. Blue blotch after blue blotch is flooding the sky, almost every hint of purple gone, giving in to that warm tangerine light of the early sun. Katsuki sighs and you link your arms around his elbow. Content, happy. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't much of those himself. There's nothing holding him back. And so, he guesses, this is goodbye. The official one. Not melded with an apology, not fueled by regret. It's a silky woven letting go. There are no tears left for him to shed, there's no more trembling to violently shake your body awake at night. There's nothing but good in the memory of Izuku. Not even the subtle wish for him to be here, and happy with you. As the bright, starry light of Venus is outshone by the sun, he places another kid to the top of your head. "I'll see you at 5" "I'm going to be fashionably late" You argue, turning around to wield your hands around his neck and almost linking your lips to his. "Don't you fucking dare" He kisses you "Or what? You'll blow everyone to pieces?" He kisses you again, then again, then once more. "Might as well" And that's Katsuki for you, even in the calmer, softer version of himself. The personification of the twilight hours, even if he's going to bed at 10pm, wiggling his feet under the covers until you join him. He's the only reason you're still sane and you won't ever lose him. He won't lose you, in return.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha #bakugou #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader

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shushiyuii · 3 years

Note

Here is a writing request! I hope you have fun with it! You can put noms in if you want to! :D : Giant warden hybrid Wilbur lives very deep underground and is very lonely. He meets a lost avian hybrid named Phil and decides to help him out of the cave system. When they get out Wilbur is sad that Phil has to go. Phil then decides its time to adopt another child and brings Wil with him home to a surprised Techno and Tommy.

AAAAAA I LOVE THIS SO MUCH! THANK YOU ANON! I DID HAVE A LOT OF FUN WITH IT and may also have gone a bit crazy with it? lol

(I didn't include Nom's in this story but if you ever wish for a part two with noms or anything i'd be more than happy too!)

Warnings: Injury, (Maybe some heavy subjects such as a child being lonely)

Words: 2.6K+

He doesn’t remember his younger days; he honestly couldn’t be sure who he was or how he even came into existence. One thing for sure was sounds, the tapping of a spider’s legs, creepers occasional hissing, skeleton’s bones rattling and a zombie’s growls.

It was always so dark, he’d seen the light of lava, sometimes even the light of day but the sky was always so high, so out of reach. And he couldn’t quite fit into the cave systems to find a way, so he was stuck.

He’s alone, he hates it. It’s too dark.

…

Phil flew high above the clouds in laughter, it’d been a while since he’d gone out on an adventure. Well, if you counted a much-needed mining trip of coal, iron, and such. But it was nice to be out of the house for once, especially with the kids out of the way.

Not in a bad sense though, he loved his kids but sometimes things were so busy he couldn’t keep track of things. Raising a toddler and a somewhat crazy child is well chaotic.

His two kids, Techno and Tommy. Techno had been adopted by Phil a bit early on, when Phil first met his now-wife, Kristin. He found Techno on the streets of a village, trying to fend off bandits. Phil’s fatherly instincts kicked in, a thing he’d always had and couldn’t help but take the boy in. Much to his reluctance.

Techno grew up with Phil and is now a very healthy and happy 11-year-old, and then there’s Tommy. The most recent member of the family, his little bundle of joy of about 3 years old, Techno found it odd being an older brother, he still does but he copes.

The feeling of his feathers swaying, his hair blowing, him having to attempt to keep his hat on every second, he missed this feeling. He was glad he just managed to find a babysitter since their mother was currently out on ‘business terms’.

…

The vibrant blue sky, below the loving shades of green passing with every flap of his wings. He wondered if his wife was watching over him, with her being a god and all.

He was happy how life was currently going as of late, he only hoped that fate had a good future ahead of him.

He shook himself out of his thoughts as he finally arrived at the destination. He had been well prepared for this trip; it was a mine that he’d been wanting to adventure for ever so long. He could tell there was something about it, something special.

And judging by the vibrant minerals just shining from the sunlight of the entrance, something told him there was more than just iron and coal in this cave, perhaps something more valuable, diamonds.

…

He wasn’t sure how long it’d been, but it had been a long time, he had quite a bit of iron, coal. But not only that gold and emeralds, a valuable currency. He wouldn’t have to worry about mining with the number of minerals he now had. Not only that but diamonds could be used to create powerful weapons.

He knew Techno would be happy, he’d always loved shiny things. Probably due to his Piglin features. And he could make Kristin some beautiful jewellery. It made him happy to say that his family was going to be good for a good while.

…

He picked up different noises, it was odd to hear such things. He could hear strange padding noises, perhaps some creature moving? Not only that but he heard the breaking of stone, which was a rare sound in his caves.

It was somewhat crazy to think something else could be coming closer to him, to hurt him. He knew he was strong not he didn’t even know If he was as strong as the outside monsters.

He wasn’t sure how he came to be in this world, he was always so alone. But sometimes the vines would speak to him, telling him of things like a place called the surface, which was colourful and bright.

…

The breaking of stone could be heard again, it only got louder and louder every minute. Whatever was making those sounds had found him and was coming for him. His antennae twitched anxiously; he was scared he didn’t want to die.

His claws bared as he readied his sharp teeth, he scanned for wherever the sound was coming from and waited to attack.

…

He panted as he broke at the stone, it’d been a while since he’d done so much mining, he was much out of shape. He had no idea where he currently was, he was long lost in this cave with no way of finding his way back. Despite the torches, he had no lead to where he came.

He was now trying to mine into the walls, hoping to find another branch of the cave that would finally lead him to a way to the surface. After the struggles of breaking through the wall for however long, he finally found another branch of the cave.

Big mistake as the first step he took into this cave, there was a loud crashing sound. Something had tried to hurt him, and he barely dodged it, the ceiling of the cave barely supported the impact, rubble falling from the ceiling.

He readied his sword for battle as he ran to behind a rock for cover. Something that caused that impact was definitely big, like strangely big. Not only that but the cave was one of the darkest caves he’d ever seen, the only light being from his torch.

He had no idea of where if he was honest, he couldn’t even tell if he was hiding properly. Anything could creep upon him at the current moment, it was oddly quiet, the only sound being his heartbeat.

…

He heard a strange growl behind him, it scared him with how deep and shallow it sounded, definitely a monster. Hesitantly he turned to the right, and right there was the monster staring right at him. But the monster flinched back when Phil turned around, the bright light in the monster’s face.

It seemed to hurt its eyes as he held his eyes and stumbled back in pain, from what he saw he saw about four eyes, antennae, and dark greenish-blue skin, with some light green bioluminescence that reacted to light. It appeared to be a Warden, a creature Phil had read about.

A creature of great mystery, one that mostly relied on sound, one that could communicate with plants. It was an odd creature, but the thing is about this Warden. It had a set of hair, not only that but it looked a lot more humanoid than what he’d seen drawn of the creatures.

It looked rather young too… No! No fatherly instincts! Monster?...

…

He winced in pain and stepped back from the strange being, he hadn’t seen light in quite some time. This thing was nothing like he’d ever before. He had never seen such a strange light. It hurt. This thing was strong if the creature had that then it could definitely kill him.

It came prepared.

“Hello?” it spoke. His eyes dilated as he scanned for the light, he saw it move around. He could see the creature’s confused features. It seemed almost scared itself, not only that but concerned. Something he wasn’t quite familiar with.

He was surprised by the fact that he could understand the creature, it was an oddly familiar language. “Hello?”, he replied with hesitance. He was scared that the monster’s features would change, and the creature would attack him.

“Oh! You talk? Good, because I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding!”. The creature made a strange sound, but seemed relieved and happy? Laughter?

“Sorry about the light, I didn’t realise it’d hurt you, my name is Phil. How about you?”

“What’s a name?”

“Oh? You don’t have one, well I guess a way to describe it would be a sort of title, something people can call you to identify you from others!”.

“… I don’t have one?”.

…

The creature- Phil had come closer, more friendly than before. No weapons, a smile. The once bright light is now dim, more adjustable.

“Well, if you don’t have a name. How about we give you one?”.

“Okay…”.

“Hmm… You look like a.. A Wilbur!”.

“Wilbur?”.

“That’s your name! Wilbur! Do you like it”.

“It sounds nice. I like it!”.

A name? It sounded nice, it made him feel unique, different from others…

…

“Well, Wilbur. Do you think you could help me?”, “How?”. “Well, you see I’m kind of stuck here. I don’t know my way out.”.

“Where do you want to go?”, “The surface.”.

…

“The surface?”, “Yeah! I need to get home!”. “Home?”, “Yeah, it’s where I live with my family!”, “Family?”, “A group of people who are very important to me, I have to get home or my sons, I don’t know what will happen.”, “Okay. I’ll help.”.

Wilbur lent his hand, confused Phil just stared at it. But Wilbur just ended up scooping up Phil and standing up, wandering through the caves.

“So, you live in these caves?”, “Mhm”, “Aren’t you lonely?”, “… Yeah…”.

“How old are you?”, “I don’t know, they say I’m a youngling…”.

…

Phil’s fatherly instincts kicked in, a kid on his own in a fucking cave system? No fucking way. He had no choice; his mind was already made up. This kid was now his, he now wanted nothing more than to smother this boy in the love he never had, care for Wilbur. Like how he met Techno.

The two ventured the caves for a while, surprisingly no mobs. The two at this point had spoken for a while and gotten to know each other a small bit, Wilbur seemed fairly interested in his family too! So, it made him happy to think that he’d achieved a new son!

But he spoke a little too soon, a loud bang frightened Wilbur. Wilbur jumped back and dropped Phil from a height. Phil landed with an oof and looked back at Wilbur who was now crouching in fear, immediately he ran over to comfort the boy despite his aching leg.

“Hey, hey. Wil, it’s alright, it was just a creeper.”. He ran his hand over the boy’s own hand, “I-I, it was loud...”, “I know, I know. But it’s okay! It’s not gonna hurt you anymore mate! I’ll protect you!”.

…

He released his hold on his eyes and looked down to Phil… Protect? As in guard him? Phil’s eyes were enough to reassure him, it brought him comfort despite the small time of knowing him, he’d never known such a kind person before.

He picked up on a sound, the tugging of string. Phil didn’t seem to hear it as he was concentrating on him. He looked back to see a skeleton aiming an arrow at Phil. Scared, he quickly brought Phil to his chest as the skeleton shot the arrow.

Phil screamed but immediately calmed as he heard the arrow hit the ground, realizing that Wilbur had only been protecting him. He smiled and looked back furiously at the skeleton.

He reached for his sword and despite his aching leg, wiggled out of Wilbur’s hold and sliced the skeleton in half, its remains turning to dust and bones. He looked back to Wilbur, “You okay, mate?”.

“I’m fine! How about you? You’re walking differently.”. “Ah, I’m fine mate. My leg just hurts a bit!”. “Hurts? As in pain?”, “Yeah? Wh-“.

Phil was cut off when Wilbur brought him back to his chest, standing up and continuing their adventure to the surface. Being sure Phil was secure in his hold, not wanting to bring any more pain to this man.

…

A bright light could be seen in the distance, “Hey Wil! I think that’s the surface!”. Wilbur looked over in the direction of the light, he winced slightly but his eyes adjusted as he made way to the light.

Once they were outside, Phil took a good breath of fresh air. Wilbur copied, confused as to why and surprised with how fresh the air felt in his lungs. It was refreshing.

“Wil! We’re outside! Thank you so much!”

“It’s nothing but…”

“Hmm, what’s wrong?”.

“Where do I go now?...”

“We can go to my place if you want, you can meet Tommy and stuff.”.

“Really?”.

“Of course, Wilbur!”.

Phil then flew upwards and directed Wilbur to follow him, along the way Wilbur would get distracted by the views and greenery. Phil was more than happy to wait for the boy.

Now that he thought about it, he had a clearer view of Wilbur, who was definitely a lot more humanoid than he first thought, perhaps he was a hybrid of sorts? Only time could tell.

But at the break of dawn, Phil arrived home as was greeted by a worried Technoblade running towards him, a Tommy trying to follow behind him, wanting his father’s hold.

“Techno! Tommy! Are you guys okay?”. “Dad! Where have you been?”.

The worried words of his son and the rambling of his toddler were enough to make him scoop them up in his arms and cover them in kisses. Which seemed to cheer the two up.

But all hell broke loose when Techno stared up at Wilbur, he stood in front of Phil to protect him. “Who are you?!”, “Techno! Calm down! This is Wilbur! Your brother!”, “Brother?! Really Dad?!”, “Yes really”.

…

Despite the reluctance, Techno grew used to his new sibling, so did Tommy who seemed to really like Wilbur. Not only that but Kristin was more than happy to have Wilbur adopted into the family, and that’s how Wilbur joined the family.

… Bonus …

“Bitch!”

“Oi, don’t use those words, Tommy!”.

Tommy was now about 5 years old, a very clingy 5-year-old. One who never left Wilbur alone, not that Wilbur hated it, he loved his younger brother a lot. It was just sometimes he could be quite annoying.

“Wilby! I want cuddles!”. His antennae twitched as he closed his four eyes, pinching his nose to be as dramatic as possible and let out a long sigh, “Finee!” he dragged out. Tommy’s excitement as he ran to grab blankets was more than enough to make him smile.

Wilbur sat down against the wall as Tommy dragged pillows and blankets against the floor, the things being double his height and dragging behind him. Then made his way to throw the pillows at him and attempting to climb onto his lap.

He failed multiple times, “Wil! Help me!”. Finally with the help of Wilbur’s claw he adjusted and cuddled within Wilbur’s hold.

“Tell me that story again!”, “The one about the civilization and the brothers?”, “Yeah!”.

Wilbur laughed, “Okay!”.

Within 5 minutes of the story, Tommy had fallen asleep, so Wilbur changed to a simple lullaby whilst playing with his baby brothers’ hair. Something precious, something he’d always protect.

“Got room for one more?”, Techno stood there in his crowned PJs, who seemed barely functioning, his blanket and pillow dragging behind him. Usually, he’d never do such a day but today seemed to be an exception. “Of course Tech!”.

The three then fell asleep together.

…

“Awwhh! Look at them Phil!”, Kristin whispered as she peered into the room of her son’s bedroom. Phil giggled, “I know! I’m glad I have such a good family”.

Within the palm of her hand, he laid. Thankfully for them, Kristin was a giant, so the house was already pretty adaptable for Wilbur. She placed a kiss on his forehead. “Love you, hun!”, “Love you too!”.

#mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #dsmp g/t #giant!wilbur #tiny!phil #tiny!techno #tiny!tommy #giant!kristin #shushi's writings

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

stop caring

yooo, so this is actually taken out of one of the sort of I guess series-esque things I’ve written, but it kinda just got shit at the end so I've given up and just wanted to post this instead. So sorry if some of the backstory isn't that clear or anything

tomhollandxfamous!reader

Summary: after your break up you bump into tom at a charity event and when shit hits the fan personally for you, someone who understands you is really what you need (angsty!!! maybe a bit of fluff too?)

TW: panic/anxiety attacks + mentions of assault

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3 months. 3 months you’d managed to avoid the boy that had given you the most joy in the previous years. 3 months without your best friend; of even when you’re with company feeling like a part of you was just absent.

And you had been thriving. Well… that’s what everyone thought. That’s what you tried to portray, because no matter how ‘famous’ or ‘successful’ people perceived you to be - ultimately you were like anyone else. Making your insta pop off after the breakup. And so to the outside world, through the very very small lense of social media life was great. Parties, friends, work.

You were a woman in demand - in all senses of the word.

But of course, as is the 21st century world, it was a lie. Instagram showed only snapshots of what can be very long 24 hours in a day. Naturally, a select few obviously knew - your best friend, Y/f/n being one of them. Yet still you were missing that one support, that one person who would drag you back to reality whenever you got too much into your own head. It actually rather annoyed you, how dependent you had got on him, in every part of your life.

And you really hadn’t expected to see him here today. You’d had your assistant check the guest list, he wasn’t on it. While getting ready, you had avoided all the products that reminded you of him; that soft nude lipstick he loved you in so much; your favourite (exfavourite) earrings. Had you known it, you would have worn these. Just because you knew it would get on his nerves a little bit. Nevertheless here you were, perhaps a little underdressed for the charity dinner in a dress you’d already worn before (because apparently that was a sin in the world of Hollywood). You couldn’t pin point from when, but it was simple yet elegant if you did say so yourself. A dark blue satin dress, that sat off your shoulders in a Bardot style; hugged your waist to accentuate your curves; then flowed outwards down to the floor with a slit up your right leg. It was simple compared to the sequin studded, diamanté jewelled dresses the rest of the women seemed to sport but it made you feel comfortable.

Besides, that’s what you needed today. This was the first time after the breakup you’d attended a public event without your best friend-turned-assistant-turned-absolute-life-saver. Y/f/n had been the greatest with you all through your life but especially recently, she deserved the break to go back home and see her family. It was a pretty decent excuse too, her cousins wedding, so you were in absolutely no place to complain.

Evidently it just HAD to be this event then, while you were flying solo, that you’d be faced with…well with his face. His fucking gorgeous, perfect and oh so sweet face.

Just seeing him, just seeing Tom fucking Holland, had the most intense burst of adrenaline course through your veins as you desperately scanned the rest of the room. Looking for an out, an excuse, someone to latch onto for the rest of the night. A distraction even.

Never one to admit it openly, but really you knew your coping mechanism of the past months had been to sleep with who you wanted. Because the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else right? You knew it was stupid too. Not because of slut shaming or anything ( we aint got no outdated views here), but simply it wasn’t you. It wasn’t a good idea for you. It didn’t fit.

Tom hadn’t seen you yet, so if you latched onto someone you’d likely be in the clear. So obviously, when your frantic glances landed upon Joe Keery, you literally sighed in relief. Joe was great, stranger things was a bit of a guilty pleasure for you - especially when you were in your trailer and bored. Just due to your line of work, you’d met a couple times, he seemed like decent crack and to you knowledge was single.

Unsurprisingly then, you almost marched over to Joe, ignoring the slightly shaky feeling in your leg as your hearing seemed to focus completely on the sound of Tom’s bright laugh.

It was your choice too. You’d chosen to end things. It was on you. Well really, both parties were equally guilty. Tom was the one who had been too tired and highly strung and exhausted to put effort into the relationship. Stupidly though, you were too in love to realise for so long, in doing so draining yourself in the process. The constant flying cross country to see him, when he couldn’t ever return the favour because he was too busy. It was chipping away at you, even if you didn’t notice. It took an intervention by your manager Davey and Y/f/n for you to see things for what they were. To see that Tom didn’t care as much as he used to.

He tried to fight for it, of course Tom did, because he also truly and deeply loved you. Nonetheless though, it was too late. And that was it. You closed that book and returned it to the library. Something your mind occasionally drifts back to and you think ‘huh that was a good read’ - yet that is the only space it occupies in your mind.

OR that’s how it should be. Not you yesterday, comparing everything your date did to Tom and deciding everything was worse. Not you today, seeing him and nearly being floored by the way the suit was tailored to his body oh so exquisitely. Not you now, hearing his bubbly laughter and having to fight your muscles from taking you back into his arms.

In short, you were highly strung and pining over a boy you’d killed your chance of happiness with.

Not to blow your own horn, you knew Joe wouldn’t be against having your company for the evening. After all, you were a young, beautiful and upcoming actor. You were ,at the very least, self aware. And so for a good few hours you almost forgot about Toms presence, spending the time before the speeches sharing a ridiculously overpriced bottle of wine (or two) with him. He was funny. He made you laugh, even if he was pushing the limits occasionally and teetering just on the right side of socially acceptable. It was risky and in that moment, with the alcohol in your system, it made him seem more and more of an attractive shag.

By the time the speeches started you were both overly giggly and had to keep shushing each other as the presenter called for quiet. Inherently, you knew exactly the location of Thomas - who he was sat around; the main he’d had at dinner; the brand of beer he’d been ordering.But that was subconscious. You were here with Joe.

Under your voices, whilst getting some disapproving looks from the older, more mature, members of your table you and Joe sat through the first boring speech whispering jokes under your breath - making each other clamp their mouth shut to avoid bursting out laughing. Though tipsy, you were very aware of Joe inching closer and closer, while his hand was casually brushing yours or your shoulder or waist more often. You knew this was low, being so blatant in front of Tom. To be quite frank though, should you care? And did he care?

The answer in your head at least, was an almost certain no to both.

One speech merged into another spent giggling away until Joe did something he didn’t mean. Heck he didn’t even know. His jesting quickly had toppled completely over into absolutely not category. Your brain felt like it was swimming as the name you’d avoided after that incident , almost ten years ago. The flashbacks came thick and fast. You an innocent young actor wanting to make a way in the industry. And him. A powerful, ridiculously important slightly overweight 50 year old with bad breath. That room in the corner of his hotel that you were completely lost in.

You were going to be sick.

Somewhere, distantly, you heard Joe saying something… asking you? Asking you if your were good? It was drowned out by a roar in your ears, you jerkily nodded your head. You knew your breathing was jilted, shaky and shallow. You knew your heart was exploding. It actually felt like a heart attack, the way it seemed to be beating as though it were going to break out of your chest. This time you really really needed an out.

So without any words, leaving a bemused Joe, your chair screeched on the floor as you stood up, garnering the attention of the whole room. The heads literally swivelled to stare at you, judgement clearly there as you frantically half ran to the back of the room, pleading if your head fro the toilet to be nearby. You needed to be away from everyone and safe.

Thankfully your escaped the room and the beady eyes, locating the bathroom where you threw a cubicle open, shakily locking it before collapsing into the wall in floods of tears, harsh sobs racking your frame as you clutched your hands to your knees and rocked slightly back and fourth. You dress being a full length ballgown was spilling out into the the nearby cubicles and under the door, but presumably you were alone in the loo - not hearing any other signs of life beyond your own sobs.

This always happened when you had your anxiety attacks. It was like clockwork. Zone out, stop hearing, loose control of breathing, heart starts pounding, make a quick escape to a toilet, cry and then…

Well back before Tom, it had been to throw up. That was the only thing you’d ever found to ground you enough to get your body backorder your own conscious control. It was like a wave of relief after, like the drowning feeling in your lungs had just evaporated away. But the Tom happened. The first time he’d seen you panic he hadn’t a clue what to do either. SO he had just sat with you, not wanting you to be alone in that state and waited. That panic though, had lasted so long that you’d almost made yourself pass out from the hyperventilating. When that had happened, Tom had gone into emergency mode. He had been scared to touch you, in case that made you worse, but when he saw your body going limp he didn’t have a choice. He’d collected you into his arms, with your head against his chest. Being this close to calling an ambulance, the relief Tom felt when your breathing got more and more regular was unparalleled.

Together, when he had you lying in his bed (recovered, if mortified and exhausted) was when you realised that you hadn’t been sick. And that was because of him. You’d grounded yourself on his heartbeat and breathing, listening to it and making yours sync up. Thats what had saved you that evening.

Now however, Tom was gone. This was the first panic attack you’d had since he’d been gone. Of course while you were together you were rarely in the same place, even so you’d phone him. But not now.

This all led to you sat clutching your knees as your mascara dripped down your cheeks as you had to fight to get enough oxygen into your body. You didn’t want to get into that vicious cycle of making yourself ill again. It really hadn’t been healthy.

Who knows how long you were sat there sobbing before you heard the door open and in response you clamped a hand to your mouth trying to stay silent. This irrational fear overcame you as you sat stock still, fearing the footsteps on the marble floor of the fancy function venue. Even the toilets were pretty posh.

“Y/n?…. It’s-it’s Tom.” Oh. My. Fucking. God. That was all that was going through your brain as you bit you lip - presumably painfully, yet you didn’t really feel pain in your current state. “Look I saw you leave and I know your on your own tonight… I-I couldn’t leave you on your own if your… well you know.” Everything was going so so fast in your brain, that it actually scared you into stopping crying, so much so you felt your hand flop back down to your side. “…I was waiting outside because I didn’t want to errr you know… but you’ve been 20 minutes so I need to know your good…..okay?”

The boy was too fucking good. And stubborn… he was too stubborn and you knew he wasn’t going to give in. It was also fairly evident that he knew you in here - there was no pretending you didn’t exist.

“Y/n? Come on you gotta let me know.”

“I’m fine. You-you go.” Only when you spoke was it evident to yourself just how not-okay you really were. Tom just chuckled and spoke again.

“How long have you known me for? That’s just not going to happen is it.” You already knew this, but something about the way he said it made you realise a sad laugh, momentarily making you feel a bit more in control. He seemed to like that response, you heard him bend down and then saw the bottom of his tux as he sat down leaning against your cubicle door.

“Is …is this your first one… since? You both know what he was talking about. Since you broke up.

“Uhmm I-“ You swallowed down a fresh rise of nausea, somewhat determined to not throw up when you ex is barely a metre from you. “Yeh I suppose.” In didn’t seem a revelation to Tom, yet he still hummed lowly in response as the room drifted back to silence.

“You… you wanna try to breath with me?… You don’t have to open the door just…”

Croaking a please in response because this feeling was really blood awful and you wanted it to end, Tom started exaggerating his breathes, as you shakily and eventually managed to start to time it with his. Without thinking, when Tom’s palm snuck half under the door you immediately grabbed and squeezed it - the contact helping to synchronise your body with his.

It should be an alien feeling after your time apart. But no it felt oh so natural and so very right.

Once you’d collected yourself and realised how bloody stupid this whole situation was you withdrew your hand back, loosing the warmth as you shook your head in disapproval of yourself. So very fucking stupid. He was silent for a bit, letting you think things through whilst still sat outside your cubicle.

“You good now?” You hummed in agreement and you felt Tom’s head fall against the door, looking up to the ceiling. “Want me to go?”

“If you want to” That was met with silence, but a very telling lack of movement that spoke a thousand words.

“You should get out of here… you wanna avoid the trigger again and I mean I know you’re exhausted.” The boy had researched panic disorder and attacks when he found out you suffered with it - he probably knew more of the psychology of it than you, whilst never having any first hand experience of it. Annoyingly he was right, as per, after attacks you always always slept for hours - it was just a draining process. “I’ll get you a car if you want?…. I’d like to make sure you get back okay if you don’t mind.” With only your cold and empty residual feeling left, his words still managed to ignite a spark of warmth in your chest.

“I’m not going to ruin your evening Tom.” You tried to refuse even if it was very very forced and very very hopeful he wouldn’t give in.

“I was having a crappy evening. Sitting in the ladies toilet talking to my ex through a toilet door has actually been the highlight.”He chuckled playfully in a self pitying way, somehow again making you giggle. And so he had you standing on slightly unsteady feet, your black heels held in one hand because no wasn’t the time to put yourself through teetering around on pin needles. The shuffling outside the door meant Tom stood up too - before you unlocked the door and opened it.

Prior to seeing Tom your eyes locked on the sight of your reflection, in the mirrors above the sinks opposite you. Perhaps the only way to describe it… it was a sight. The shock being in the juxtaposition between the elegant dress, which even having been crumpled on a bathroom floor had somehow managed to survive and still look near the off-the-hanger; but your face? Oh that was a shit show. You’d cried your makeup off almost completely, leaving your face blotchy and shining as well as the ever so telling smudged mascara under your bottom lash line.

You had to laugh or you’d just start to cry.

“Don’t worry I’ve seen you much worse.” You saw in the reflection as Tom leaned in and whispered in your ear, making your eyes roll and head shake as you looked from him back to you.

“I look like a paps dream.” Without instruction, Tom bolted into a nearby cubicle, wrapping layers of toilet roll round his hand before offering it to you as a makeshift wipe.

“This is the glamour of Hollywood don’t you know? Wiping your face with bog roll”Thankfully taking it, you offered Tom a thankful smile as he stepped back, giving you space as he leant against another cubicle pillar. Once you finished up blotting your face, Tom had already shrugged off his jacket walking toward you as he offered it out. Tilting your head to the side in a questioning manner Tom just shrugged, saying it’d help avoid the paparazzi just in case. In reality you weren’t so sure, but anyhow you still appreciated the gesture and draped it round your shoulders with a muttering of thanks.

At this point his phone pinged, the car was outside, so without any words exchanged he led you to the door, checked the hallway was clearly before guided you back to the exit. There didn’t appear to be anybody lurking around, which you were oh so thankful for as you almost threw yourself in to the safety of the blacked out car. Tom followed and you both, almost comically as if scripted, released a sigh in unison as you melted into the seats. That had you chuckling dryly as you sat in silence.

“You know we can’t move till you say where you’re staying?” Teasing you, Tom shot you that ever mischievous grin that made the blood rush through your skin. After you’d told the driver, the car pulled swiftly out the laibi.

“Did he…did he say something?” Tom’s demeanour had steeled up and you looked questioningly up at him. “Joe… you looked…close.”

“Oh”. You were taken aback. You should have seen this coming to be fair, him asking for the trigger this evening - and yet you were more shocked at his jealousy. How he looked pained to mention Joe by name. “Um no… well sort of…it was a joke. He didn’t mean it but it er…it took me back.” Tom knew your history, he knew what happened all those years ago and he nodded slowly , keeping his eyeline straight ahead.

“He’s a dick.”

“No he’s not…. He- he was sweet enough . It was all me.”

“What?”

“I pushed myself on him. I-I saw you… I was spooked.” Tom left it to drift back to silence. He had a lot of thinking to do too.

He’d obviously kept up to date with you. Call it a professional interest. That was the problem being in love with someone when you weren’t allowed to be. But it hurt like hell, especially when he heard what you were doing. Because he knew this wasn’t you. He knew you sleeping around wasn’t going to help you recover - in fact he thought (and quite correctly) it was the opposite. That long term it’d only cause you more and more pain.

“You know, you don’t have to do this?… I-I know it isn’t you. I’m not insulting or anything I’m… I’m just worried.” You knew he was being truthful . And infuriatingly he was right. Which only made it even more annoying.

“Why do you care though?” Looking out the window that was all you could think to say. That was your subconscious talking as you didn’t really want the answer. Or you desperately did but you knew it’d be hard to get over.

“Y/n” He sighed, making you look across at him “I’ve not stopped caring… I’ll never stop caring.”

Wasn’t that just a knife to the heart. You held your breath momentarily, not knowing what to think (nervermind say) in response to that. Everything in that car seemed to freeze, Tom’s eyes piercing the deepest and darkest parts of your mind as he stared at you. You both really weren’t over it. You were both hurting. You missed each other.

And you were about to dive in all over again.

But then the indicator ticked on. The car pulled to a stop. The ignition switched off by the driver. You were at your hotel. The journeys end - quite literally.

Tom felt it too. He knew if ever there was a chance, however rogue and unlikely, of you two working things out it was within this journey. And he’d failed.

“I-uh…I-this is me” Stammering through, distracted by the way Tom’s eyes shone with disappointment.

‘Yeh - yeh it is I guess.”

“Well er… thanks for, well you know… for saving me. You er-you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to”

“Yeh well er thanks…. And er-Oh! Your jacket” You realised, already tugging the tailored suit jacket from your shoulders.

“No no it’s really okay. I have loads anyway.” See?In Hollywood you really weren’t allowed to wear the same thing twice.

“Oh-okay. Well er….I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Can I walk you to your room, just to-check no one bothers you?” Tom was trying. Desperately trying. He could feel you slipping through his fingers again, this time he wanted to put up more of a fight. You shook your head thought, a sad smile gracing your lips.

“I’d say yes but I think I know where that’d end up…. And I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Defeatedly nodding, Tom just smiled in a tight-lipped fashion, equally as sadly at you.

“I’ll errr I’ll see you around.” While gathering yourself and preparing to exit the car, your hand on the door handle. Tom responded with a ‘yeh’ but before you left you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, before whispering under your breath..

“Thankyou Tom.”

part 2 ish of sorts --> link

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #Tom Holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland x famous!reader

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moonslove7 · 3 years

Note

Hey there I'm really enjoying your work. Please could I make a blaine x reader request? Maybe one day they get really injured and blaine is called to the rescue and he turns her out of fear of losing them. When they wake maybe he'd ramble on about how sorry he is for making her a zombie but he just loves her and fluff. She could interrupt his rambling with a kiss perhaps as she feels the same.

I hope this isn't too long and that your college work is going ok 😊

Hi! Thank you so much Im glad you’re enjoying my work

“Let her go! You can’t do this!”

Ravi yelled at the anti-zombie hillbillies who had captured Don E and Blaine’s girlfriend, Don E was chained to the wall, but they planned to let he chains go and let him devour you, to show the world how awful zombies really were, you stood there, silently looking numb as you tried to remain calm, “Yes we can, for the good of America, until then though you will also be chained up, across from our little monster here so he can watch his next meal like the animal he is.” He smirked at Ravi, who was staring at him wide-eyed that he would let a human be killed like this. He started to grab your arms, yanking and pulling you about till you were in Don E’s room, he had his eyes closed and his head back like he was sleeping, they chained you up from the other side of the room and left, faintly down the hall you heard Ravi talking to the mad idiots saying he needed to do some tests on the zombie first so they all left to get more beers and guns in case things got ugly.

“You’re boyfriend better come soon, (y/n), I don’t want to hurt you but I know they’ll make me, you’ve always been nice to me so I’ll try and hold off as long as I can, it’s too bad Blaine never made you a zombie.” He said, opening up his eyes and smiling at you, you smiled back and nodded. Seconds later Ravi came in, running to Don E. “Have you got a phone or something that could help me get the two of you out of this?” He asked hopefully, Don E thought to himself and then remembered he had a phone in his pocket, “Oh yeah I do! It’s in my left sock!” Ravi quickly took off his shoe and sock, snatching the small phone out, he tried to type in Liz’s number but he couldn’t remember, “It’s got Blaine’s number on it you know? I’m not so sure he’ll save me but he’ll definitely save (Y/n).” Don E mentioned, “Okay, I’ll text Blaine what’s happening then, I’m sorry this is happening to the both of you.” Ravi ran out after putting Don E’s shoe and sock back on to make it look like nothing happened. “Don you know your his best friend right? He might act like a heartless idiot but he doesn’t share his trauma with everyone.” You mentioned to him which was all very true. “Thanks (y/n), and yeah I guess so.”

After an hour or two of waiting the hillbillies came back, laughing and arms full with beers and guns, they looked at the laptop to see the livestream hit a million views, cheering and laughing to themselves while Ravi downed a bottle of alcohol knowing this probably isn’t going to end well. They started to try and walk into yours and Dons holding room and Ravi finally said something, “Look you cannot kill a human just to show the world that Zombies are bad, I mean have you ever seen a video game where a zombie doesn’t eat people?” He tried hard to persuade them but all it did was end with him getting knocked out from a gun being shoved hard against his head. One waited in the room to release them once the others were ready to watch it themselves. And once he got the all clear he did, your heart beat raced up as you felt the chains get looser, you looked at Don E’s and so was his, his eyes were full zombie mode now, he had been chained there for days maybe even weeks without food, of course he’d be starving. Backing into a corner as much as you could you almost prayed in your head that Blaine would come busting in and save you, but you thought maybe not this time, maybe this was really it.

Don E sighed at the feeling of no more chains, the hillbillies were laughing and then started shouting, “Go on then demon! Feast on the poor helpless little girl!” One shot you in your stomach, the bullet creating a waterfall of blood to escape and slowly drip down you, you fell to the floor on your knees as you tried to cope with the immense pain, but then all the lights went out, little murmurs of “What the hell’s going on?” Echoed through the room but then they heard someone screaming in pain followed by growling. “What the hell!” The hillbillies whispered amongst themselves, little did they know your boyfriend had came just in time, he pressed the button in the control room to open the cage which made Don E laugh as he realised in relief he wasn’t going to hurt you, but he was about to be fed. He ran towards the noise of the murmuring biting into one and then another, bullets were fired everywhere, you only missed them because you were on the floor bleeding out, half unconscious, the lights turned back on, and Blaine came running in the room, full zombie mode like Blaine but he was almost growling at the sight of you dying on the floor thanks to these so called humans. He ran towards you, kneeling down as he took your face in his hands, your eyes me this red ones, “I gotta do it (y/n), if I don’t I’ll loose you and I really couldn’t live with myself if that happened.” He whispered, you nodded in pain cringing as you tried to sit up and comfort him, He instead leaned down to you so you would stop moving and hurting yourself more. “It’s gonna be okay, do what you gotta do.” You reached up to his face, leaning your foreheads together, Liz and a few others were already there tearing everyone apart so they were undisturbed.

Blaine closed his eyes as he sighed, he didn’t want this life for you, it was awful but if it came to you dying or becoming one of the undead he’d choose the second option in seconds. He leaned backwards, put his hand in yours and scratched your palm, He waited anxiously for a few seconds, not even knowing himself how he would know it worked. You sighed after a few minutes, your consciousness fully coming back, “it’s working, don’t worry too much or else you’ll get wrinkles.” You joked making him crack a small smile. “I’m so sorry I had to do it, if there’s anything you need-” Blaine tried to say but you cut him off, “Stop being sorry, you saved me.” You slowly started to sit up, surprisingly it still hurt but not as much. “Hey, (Y/n)! Get your ass over here, I got you some food zombie sister!” Don yelled across the room while he was munching on a brain, Blaine told you to stay and he would go and get it for you, “We’ll still have to get that bullet out but it won’t kill you at least.” He spoke while picking up half the brain Don was holding out towards him, you only now noticed his zombie mode face had gone away, Blaine sat back down beside you and held out the brain, “And before you ask yes you will get unlimited brains from me, anything you want I’ll get you it.” You held the brain in your hand and then slowly started to bite and chew on it, “...What if I just want a hug from you right now?” You asked, Blaine smiled and rolled his eyes, he wrapped his arms around you, making you feel safe, you saved a bit of the brain he gave you for him though. “Here you can finish it,” You gave it to him which he put back in your hands, “Nope, it’s yours, you can’t make me eat it I can eat later.” He insisted, still feeling guilty for turning you. “Stop being guilty jeez, you only did it to save me and I’m okay with that okai?” He nodded but looked at the floor, “Plus me, being a zombie might have some perks don’t you think?” You raised an eyebrow at him with a smirk, eating the bit of brain you saved for him, he realised what you meant and giggled to himself, “wow, so zombie you is naughty, i love that.”

#blaine mcdonough fluff #blaine mcdonough x reader #blaine mcdonough #blaine debeers fluff #blaine debeers x reader #izombie #fanfic request #fanfic

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riversofmars · 3 years

Text

Here we go with Day 2!

Whumptober Day 2: “Talking is overrated"

Fandom: Happy Valley + Collateral

Ship: Catherine Cawood/Jane Oliver

Rating: G

Summary: Catherine has had a shitty week at work and she visits her daughter's grave for some peace and quiet. The trip turns out more interesting than expected when she realises Sowerby Bridge has a new vicar.

Talking Is Overrated

Catherine dropped onto the grass in front of Becky’s grave. The grass was damp but at least it wasn’t raining anymore and her heavy-duty uniform trousers should be alright for a while. She took a deep breath and rested her head against hands, looking across to her daughter’s grave. It had been an exceptionally shit week. She had come straight from work as she often did these days. Whenever things threatened to get on top of her and she couldn’t face her obligations at home just yet, she took a breather and visited her daughter. It wasn’t comfort as such, not when it served to remind her of her own failings, but it was what she needed.

“Sergeant Cawood, isn’t it?“ A voice pulled Catherine out of her thoughts and she looked up, surprised. People don’t usually talk to you when you’re visiting a grave and Catherine considered herself even less approachable than most. And yet: a short, middle-aged woman came to stand beside her, glancing at Becky's grave briefly. Catherine didn’t recognise her but the white dog collar gave her profession away, if not her name.

“Reverend…“ Catherine said, her voice non-committal as she looked up at her for a moment. “Didn't realise we had a new vicar…“ She averted her eyes and focused on her daughter’s grave instead. “You have me at a disadvantage.“

“Jane Oliver,“ the vicar responded and Catherine found herself nodding in acknowledgement.

“How come you know who I am? We didn’t have a drunken fling that I don’t remember, or anything?“ The police sergeant chuckled though joylessly.

“Nah, I’d like to think that’s not something you’d forget about,“ the vicar retorted and Catherine looked up at her, impressed by the quick comeback. “Lucky guess,“ Jane carried on to clarify with a kind smile. She touched her hand to the stripes on Catherine’s shoulder. “Sergeant stripes and…“ She gestured to the grave and Catherine huffed.

“Right…“

“But I’ve also seen your picture in the paper. Queen’s Police Medal for Bravery?“ The vicar added and clasped her hands in front of her.

“That was a while ago,“ she hummed. Jane Oliver wasn’t an imposing figure and Catherine surprised herself in the fact that she hadn’t told her to do one yet. Perhaps it was a vain attempt at not pissing everyone off the moment they first met her. She did wish she would state her business though or at least sit down; she was making her nervous by hovering. “Are you just going to stand there?“

“Might have done a bit of research about this place before I came here. I wanted to know what sort of community I was coming into,“ Jane carried on and knelt down next to Catherine. The policewoman watched her for a moment, surprised that that was her reaction to her question.

“Shitty one, I’d say,“ Catherine answered at last and returned her attention to her daughter’s grave. The last few weeks had been rough… no, last few years , Catherine corrected herself. Since Becky’s death, everything in life had become a struggle. There had been ups and downs but her most recent downs, her experiences with Tommy Lee Royce, the influence he continued to have over her life and the damage he had done continued like a never ending valley of dread and despair. These days, she was barely coping.

“Things are not exactly easy around here, are they,“ Jane commented though without judgement in her soft melodic voice.

“That’s one way of putting it…“ Catherine gave a bitter sort of laugh as she contemplated the state of Calder Valley. “How do we compare?“

“Hm?“ Jane glanced over to her questioningly, a frown knitting her brow.

“To where you were before, surely this is not your first parish?“ The sergeant clarified.

“About average,“ Jane replied and Catherine huffed:

“Really…“

“Shitty end of average but average nonetheless, sadly…“ the vicar confirmed with a thoughtful nod.

“So where were you before?“ Catherine had already placed her accent as London but she thought it polite to ask anyway.

“Central London,“ came the prompt confirmation.

“You’ll be laughing at our small city problems then,“ Catherine mused.

“Not a laughing matter,“ Jane retorted sincerely and the calm comment cut deeper than the policewoman had anticipated. Things were bad in the Valley. When a copper had been identified as a killer, right under Catherine’s nose, she had lost what little hope she had for this place.

“Yeah I suppose it’s not…“ she mused. “But if you don’t laugh about it, you’d just be crying all the time…“

Silence fell. It wasn’t unpleasant but it wasn’t exactly light either.

“You know we can… talk,“ the vicar said at last, shooting her a glance.

“Thought we were talking…“ Catherine huffed in response and Jane chuckled:

“You know what I mean.“

“Talking is overrated…“

“Or I can just sit here,“ Jane offered, she shifted, sat down properly and crossed her legs to sit more comfortably. Catherine caught sight of her trousers and shoes. A priest in jeans and converse? She was bemused.

“Have you not got anything better to do?“ She asked and refrained from commenting on her choice of attire, though she couldn’t help but think that her jeans would soak through in the damp grass.

“Other than trying to support someone that looks like they could do with it? No, nothing better to do,“ Jane answered mildly.

“People are usually more scared of me,“ Catherine said, after brief consideration.

“Are they?“ Jane raised her eyebrows and despite her best police instincts, Catherine couldn’t tell whether she was genuinely surprised or that was something she already knew about her, too.

“Yeah, I’ve got a reputation,“ Catherine stated, figuring the priest might as well know what she’s letting herself in for.

“As someone who stands up for law and order. Don’t see anything wrong with that.“ Jane shrugged and again, her response surprised the policewoman. Reverend Oliver knew how to steer a conversation.

“You know you have quite the way with words, Reverend,“ Catherine hummed, realising she wouldn’t be able to get one over her that easily.

“Good,“ Jane smiled and it was most dazzling, warm and bright on a grey autumn day.

“And you’re not like any vicar I’ve ever met,“ Catherine decided to carry on.

“Good. Again.“ The vicar nodded approvingly. “Means you won’t measure me against my predecessor… or whatever else put you off the Church.“

“Is it that obvious,“ Catherine chuckled to herself. She was not only quick with words, she was observant too.

“It’s that look, when people see the collar, tells me everything I need to know,“ Jane answered, gesturing to the white plastic on her neck.

“And yet, you spoke to me,“ Catherine commented, a little impressed. She could only imagine what sort of face she had pulled upon realising her profession.

“I’m not scared off that easily,“ Jane stated lightly.

“The old vicar…“ Catherine took a deep breath and fixed her gaze to her daughter’s grave. “He told me suicide was a sin… that’s how Becky died, she…“ She paused for a moment and Jane didn’t jump in, she waited patiently. “She killed herself after some awful things happened to her… You can see why that might not exactly… prompt a positive response to the Church…“

“Miserable bastard…“ Jane huffed and Catherine nodded.

“That’s what I thought, too…“ The vicar’s words took a moment to sink in but when they did, Catherine’s head flew around: “Sorry, did I just hear you right? You called him a bastard? You’re a priest, you’re not meant to talk like that!“

“I like saying things how they are,“ Jane shrugged but a little smile betrayed her amusement at her reaction.

“Right, you really are not like any vicar I’ve ever met,“ Catherine laughed in disbelief. Then she extended her hand to her. “I’m Catherine by the way. Not Sergeant Cawood. I’m here to see me daughter, not make an arrest.“

“Jane,“ the vicar responded in kind and took her hand. “Though, I am the vicar here, this is my church, so I am at work, sorry,“ she added with a chuckle.

“Do you get time off work too or is it an all-day thing?“ Catherine surprised herself with the question.

“Depends on how you look at it. It’s a vocation, not a profession but I suspect you understand that very well yourself…“ Jane replied with ease and let go of her hand.

“Only, we could grab a drink if there ever were a time when neither one of us is on duty,“ Catherine gave a non-committal shrug. “I like knowing what’s going on on my patch.“

“Not completely off duty then,“ Jane gave back, her quick wit resurfacing and Catherine held up her hands defensively.

“Just thought it might be a good chance to talk.“

“I hear talking is overrated,“ the vicar hummed and Catherine shook her head to herself.

“Wise-arse,“ she chuckled and Jane feigned affront:

“Language!“

“You get to swear and I don’t?“ Catherine grinned, incredulous.

“Well, you insulted me, that was personal. I was just insulting my incompetent predecessor,“ Jane pointed out with a smile of her own. “But I suppose you could buy me dinner to make up for it.“

#Whumptober 2021 #no.2 #Talking is overrated #Happy Valley #Collateral #fic #catherine cawood #jane oliver #general #mild whump #whump lite #femslash #nicola walker #sarah lancashire #crossover #fic fusion #fanfiction #whumptober

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freddiekluger · 3 years

Note

please drop the essay length analysis Judas and Jesus (extra gay Swedish edition), O great and knowledgeable monarch of our times

alright, you ask i deliver! please excuse any typos, my eyes aren't exactly working rn

welcome to my probably super subjective but correct analysis, aka

Judas Was Right and Jesus Was A Victim (At Least, In Swedish)

Before we get started, a couple points: i’ll try to avoid comparisons to other specific productions, i’ve only seen the other recorded 2012 british version which i didn’t like for reasons including but not limited to the amount of white people with dreadlocks. Also, my understanding of swedish is limited to a couple words and phrases, so most of the lyrics i reference will be english subtitles from Ola Salo’s swedish translation and therefore might not be the most accurate !

There’s so much i could cover in this, but for now i’m going to focus on how jesus and judas are portrayed in the 2014 swedish arena tour of Jesus Christ Superstar (JCS) starring Ola Salo as Jesus and Peter Johansson as Judas, along with how this production more implicitly views god.

From the opening number, translated into swedish as En Dimmig Himmelsdröm (A Foggy Heaven’s Dream), Peter Johansson’s acting and semantic differences in the lyrics present us with a deeply sympathetic portrayal of Judas. Looking purely at language, the english equivalent Heaven On Their Minds instantly paints Judas as much more of a faithless doubter- lyrics exclusive to the english version like “all your followers have gone blind / too much heaven on their minds” and “they think you’re the new messiah / and they’ll hurt you when they find they’re wrong” strongly enforce Judas’ main motivation for his actions being that he has less belief in Jesus and God’s plan than any of the other disciples with strong statements judging the other disciples for following him and claiming that Jesus ISN’T the messiah. The swedish translation doesn’t paint exactly the same picture- the focus of Judas’ number becomes his fear for Jesus’ wellbeing, not because he isn’t the messiah (the production remains fairly ambiguous on this point), but because Jesus can’t cope. The root of Judas’ concern comes from fear for Jesus’ wellbeing, and the disciples are referenced as regularly misunderstanding and wilfully twisting Jesus’ words. The swedish equivalent lyrics for the above examples are “they say, “jesus is god’s son” / but you know how people can change” (judas isn’t concerned with truth, just the danger that jesus will be in if the tide turns), and “the kingdom of heaven is within us, that’s what you said / bu they sew it, stitch by stich into some kind of foggy heaven’s dream”. Judas is showing that he HAS been listening and cares for Jesus’ teachings, but ‘they’ [his disciples] are turning them into something else entirely, and Judas’ worries that the support of the masses is fragile at best- the lines “and everything you say gets twisted by your lackeys / it will be anything but what you’ve said” and “you are being used by people who want you in their battle” reinforces this again. When combined with Peter Johansson’s tough but tender performance, in which he dances between disdain for Jesus, the institution, and affection for Jesus, the man (an important distinction), Judas is the harsh realist doing his best to look out for the man he loves. The way he takes Jesus hands and looks at him with love and urgency straight away establishes that his motivations are pure- Judas is doing what he thinks is best, even though it feels like no one will listen to him.

That was long, but En Dimmig Himmelsdröm is the perfect character introduction for Judas. He’s not totally unrecognisable, still delivering digs about ‘Jesus, the little carpenter’s son’, his manner is still rough and at this point we’re not sure whether or not the claims he makes about the disciples have any truth to them, BUT we can also see how much Jesus means to him, an important point that give context to the intensity of their future arguments and really makes the whole story much more heartbreaking.

This brings me to Ola Salo’s Jesus. Delightfully camp and queercoded, Judas describes him as being caught up in his own magic and mystery and buckling under the pressure, and he’s not entirely wrong. Throughout the first act, Jesus basks in the luxuries that being messiah can give him (the oils Mary paid for using disciple funds that were supposed to go towards helping the poor, him absolutely thriving in the shopping cart in What’s the Buzz?), and is shown actively avoiding any reminders of the seriousness of his position. He’s sick of the disciples asking him for a plan, he chooses the comforting Mary, who’s theme consists of telling Jesus everything is okay and he doesn’t need to think about anything, over Judas, who is less perhaps ‘cosy’ but is actively trying to warn and protect Jesus from an awful fate. During The Temple, he starts to crack as he’s overcome by the followers begging him to make him well, fear in his eyes as he raises his arms while frozen on the spot trying to avoid being devoured by the frenzy in desperate need of a messiah. Judas’ point about Jesus buckling under the pressure is starting to look more and more reasonable, and the dashes of showbiz campness add to the sense that much of Jesus is a persona constructed for the masses to give himself enough distance to prevent him from being crushed by the weight of God entirely. Jesus, the institution, prances around, lays his hands on his followers, and projects an air of easygoing calm. Jesus, the man, is scared and alone, and Jesus, the man, really comes out in Last Supper, but before we get there, I want to circle back to the Jesus/Mary/Judas thing.

Jesus, Mary, and Judas are presented as a love triangle: so much so, that Judas seeing Mary sing of her love for Jesus (I Don’t Know How To Love Him) is actually played as the inciting incident that sends him to the pharisees. Judas, the picture of the jealous lover, storms onto the scene, breaking them up and attempting to kiss Jesus, who instead shoves him to the ground in disdain. Judas, who is perhaps a little controlling, realises that any influence he had over Jesus has gone, and it’s likely a combination of jealousy and the knowledge that Jesus won’t stop that prompts him to head to the pharisees. In his meeting with the pharisees (known in english as Damned For All Time, although that phrase doesn’t appear once in the swedish), Judas’ expresses outright that “I’m the one who sees / Jesus, he can’t handle it anymore” “the truth is that this hysteria is making him lose control”, once he can get past explaining how much this plan of action feels like a last resort. He never even verbally or physically accept the pharisees’ offer of money, he denies it twice before it is eventually thrown over him after he reluctantly gives them the date and time to find Jesus- we never even see him pick it up, unlike other productions which show Judas grabbing for the cash and place a higher emphasis on Judas making sure he ‘won’t be damned for all time’, painting Judas as far more self serving. When it comes to Jesus, Judas is active- he’s running around trying to help, caressing him, embracing him, grabbing his hand, kissing him. They share countless moment of intimacy, especially at the start, establishing the fondness between them instead of instantly jumping to their conflict. When it comes to Mary (and admittedly, this is partially because she’s a secondary character- don’t get me wrong I still love her and Gunilla Backman does a brilliant job), she’s much more passive. Other than the much more gentle kisses in I Don’t Know How To Love Him and her penchant for dabbing Jesus’ forehead, she’s mostly just ‘there’. She cares for Jesus after the fact, and even when performing acts of intimacy like the oil and the kiss, she maintains a lot of physical distance- her songs touch on this as, much like Jesus (admittedly for different reasons), she actively distances herself from feelings to protect herself, so naturally she literally places distance between herself and the object of her love.

This brings me back to Last Supper, Gethsemane ( I Only Want to Say), and the kiss of death that broke all of our hearts. Throughout this segment, this is when Jesus, the man, really comes through, and it’s devastating. In Last Supper, he properly expresses the sheer amount of loneliness he feels, reiterating how he feels everyone will forget about him once he’s gone, and doesn’t really care about him as a man (”for you, my blood is not worth more than wine / for you, my body is not worth more than bread” “you will have forgotten me as soon as i give up my life”). This devolves into the disciples fighting each other and, you guessed it, ignoring him. For the first time, Jesus meaningfully lets out his anger, and as it turns to Judas, Judas does the same. Because of the set up of their complicated romantic relationship and the stakes involved, the amount of personal attacks and anger that comes out of Jesus and Judas’ repeated fights (which get physical) make complete sense- Jesus’ frustrations come from the fact that his entire fate has been predetermined and to him, Judas is just another instrument in the ways he’s been controlled (both with Judas being his betrayer, but also the way that Judas’ constant advice and interference with Jesus’ life (most obviously, the mary thing) are acted by Ola Salo as becoming increasingly frustrating to Jesus)- these frustrations are directed at their real cause, God, in Gethsemane. Judas’ frustrations come from the fact that no matter how hard he tries to help Jesus and keep him safe, Jesus keeps rejecting his efforts resulting in “all that we’ve built up [being] destroyed”- Judas’ heart hasn’t just been broken by Jesus rejecting him romantically, but on every level. Here, he’s actually shown to be the disciple most passionate about helping people practically and long term, being the only one concerned about Mary taking money which was supposed to help people, manipulated by the pharisees with the promise of doing good for the masses, and criticising Jesus for how they could be doing so much for people, ending his part of Last Supper with “every time i look at you i ask myself why you let all your things go so wrong? / all i ever wanted was to help you”.

This is also the point where Judas’ claims about the disciples are essentially confirmed, and this productions intent to portray Judas as more of a tragic hero become absolutely clear. In the english version, the disciples chorus remains virtually the same each time it appears, generally being far too calm considering their leader is about to die, revealing their aspirations to be apostles, and their intent to write the gospels to be remembered. the swedish translation still achieve this, but with variations from chorus to chorus it becomes much more poignant. i’m just going to stick to ttwo, which are choruses 1 and 3. In chorus 1, lines roughly translate to “i’ve always wanted to be an apostle / life is so nice when you’re saved/ then when we’ve got time we’ll write the gospels / then everything will be the way we want”- the apostles declaring that life is so good when you’re saved supports Judas’ opening statement that they care more about some idea of heaven than anything else, not to mention ignoring the absolute horrors that Jesus will have to go through to be saved, while the final line about the gospels introduces their intent to change whichever details they need to make ‘everything the way we want’: once again, exactly what Judas warned us of in En Dimmig Himmelsdröm. In chorus 3, taking place after Judas storms out for the last time, these lines change to “never really liked that judas / never saw what jesus saw in him / then, when we’ve got time we’ll write the gospels / and we’ll angle it so he gets all the blame”. Judas as a sympathetic character is confirmed here, as the disciples straight up admit how they don’t like Judas anyways and intend to write him as a villain (also inadvertently admitting that, since they have to write the gospels to make it look like only Judas’ fault, Judas isn’t really the sole one responsible for everything that is to come). It’s deeply unsettling, and for me was the point where I really began to question how good any of these disciples were, and by extension, how good is this production’s God if his truly sanctified followers are acting like this?

Jesus vents out all of his anger and desperation in Gethsemane. He acknowledges his own powerlessness and begs him to change the plan, but with the dark stage and no response (along with Ola Salo’s spectacular acting) it becomes clear that if anyone is there, they’re certainly not listening (”you, who have all the power / can you please change the plan / for i can already feel the pain burning in me”). It’s worth mentioning that a lot of the imagery in this swedish version is much more intense than the english, both in this song and the production as a whole. Jesus plainly calls god “thoughtless”, begging to understand, and it’s that this point we realise that he agrees with much more of what Judas has been saying than he’s been letting on- Jesus’ faith appears to be the only thing keeping him from listening to Judas and running away. Judas’ messages about people misunderstanding Jesus’ words also come out (”you care that everyone sees / but not that anyone understands”), and his eventual agreeing to die is played less as an inspiring act of faith, and more an act of desperation as he realises, he realise has no other choice. In this song, we see just how much of Judas Jesus has valued and taken on board, and that his air of carefree aloofness which frustrated Judas was, as we’ve already touched on, a complete act. The line “might as well finish what i’ve... what YOU’VE started” is absolutely miserable, reinforcing one of the major themes of this production: the idea that Jesus and Judas were both just ordinary men tormented by futures defined by forces out of their control. Just as Jesus has absorbed Judas’ logic, as an audience so we have, and it’s difficult to view the rest of the play’s events as anything other than an immense and unnecessary act of cruelty.

we’re almost done i promise!

Even knowing what Judas has/will do, Jesus still greets him with love. Judas, still under the impression that Jesus will be okay and that he’s doing what’s best, approaches him with the utmost tenderness, and the kiss is a beautiful signifier of two things. For Jesus, the return of his love for Judas shows his realisation in Gethsemane that Judas isn’t the one who’s sealed his fate and has only being trying to help, it’s god himself who has decided Jesus’ future. For Judas, the kiss shows that despite all of the anger and frustration that has been pouring out of him, he truly does love Jesus, and the way he cradles the scared and alone Jesus to his chest afterwards shows just how much he wishes he could be the one to help him and keep him close. Even with all their arguments and dysfunction, here Jesus and Judas find comfort in each other, and it almost seems like everything will end up alright. It’s in this moment that Judas and Jesus are most identifiable not as enemies, or as villain and hero, but as archetypal lovers from a Shakespearean tragedy. Neither of them set out to hurt each other, but through miscommunications, their own flaws, and external forces (both natural and supernatural), their love is simply never to be. Furthermore, in the following torture and spectacle, everything that Judas predicted for Jesus is about to come true. Another detail I find interesting is the way that Jesus and Judas both sport black nail polish, leather pants, and similar length hair: along with just looking cool as hell, the similarities really reinforce how close they are and how much they influence each other- it feels like a contemporary version of carrying a cameo or a lock of your lover's hair with you, a way for 'star crossed lovers' to keep a piece of their beloved no matter what.

The disaffected persona of Jesus, the institution, comes back as he’s taken by the authorities and subsequently insulted, degraded, and whipped. Also the swedish version of The Arrest, when the chorus starts singing questions, contains this dick joke and I think we all deserve it: “why were you dating a whore? / talk about a huge magic wand!”

Skipping forward to Judas’ Death, this is where both his character and the production’s conception of god beautifully (and miserably) align. When Judas runs to the pharisees, minor semantic changes (along with the genuine concern and great acting from Peter Johansson) reinforce that this Judas genuinely didn’t know that Jesus would be beaten and sentenced to death the way he has been, and Judas’ concern regarding how things look is played less as ‘oh no people will hate ME!’, but how having sentenced the man you love to death is one nightmarish thing, but for everyone to think you did it knowingly and willingly and then congratulate you for it is unthinkable. Where the english shows Judas’ attempting to evade responsibility for Jesus death, the swedish is more focused on Judas’ guilt, horror, and regret. The english “I’d save him all the suffering if I could / don’t believe our good / save him if I could” is swapped in swedish for “If anyone should die here I should / don’t say I’m good / better if I died”. While the english statements are somewhat empty (sure, Judas says he’d save Jesus’ suffering if he could, but he can’t so we’ll never truly know) and are still focused on Judas’ attempt to construct himself as a good guy, the swedish translation has Judas admit his guilt (even if it’s not really his fault), and make the promise of “better if i died” which, given the name of this sequence, he later delivers on. When english Judas sings “Christ, I’d sell out the nation / For I have been saddled with the murder of you”, swedish Judas sings “Jesus, I’ve been deceived / because of my act your blood’s now being spilt”, and instead of ending this first section with “I should be dragged through the slime and the mud”, swedish jesus returns to the theme of character assasination with “i will be cursed as the one behind your murder”.

The swedish translation of the next rework of I Don’t Know How to Love Him also places much more emphasis on Judas’ genuine romantic love for Jesus- we’d be here for hours if i listed everything but here are a few key contrasts. The english has Judas sing “I don’t know how to love him / I don’t know why he moves me”, whereas the swedish has Judas crying while singing “how do I show my love / all I want is to be close to you”. Along with acknowledging Judas already loves Jesus, the entirety of this segment is shifted from Judas singing about Jesus in the third person ‘he’, to a direct address. Judas isn’t performing his sadness, or venting his emotions, he’s emitting one last desperate cry to the man he loves as he sobs on a stage completely shrouded in darkness, and it’s devastating. Peter Johansson lets his voice run raw as he’s belting, and interrupts lines with sobs, and this Judas answers the question of “do you love me too? do you care for me?” with a quiet “no”- Judas is about to go to his death convinced Jesus must hate him, just as Jesus will face his knowing his love inadvertently put him there.

We finally reach Judas’ actual death, and the production’s far more ambiguous (if not negatively geared) depiction of god comes to a head. Judas’ screaming at god the moment he realises that his god essentially forced Judas to be the one to kill Jesus (an act of ultimate cruelty given their love) comes across as horrifying in it’s validity, unlike in other english language productions where it follows the more common characterisation of Judas being an unbeliever who can’t take responsibility for his own actions. When he spits on the ground, screaming “you have murdered me!”, we can’t help but agree- Judas was trying everything he could to stop Jesus from dying, and yet here he is. Most notably, Judas doesn’t set up his own suicide- a noose literally descends from the heavens, already tied, and Judas is literally trapped between the edge of the stage, and the symbol of death behind him. Much like he didn’t choose to kill Jesus, Judas has no choice in his own suicide- it’s suggested to merely be another part of the plan god has for him, and Judas raising his arms to form a crucifixion pose before he finally turns and jumps, disappearing into the depths of the theatre as the rope trails down (somewhat evocative of a leap to hell), highlight the sick joke. Much like Jesus begging in Gethsemane, a plea with god that in anyway implies fault or cruelty is met with silence followed by a death sentence.

When Judas reappears to the broken and bloodied Jesus in Superstar, he appears as more of a twisted hallucination than the literal spirit of Judas. He’s the opposite of everything he was in life, draped in colour, surrounded by red lighting instead of the signature blue, his hair quite literally let down, joking and dancing. Despite singing about him, Judas virtually ignores Jesus for the whole song except when he’s taunting him, snatching his hand away after a broken and desperate Jesus reaches out for the image of his beloved (refuting Judas’ belief that Jesus would die hating him), along with the swedish additions of Judas repeatedly addressing him as “little Jesus”. Where the living Judas was serious, sometimes harsh but always well intention, often paying more attention to Jesus than he received, this Judas is the opposite: light hearted but cruel, not caring about Jesus one bit. It’s somewhat an inversion of the beginning of JCS, where the tormented Judas was constantly reaching out to Jesus, and often met with scorn and insult (see: most of their arguments, this line from Everything’s Alright: “the thought is beautiful but quite unrealistic / yes, even quite stupid”). As the song goes on, and even as Jesus is crucified, the victorious scoring of the Superstar theme ends up reinforcing the cruelty and questioning of god distinctive of this production: Ola Salo’s Jesus is one of the bloodiest Jesus’s (Jesii?) I’ve been able to find, with blood covering his torso, his arms, and all over his face, not in passive dribbles, but violent ‘swooshes’ spreading out from his eyes, emphasising the fear and pain contained within them. As the music suggests how great and wonderful Jesus’ death is, the images straight out of a horror movie before us don’t seem to match up: as both Judas and Jesus question, if no one is understanding what Jesus is saying, why kill him? instead of making a point, you’re ensuring that the falsehoods continue to circulate, unless spreading the true message isn’t really the intent at all. or, simply that Jesus was wrong: his interpretation and teachings of god were far too kind and practical, and the true god really is the one that he briefly saw in the garden of Gethsemane, and that Judas saw before his death- a cruel and vindictive god using them for his own sick purposes. If you're a strong Christian, I'm sure you could watch this production and still believe that God was right (although I think Jesus and Judas being in love counts as blasphemy), but I think in doing so you'd lose part of what makes this production so hard hitting and, as i keep saying, devastating.

that’s pretty much it for this one! i feel like jesus and judas as a queer couple is less significant to this production than the fact that it’s specifically jesus and judas that are in love - they don’t face explicit homophobia as such, although i do think the paratextual and historical associations of queerness (both with them each looking visibly queer, and them as a couple) adds a beautiful dimension by subverting the standard christian teaching of Jesus’ sacrifice as “a love that changed the world” and making the love that truly could have been transformative (and was, to a degree) the love between Jesus and another man, not to mention the way in which queerness is often viewed as radical perfectly upholding the ‘radical’ views of god and the story of Jesus shown in the production. Why wouldn’t the love between two men be the love which has us questioning god, faith, and that which many of us have been taught since birth? Ola Salo has talked about how he’s able to be positive and negative towards christianity, along with how he wanted Jesus and Judas to really represent two sides of the same coin (’faith and intelligence’), and being bisexual along with having alluded to being raised christian (not to mention Breaking Up With God, a song by his band The Ark), it’s not surprising he’s managed to present such a nuanced and layered interpretation of Jesus Christ Superstar that even me, a trans exvangelical, can fall in love with.

UPDATE: @bands-and-hobbits has just let me know that Ola's dad was a priest! Apparently he's said that he liked the organs and the music, but that was all when it comes to christianity, which (when combined with Ola stating in interviews that the JCS soundtrack has been one of his favourite albums since he was 14) makes a lot of sense about the level of familiarity he had with the text giving him confidence to go in and make changes to really capitalised off of some of the themes that are hinted at in the english version- you have enough information to understand how everything works together, but aren't so dedicated to preserving belief that you feel you can't improve/change things (and my god are we glad he did)

#thank you if you made it this far!#also the inherent rhythm in swedish as a language just makes all of the songs sound better i'm gonna say it #english is really hit and miss when it comes to music and can get especially clunky with musicals requiring exposition #also sorry there's so much i've left out !#anyways enjoy #jesus christ superstar #jesus christ superstar swedish arena tour 2014 #jcs #peter johansson #ola salo #also i have barely edited this so i hope it's coherent

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woodface · 3 years

Text

Right of Proxy (Alder edition)

I’ve been a bit sloppy getting my thoughts out lately as my brain has slowly been getting eaten D&D but I would be amiss to not do it now after the glimpses they’ve given us.

- Petra: I mean, they have been setting us up since the previous season that Petra was going to succeed and take over from Alder. I was secretly hoping she would fail and I think she’s going to get tested and I guess we’ll find out how well she will cope.

- Tally: I am so torn. I am proud of Tally for continuing to the moral compass of all of them. Her standing up to Alder has been amazing and she’s been growing so much, but man, do I wish they had done this all a different way.

- I feel like the show failed to develop Alder’s involvement with Batan and the start of the Spree. Don’t get me wrong, Alder needed to step down and if you’re puppeting the president then this is what she deserves. Covering up her actions in Liberia is also suss, but that conflict remains barely touched upon. Why did Alder respond so drastically? Why did Batan act like a woman scorned after it? I feel like they just didn’t go deep enough into this story and that there is still a conflict here that hasn’t been uncovered. The narrative puts the focus on this one act and says that the Spree were created because Batan was betrayed and had her work used to kill other witches.

Batan then proceeded and killed so many other witches. Claiming that all civilian deaths matched the witches death count is just... no, you added to that death count. Then killed your own followers to get that revenge and tortured them for your personal vendetta. We know this, we know Batan went insane, but there is a focus here that Alder hid everything because her actions created the Spree and just... No. She did not. Nicte did. Nicte went insane. Alder has done enough bad things on her own and putting the existence of the Spree on her with this one action just feels odd. Especially given that Alder was always known as the cause of the Spree since she was the one who started the conscription.

- We got to see Alder be truly vulnerable now. Everything is falling into pieces and while I am certain she stared her own death in the eyes several times by now, she is suddenly faced with a very different sort of end of her life: dying of old age. We’ve already seen that the loss of one biddy cripples her. Roughly counted, there’s 50 years of age carried by each biddy so depending on whether one dying would spread the age around between them or put it all back towards Alder, there isn’t much loss she can take before she dies as well. Her mortality has just become very real and I don’t think Alder wants to die sitting in a home somewhere.

Now, even with the program being ended, I imagine that Alder might be able to still find witches willing to carry her age. She is a legend and a sign of hope. She has led them for so long and she defeated the Camarilla once. I don’t think everyone is going to instantly rally around Bellweather so if Alder wanted to, she could probably build up a new following. I doubt she will however.

Alder has built up an army, she has built up a safe place for all witches and I have a hard time imaging her undermining that now. Even if she is not the one leading it. Definitely not after the display at the hangar. The moment with Quartermaine was so so important. She has seen Anacostia doubting her and it has made her doubt herself and just that touch was enough for her to finally stop.

I do think we now have an Alder on our hands who is ready to die and who is ready to go out with a bang. I worry that in the next episode she will be sacrificing herself for everyone else and regaining some of the respect she lost. I hope I am wrong. I would love to see her grow further, to rediscover her humanity and the freedom that comes with it to join the fight and still kick ass, and maybe redeem herself (and not just with Tally). The show would be a lot less interesting without her, and I want to see Petra be in over her head and go to Alder for advice.

- Which brings me to my favourite part and that is the glimpse into Alder’s past. The Mycelium knows the essence of who Alder is more so perhaps than Alder now remembers it herself. It must have been the first time Alder came to realise that even despite the sacrifices they were making to serve the country, it wouldn’t be enough to stop people from fearing and hating them. And she built Fort Salem on top of that memory. She was filled with such grief that she sang the Mycelium into being and created something where the essence of witches could reside in and carry out her dream of vengeance while also making a home for witches.

She lived every day on top of the memories of her greatest loss and she used it to carry her on, to protect all the witches that came after. Petra saying to Alder that she lost her humanity is just... so far off the mark. Alder’s humanity solidified itself into a creature that now has taken up a bond with Raelle in order to stop everyone from ever having to carry her grief again.

Alder’s words to Petra about the things she has seen, the grief she had suffered, they were perhaps fueled by arrogance, but they were also warning because Alder made herself who she was to push through all that loss.

Which brings me back to Liberia and how that moment just doesn’t ring true. Is it perhaps an example that Alder has lived too long and too far? That she became too jaded to still feel the loss of a witch? I think if she was, she never could have been moved by Tally’s rebellion or be stopped by a hand on her shoulder. I think that she lost her way, but it’s still there and it’s bubbling to the surface. It’s certainly strong enough to have the Mycelium still speak as if it knows her and it knows her grief, and it wants to act and accomplish exactly what Alder wants to do as well.

Funny that it is Raelle who has now seen deeper into Alder than Tally ever did.

ETA: if you haven’t seen this already, this interview and insight into how Lyne Renée played Alder is just amazing: https://twitter.com/Motherland/status/1427828749848891393?s=20

#sarah alder #general sarah alder #motherland fort salem #spoilers #metabending #i hope this is coherent

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emily-the-fae · 3 years

Text

Every Day is a Lullaby

A oneshot. This honestly came to my mind yesterday night, I do not know how well the idea turned out to be.

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x OC

Warnings:probably language, blood, injury, background character death, brief mentions of sex, angst mith mix of fluff

Rated: T

Mr Ketch has many sides, likable and repulsing - but which one of his faces is truly his is sometimes an uncertainty even for him.

Harper reflects on the changes on their relationship as they get out of a hunt gone wrong. While Ketch reconsiders some of his past choices... And reasons why he is still alive.

If he's a serial killer

Then what's the worst

That can happen to a girl

Who's already hurt

I'm already hurt

The first time Harper met him was a coincidence. It was long before the whole nephilim thing, long before she found out what kind of man he was, what kind of hunter he was. Yet even back then in the span of their first couple of meetings she felt he was no good.

A stupid hunting coincidence.

Harper was not used to hunting alone. She did that to herself - separated herself from the Winchesters. However much she loved Sam and Dean, she could not bear continuously being around them, not after everything that happened. Not after Charlie. Because no matter what Dean said or how Sam reassured her - it was her fault. Charlie was a great friend. Charlie had the brightest soul. Harper was late to help her and now Charlie was no more. It was all Harper's fault.

Driving away and going head first into hunting was the outmost Winchester way of dealing with the guilt and grief. Hunting alone while slowly coming out of her lowest phase - those were the circumstances under which Harper met Arthur Ketch.

The first time it happened it was a coincidence - two hunters choosing the same target is not uncommon. Harper was already on spot and all in the fight when he arrived. "Are you insane going into a whole vampire nest alone?" - those were the first words she ever heard from him. She might have been slightly insane, but he sure was a damn psycho. To be honest if not for him she would have probably ended up dead or turned in that vampire nest that night. Harper hates being honest about it.

The second coincidence happened just a few days after the first one - she would later on doubt if it was a coincidence at all. Perhaps it was. Harper would never really know - what she did know though was that he still had a small scar left above his left eyebrow - a mark of where she hit him with the grip of her gun, thinking it was the witch that was creeping up to her and absolutely not expecting to hear a male voice swearing after her blow. Arthur had not known her for 24 hours in sum and they were already making a scene after a hunt - Harper almost pitied she had not knocked him out straight away.

What happened on the next day? He caught her in the town and suggested to team up to avoid "future confusions". Rule number one how to become friends with Arthur Ketch: hit him in the face. Harper wasn't going to become friends with him - with any hunters for that matter - but fate seldom cared what Harper was going to do anyways.

Harper definitely lied to herself when she said that they were going to be only friends or that she was going to hate him after all the British Men of Letters invasion story. She didn't. Not with the way they met in the first place: him ripping her out of the claws of the angry remnants of the vampire pack - slightly concerned greyish blue eyes and a British accent was what greeted her at dawn that day, even though mid in fight she had accepted she would not see the sun again. It seemed symbolic how he saved her from giving up, from herself. And certainly not after the way their relationship went from mutual curiosity to blind semi-professional trust. Harper did not need a "friend" to console her: if she had wanted that she would have stayed around Sam - she needed someone unfeeling but understanding enough to see through her and consciously let it be.

She remembered it clearly - three hunts into their relationship - a month after their first encounter - they were sharing a hotel room. Two beds, late night after a hunt, she lied on her side and quietly cried. It was a demon hunt. The memories were too much. Arthur came into view and stared at her for a couple of moments before walking to his own bed.

- I'd say you can talk about it when you want to, but I doubt you will ever feel the necessity, - a brief caress of his hand against her shoulder. He did not try to relieve her, he allowed her to get to her own way of coping. For that Harper was grateful more than ever. - We all have skeletons in our closets, it's the downturn of the job.

Oh, dear Arthur, we are both now aware you knew far too well what you were talking about. Harper doubted any hunter had a closet cemetery as large as Ketch's.

Yet... Even after that - the awkward reuniting with the Winchesters, being pulled away from him as she came back to her old friends and witnessing, luckily from a safe distance, how the man she grew to trust without actually knowing him, uncovered darker and darker sides of his personality. What was worst - after she refused to join the BMoL, he would continue to sometimes keep her hunting company, going on like nothing happened. Like nothing changed. Why worst? It let the image of the heartless killer that she should have seen before her now connect and combine with the image of the man who would patch her up on her darkest nights and put a firm hand on her shoulder when Harper was too deep in memory to restrain herself. His presence around her became a reassurance in itself - because he did not have to know to understand. And because he simply had not been there - looking into his eyes Harper wouldn't get reminded of the times when everything was still right, wouldn't get reminded of that one time everything went very wrong. Probably those were the main qualities that helped him win a spot in her heart. Those and his unending casual flirting.

And now? After everything was over, after his very dark side was revealed, the confessions were made and the redemption was played, what did she think of him? The hunter, turned out just a very well trained assassin - he had served the British Men of Letters, he had served Asmodeus - now here he was separated from any commanding he ever had, living a hunting life of his own and sometimes collaborating with the Winchesters. Therewere many dark moments forgotten for the sake of peace. Many more had yet to come up - judging by how Ketch treated his own history and interests of others.

" - I wonder where Mick went, he was always so nice... Nicer than you, anyways. Pity he went away all of a sudden, - Harper mentioned once after a hunt.

- He did not go anywhere. I shot him in the head just like Hess ordered, - Ketch seemed calm and cold as steel. " Sometimes Harper thought that leaving BMoL would change him, but moments like that she realized how slowly the changes - if any - would have to occur. That night she simply walked away, not saying another word.

If anyone ever asked Harper how Arthur's spot in her heart had shifted after all the mess he had caused? She would say that he never even had one... And think that truth to be told there was no flame hot enough to burn him out of her chest - his name carved on her ribs would have been easier to get rid of than the bittersweet affection she harboured for the moral wreck of a man named Arthur Ketch.

If he's as bad as they say

Then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes

I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

Despite that Harper never dared pursue a relationship. Why? She was very sure with people like Ketch the only right strategy was not to expect them to be capable of attachment. The flirting, the sweet promising looks he would give her after a well-accomplished hunt... Harper would dream of believing them to be genuine. She was very well aware thinking him in any way genuine was a risk she was not ready to take. She knew Ketch would not mind letting that affair happen - he made that quite clear. She also knew it would mean absolutely nothing to him apart from some company and a warm body in his bed. Arthur Ketch was cold, unemotional and taught himself well not to get attached to anyone - and even if that was not true, he tried his damn best to make it seem so.

Harper sometimes hoped she saw it in his eyes: a silent "please keep safe" when they would part after a hunt, a sparking "I missed you" when they would meet once again. Arthur sometimes hoped she would see it too - very deep in his soul, deeper than he would ever be able to admit even to himself.

In other words, the outcome of the new hunt would have presented itself sooner or later anyways. They were actually quite lucky to have it present itself the way it did.

The werewolf did not seem such a hard target - away from bigger packs, alone terrorizing the neighborhood - just because he could. Problem and solution crystal clear - a hunt where one clearly sees the root of evil is a blessing for a hunter that's used to all the versions of heartbreaking stories. What Harper did not so clearly see was the gun in their opponent's hands. To be more precise: she did see it, but a little too late.

Two gunshots rang at the same time: her silver bullet hitting right into the monster's heart and his normal one - ... Ketch fell against the wall, sliding down to the floor: his left shoulder bled, the bulletproof vest, even though being pierced in the thinner area, had preserved him from being too deeply injured - but not kept completely safe from wounding.

Several seconds of silence - making sure the werewolf is not a threat anymore - realisation and fear finally hitting Harper.

- Ketch?... Ketch?!... Arthur! - the hunter was too disoriented to answer and his silence was taken as a bad sign. - Oh Lord, Arthur, no! - gone are the self-restraint and professional coldness: the moment she sees blood on his chest, she rushes to his side, forgetting about everything else in the world. She needs to make sure he will be fine. He has to be. - Arthur, please, don't die on me! Arthur! - she calls for his attention, the hunter slowly regaining his senses.

For a moment there he believes he hears Tony. This reminds him of some of his unlucky hunts from the years before, though back then he had certainly had it worse. Besides this definitely was not Tony.

Tony would have said "Ketch's down" and carry on with the hunt, eyes on the target, and when the deed was done she would pass him with a short "How is it?" - more out of politeness than genuine caring. That was exactly what she did the only two times he had been seriously injured infront of her.

- Ketch, answer me right this instant, don't you dare fading out! - panic in her voice, genuine. The idea of someone caring as much as to panic at the thought of his death seems too good to be true - for him at least. Arthur feels hands investigating his chest, checking for the wound: cold thin fingers running over his blood-covered skin. Not Tony - Harper.

- I'll live, darling, it's nothing too serious, - attempting to sound confident, but his voice is rasp. It's nothing serious, but it hurt nonetheless: the blow on the shoulder was much harder than anticipated and the bleeding needed to be stopped.

Harper looks into the light blue, borderline grey eyes - he is staring up at her, his gaze unguarded only for a moment that lets her see the uncommon softness and hope in his expression - just for a moment - she believes the things she guessed about him were true, she believes the pain visible in his eyes is true, only by accident revealed to her. The state lasts only a couple of moments - but even that is more than enough for his visible emotions to imprint into her mind.

Arthur Ketch was able to feel. Arthur Ketch could be in pain. Arthur Ketch was capable of needing help.

I said "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat ooh-ooh

I just wanna dance with you

Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley

I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue ooh

I just wanna dance with you

It was a wonder that the hotel clerk did not stop them on their way - Ketch looked positively dying - Harper was quite sure there was no legal thing that could have happened to him that would have explained this appearance. This was the reason normal hunters chose motels: less suspicion. Harper briefly wondered where he got the money to maintain his former lifestyle, since he was stripped of the BMoL funding, but she guessed there were other sources on his side and he was just too stubborn to change his ways.

When they stumbled into his hotel room, Arthur made a move to drop himself on the bed, but Harper grabbed him by the collar swiftly, dragging him away in the other direction.

- Ketch don't you dare stain the sheets, they'll report us, - she mumbled, pushing him to enter the bathroom and dropping him to sit on the edge of the tub.

He would have laughed if the sudden movement had not caused sharp pain to shoot through his damaged shoulder, making him wince. Alexandra. He had wondered for so long whom Harper reminded him of and out of all moments they shared it was this that made him realise. The memory reappeared in his mind so vividly now.

"Artie, no! Don't go to your room, you'll stain your carpet! Mum will kill us!" - and the older girl held him under his arms, guiding him to the kitchen.

He still remembered it: the years before school, before Kendricks, him and his sister mostly alone in the house with parents constantly away. Alexandra had brought him up before Kendricks had. Alexandra had a lovely voice, she would read him bedtime stories, she would sing to him, she was kind and caring - probably the only human being in his life that ever seemed to care. When he went to Kendricks was the last time he had ever seen her... Well, alive. Alexandra was kind and caring - and that was probably the reason why she had not made it through the training. In fact her death might have been the only reason why he survived and made it to the top - having no one care about you has a benefit: you don't have to care about anyone too.

After his sister's funeral life had never felt the same and Arthur had been quite certain before that it was for the better. Now, watching Harper rush about, trying to find the medical kit to help him, he thought that he had been terribly wrong all the damn time.

How long has she known him? A couple of years, not more, but the relationship between them reached beyond the borders of friendship or companionship. That little american hunter - the first time he saw her he thought she was suicidal, the second one - bold and full of sass. The following months proved her well capable of combining both while turning out to be so much more, one of which being: to be able to love Arthur Ketch. Of course he knew she loved him - this was among those traits in her that he openly treated with polite contempt and deep down envied more than anything.

He watched Harper come to his side, sliding his hunting gear off his shoulders - her movements so gentle, her eyes filled with worry and guilt.

- I'm so sorry Arthur, I should have... - you're always sorry. You always think it is your fault and none else's. This was most probably the main reason why it was so easy for him to openly reject her feeling: they both knew she loved him, they both knew he saw it, he toyed with her so many times, being suggestive, flirting. "As long as I enjoy the physical aspects of having an affair, the emotional attachment that other people believe necessary to form is rather pathetic" - he told her once. He actually said that, those were his words. I would like to fuck you as long as you shut your disgustingly human little heart. She stared at him for a moment, her beautiful face almost successfully hiding the hurt - then turned away silently, shrugging her shoulders. He was being a jerk. Harper never stopped him from that, Harper seemed to take it all in and believe he was right, believe that her feeling for him was utterly pathetic. That it was her fault.

- It was no one's mistake, love, it was an unlucky accident. Besides it didn't turn out that awful, - he trailed off. She was cleaning his skin over the wound now, preparing to apply stitches. Arthur could sense a little shudder in her at the word "love". He was so used to saying it that he forgot about all the connotations it held. Lord, was he bad at this.

Harper continued her work silently. She felt him studying her face and prayed to be finished as quick as possible - she did not need another heartbreaking hope and she had already made the mistake of looking into his eyes that night. When the last stitch was done, she turned away to put the materials aside and sensed him straighten up behind her back - Harper felt he wanted to say something else, but she could not give him that opportunity. She almost thought he would die that night - seeing him on the floor made her blood run cold - she did not need any more pain to add to the aftermath of the shock.

- I'm going to my room, but please call me if you feel worse during the night, - she spoke, not turning to face him, ready to walk out of the bathroom. Harper felt his hand grab her wrist in a rushed movement and turned abruptly only to see him staring back at her with unguarded softness in his eyes. The only time she remembered Arthur look at her like that was when she twisted an ankle during the hunt all due to his mistake. It scared her a little to see that expression on him.

- Why won't you just stay to keep an eye on me? - his voice low, with an undertone she so often heard when he flirted with her.

- You're a big boy, Ketch, we both know that even stitching you up was superfluous, you can perfectly well tend to yourself, - a smile. Harper tried to brush it off jokingly, ready to make her leave, but his grasp on her wrist only grew stronger.

- Stay. At least for this night. Please, - the smile disappeared from her face. He sounded wounded, he sounded like he really pleaded. Harper broke away from his grasp, taking a step back.

- You don't need a... - she shook her head.

- But I do, - he stood up, taking a step towards her, not letting her increase the distance between them. His fingers came up to caress her cheek gently. - Harper, stay, - she shut her eyes, standing still and quiet for a couple of seconds, seemingly fighting back emotions.

- You don't mean this, - she said, looking up at him sharply and confidently, but in a moment, failing to restrain herself, she continues more quietly and softly. - Why do you have to be so cruel to me? - he could see tears brimming in her eyes.

They stood frozen in front of each other, her face so close to his, her eyes watering - not because of this particular evening, but because of all those times before he had behaved in similar nature. It was the first time she had so directly addressed the issue of her feelings for him. "Why do you have to be so cruel to me?" She seemed to be waiting for an actual answer. Why was she always so kind to him? Like he was normal, like he didn't hurt her? Arthur leaned down, his hand still cupping her cheek, his lips touching hers gently and firmly.

Harper closed her eyes - not as a girl would do in a pretty romantic movie - she shut her eyes, pressing her eyelids together, holding her breath, shuddering. A single tear ran down her cheek.

When they parted, though his face still stayed just a few centimeters away from hers, Harper opened her eyes again, her breath shaking.

- Arthur...

His free hand circled her waist, pulling her closer to him, as his fingers slid away from her cheek, moving behind her head, running through her hair. Arthur leaned close to her ear, his breath ghosting over her neck.

- Because I hate how you make me feel like I can still have a life, like not everything is lost. I hate how you make me feel worth being cared about and able to care. I hate how you make me feel, - he said that rushed and quiet. Pressing his front to the side of her head, breathing deeply.

- And what if you are lying? What if this all is for the sake of one night? I'm tired of guessing if you have a soul or not, Arthur, I'm too worn out, - she wispered after some time, leaning her forehead into his uninjured shoulder.

- Then trust me this one time. I promise. Please.

- Why?

- Because I need you. I need you to feel alive.

Arthur felt her let out a deep breath, her petite form pressing itself to his, her arms sliding behind his back to hold him close. She raised her head, freezing for a moment before their eyes met, then leaning up - their lips meeting now less gingerly than the first time.

- Does that mean you'll stay?

- You're such an asshole, Ketch...

- I know.

Harper hid her face in his chest, sobbing quietly, her form shacking, worn out both physically and emotionally. Arthur kissed her temple softly, caressing her back, for once feeling like he did everything right. For once feeling like they had a chance.

Happiness is a butterfly

Try to catch it like every night

It's escaping from me into moonlight

#supernatural #spn fanfiction #arthur ketch x oc #this is written half at night and half on school breaks please don't judge me #i havenot revisited this fandom in such a long time #arthur ketch x reader #arthur ketch #sam winchester #dean winchester #british men of letters #angst #happiness is a butterfly #lana del rey #oneshot #songfic

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