#there are several other attempts but I liked this one
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Regarding @littlegreenfag
Tldr: Adina, known by the Tumblr urls littlegreenfag and prksoda, has spent the past several years lying about many facets of their life. The list of lies includes, but is not limited to, being half manouche Romani, being Jewish, and being descended from Holocaust survivors.
I never wanted to have to do this. I’ve spent months trying my best to encourage Adina to come clean themself. My methods were not ideal. I should not have used anonymous messages. I used to be friends with them, I should've talked to them openly as their friend. I also should’ve attempted to be less aggressive at times, even though I think it is incredibly reasonable to have felt the way I felt when I was sending some of those messages. I understand and regret both of these things. Unfortunately, since Adina has deactivated @littlegreenfag, I cannot provide links or screenshots to every ask of mine that they responded to, only those I saved at the time. I will do this later, upon request. This post is already going to be enough of a monster without them.
Though the last day has been a complete nightmare, I am satisfied with one thing: Adina came clean about everything, even if not publicly. My worry was always with the though of having to reveal their personal information, as many of the things they’ve lied about would require me to, functionally, dox them. Though it's technically all public, I would much rather that no one who doesn't already have access to this information gain it.
So, why am I writing this post? For those of you who were on Adina’s blog last night, you may have seen this post. I was also able to save a capture of their blog on the Internet Archive. Here is a screenshot that I took around when the post was first published. Apologies for the formatting.
To summarize, Adina begins to by admitting to a small lie, that they were born in Chicago, before admitting that they had been lying about their race. Though it was not present at the time of the blog's deletion, I would like to note that Adina had the phrase "jewish and half-romani" in their blog's bio for a very long time. This phrase was quietly removed after I sent the first anon message telling them that I was aware of their lies, on March 16th 2024. This can be seen on the Wayback Machine, by looking at the capture taken on March 5th, 2024, in comparison to the capture taken on March 24th, 2024.
That is what you may have seen. However, it is not the only major lie Adina has told. After suggesting Adina should turn off anons, I sent them another ask with my blog name visible, telling them that I could tell everyone about the other lies for them, if they wished to log off and be done with it. They messaged me privately, and this is the resulting conversation.
I apologize for the block of images, but I figured it was necessary to include the entire conversation. Here, Adina openly admits to not being Jewish. Adina has spent months receiving social benefits for claiming to be Jewish, and they've even used this claim to support arguments. Truth be told, Adina has one Jewish great-grandfather. How Adina expected me to believe they would know about this without knowing his surname, I will never know. However, I should emphasize that Adina is not Jewish by the standards of any main movement of Judaism. Orthodox and Conservative look for an unbroken line of Jewish women, while Reform asks that you be raised Jewish by a Jewish parent. Adina is descended from a Jewish man who converted to Catholicism and raised his children Catholic.
Regarding the Holocaust claim, I understand hat Adina did not directly address this. I will say that I find it suspicious that they deactivated as soon as I mentioned it, but they technically never confirmed it was a lie. However, with the information that:
The ancestors they mention as being survivors or victims quite literally do not exist and
Their Jewish ancestor was born in the United States well before WWII
I believe it is quite safe to say this was also a lie. My screenshots of their claims come mostly from their Reddit account, which is now deleted.
It is absolutely ghoulish to me to create fake relatives so that you can pretend they were tortured and killed during the Holocaust. All to receive sympathy.
Though there are many, many other lies Adina has peddled, such as being a child of divorce and having a dead biological mother, I don't think any of them matter much in the grand scheme of things when these are the other lies that have been told.
It is also worth noting that this is a pattern of behavior from Adina. As some of you who followed them may know, back in 2019, a blog was created with the intent of calling them out for lies. Frankly, this blog, @prksodalies , is what put me on to Adina's trail in the first place. Though I believe that several of the things Adina was accused of on this blog are downright cruel to accuse someone of without evidence, the fact that there were so many smaller obvious lies made me very uneasy. What specifically made me curious was the post, here, where Adina claims that they are half Lebanese. Obviously, this did not make a ton of sense with the half Roma and half Ashkenazi Jewish Adina we all knew. As it turns out, this was one of the very few shreds of truth from Adina. They're a quarter Lebanese on their father's side, and other than that and a Jewish great-grandfather, are of mostly Polish and German descent.
This being a pattern of behavior, alongside the way Adina behaved in messages with me, tells me that this will likely unfortunately not be the last time this person creates a Tumblr blog with a fabricated life story. I feel immense guilt at the thought that they may continue to swindle and hurt people, and that I will never know or be able to help again.
To everyone who was friends with this person and has been hurt by their actions, I am truly, truly sorry. This has been an absolutely miserable experience for me and I can't imagine it's much different for any of you. If you have questions, I'll be available for a least a few hours. I do not want to share any of their personal information, but I will share what I need to (privately) if some of you need or want more information.
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𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you welcome your boyfriend back to the country with a surprise party, just as the clock is ticking to say goodbye again. the big day is almost here and enlistment brings couples either one of two things: a ring or a breakup.
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish)
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), infidelity, foul language, substance use, underage drinking, mentions of the covid-19 pandemic, sexually suggestive content
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. the series is told in non-chronological order. note that the main character is a member of a fictional idol group. more warnings may be added as the story is written. join the taglist here!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤm.list | next
you say, "i don't understand, " and i say, "i know you don't"
we thought a cure would come through in time, now i fear it won't
TODAY’S TOP HEADLINE: bts’ rm, jimin, taehyung and jungkook set to enlist in the coming weeks!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤautumn 2023
the confrontation
when it rained, it poured and you felt like you haven't seen even a glimpse of the sun in ages. there was a nagging feeling in your gut that it was too far gone, but like everything else for the past ten years, you swallowed it down and swept it under the rug. bad feelings didn’t exist in your relationship. that was the unspoken rule. yet, it was growing more and more difficult to mask the disappointment in your eyes or the frown fighting your lips. today marked the worst of your attempts.
seoul was unusually calm tonight and it scared you. when you moved to the city ages ago to begin your journey as an idol trainee, it was nothing but intimidating for your meek, pre-teen self. eventually, over time, your love for the city bloomed and it was truthfully because of jungkook. once young teenagers that arrived to seoul alone, you found solace in each other and embraced the change as one. he made you fall in love with seoul the same way he made you fall in love with him. dates, nightclubs, late night adventures, and years worth of moments within the city limits.
however, the streets were as hushed as you were, as you gripped your steering wheel like a robot.
the decision had been long made and you knew it was going to come around at some point, so there was no use in fighting it. after going without seeing your boyfriend for months, it should have been nothing but pure excitement.
“you’re awfully quiet,” murmured jungkook, glancing over at you from the passenger seat.
you were already annoyed to begin with, when he mentioned that he was going to have a driver pick him up from the airport, instead of asking for you. it felt like he didn’t even expect to have you waiting for him, considering the two of you had been apart due to his time working in the united states. you thought he’d be insisting for you to be the first person he saw once he came back. these frustrations were on top of several other things, which you’d been dreading to confront for even longer of a time.
and then, there was also the velvet box you spotted in the background of one of your facetime calls. you didn’t bring it up, but it was living in your mind everyday since. with jungkook’s big day fast approaching, there were a lot of conflicting ideas in your head.
you shrugged. “i’ve been filming long hours. not getting that much sleep.”
the look jungkook gave you read that he knew that you weren’t being a hundred percent honest, but he didn’t say anything. his eyes returned to being fixated on his phone.
after over ten years of knowing each other, you and jungkook could see through each other like glass. the only problem was that nobody ever wanted to speak up. you feared the glaring possibility of other buried conflict dating further back into the relationship because of this dynamic.
you didn’t think you deserved the blame for the tension in the air. there were several things in your mind, but jungkook wasn’t exactly a person who could easily mask their emotions. something was off with him, too, and you needed to figure out what it was. you could only hope for the best case scenario because otherwise, it was going to be your worst nightmare. there was no situation you could fathom where his behaviour was a result of an in between.
keeping your voice casual, you asked, “who are you texting?”
“my mom.”
you held back a sigh - jungkook was never particularly keen on involving you with his family. though you’d been together since he was sixteen, you always felt like he kept you an arm’s reach away from that part of your life and you never understood why.
“oh. tell her i say hi,” you said and he hummed in response.
whilst you weren’t in a talkative mood, it wasn’t like jungkook was doing anything to keep the conversation flowing either. you guys obviously texted and called during his time away, but the present atmosphere was awkward, like there was nothing to talk about after his grand return. you hugged and kissed at the airport, asked how his flight was, and that was that. driving him felt like a business endeavour, rather than welcoming your long-term partner back to the country.
after a few minutes, jungkook finally looked up from his phone. upon peering out the window, he grew confused and turned to you.
he questioned, “where are we going? the apartment is in the other direction.”
“just wait,” you assured, forcing a small smile. “take off your hoodie and put on what i have for you in the backseat.”
there was a shopping bag sitting behind jungkook’s seat and he reluctantly reached over, revealing a silk ysl shirt that you picked up that very afternoon. sighing, he did as you asked and made the change. you didn’t care to look over at your boyfriend’s shirtless body, too irritated at the curtness of the conversation.
you just wanted to get to the destination, the heavy silence becoming too much for you. there wasn’t even music on. you found yourself focusing too much on it, as you finally pulled up to the infamous hotel azure. somehow tucked away in the busy songpa district, it is unassuming to the civilian eye, but a well-known name amongst the circles of south korea’s entertainment industry. you didn’t “make it” in entertainment until you attended a party at hotel azure.
jungkook shifted in his seat. “what is this?” his tone was demanding, which immediately put you off. “the plan was to go home.”
to be fair, the last time that the two of you were at the azure hotel, jungkook wound up with a bloody nose after getting into it with an not-to-be-named yg idol at one of jackson wang’s wild parties. you weren’t even sure what happened yourself, bleary eyed for the majority of the night with several substances in your body. hotel azure was for idols at the top of the world with everything to lose, a favourite place of yours around 2018. it was now a place that you actively tried to avoid, but made an exception for the special occasion.
“calm down,” you shot back, not letting him get away with the voice he used. “just wait, i said.”
“i’m tired, y/n,” jungkook pleaded, as you stopped the car for the valet to take.
you ignored him - it wasn’t like it was up to you - and unbuckled your seatbelt, not waiting a second for jungkook.
not only did you pick up your boyfriend from the airport, you also spent hours meticulously preparing your appearance for the night. it didn’t seem like jungkook noticed, other than at the airport, when he questioned why you were wearing high heels.
you never wore heels unless you were working, but that changed when you met jungkook. he loved it when you wore heels and by the time your respective trainee debts were paid, made it a point. you bought platforms with the anticipation of how your boyfriend would go crazy over them. jungkook gifted you designer jimmy choos and pradas whenever you guys got into a fight. it made you feel your prettiest and he showered you with compliments every time.
now, he looked at you oddly for it, like you were doing too much.
jungkook eventually gave up and followed you in without a word, watching you take off your trench coat to reveal a stunning baby pink two-piece dress. the colour glittered under the low lighting of the hotel lobby and the corset accentuated your curves in all the right aways. except, he still did not say a word. this made you frown.
you handed off your coat to an employee and jungkook did the same. the lobby was empty, but you and jungkook knew exactly where to go, making a beeline for the elevator and pressing the button to move up to the penthouse suite.
“why didn’t you warn me about this?” he grumbled under his breath, adjusting his shirt in the mirror.
because that’s how surprise parties work, you wanted to reply. unfortunately, this was not a surprise party that you wanted to celebrate, so you didn’t even try to keep jungkook excited. you were both quiet, irritable, and only wanted to go home.
you said, “this is the part where i cover your eyes and lead you out.”
jungkook complied and you placed your perfectly manicured hands over his line of vision. other than sharing a hug and kiss earlier, this was the closest you’d physically gotten to your boyfriend in months. your hands were cold and you were close enough that he could hear your breathing - all too uncomfortable.
the elevator dinged and you nudged jungkook to step forward. the penthouse’s lights were off, but you could make out the shuffling of feet from behind the kitchen counter. it looked like everything was set up and pristine. then, in just a beat, the entire room lit up and you removed your hands from jungkook’s eyes.
“SURPRISE!”
the floor rumbled, voices roaring and bodies popping out from different places - behind pillars, couches and the bar. jungkook’s eyes brightened in a way that you had yet to see since reuniting with him earlier and it made your heart sink. you hadn’t realized how dull his demeanour was around you until something else actually made him smile.
his closest friends and family gathered in the penthouse and there was a large, golden banner that hung from the walls that said “welcome back jungkook!” the other wall was decorated with another banner, but this one said “good luck rm, v, jimin and jungkook!”
jungkook’s older brother was the first one that enveloped him into a bear hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him, then his mom. this was followed by the remainder of his band mates that managed to make the party. you awkwardly stood off to the side, a wide smile plastered on your face to mask your despondence. it seemed like jungkook’s exhaustion only existed when he was sitting in a car with you, as his laughter echoed throughout the room.
you caught jungkook’s eye and he already knew how you were feeling. while he exchanged words with other friends, it was namjoon who pulled you to the side.
“hey. you guys did a really great job with the party,” you started, looking around.
the penthouse of the azure hotel was a thing of beauty, with ceiling high windows that looked over the lights of seoul. everything shone and glimmered - the city skyline, the perfect marble floors, the expensive liquor bottles, and hell, even the perfect teeth of the myriad of a-list south korean celebrities gracing this exclusive party. there wasn’t a wrong way to ever throw a party there, but the group made an extra effort to make jungkook’s homecoming a special one.
jungkook was swarmed by several people, all asking about his time in america and how exciting it was. those were the words you used to describe it for him, too, when you sent him off months ago. you watched him take shots with mingyu and eunwoo.
namjoon shook his head, “no, no. this wouldn’t be possible without you,” he said and then glanced at jungkook, “and i’m sure he knows it, too.”
the boys, despite it also serving as a goodbye party before their enlistments, had been helping you plan the surprise for weeks leading up to jungkook’s arrival. it was one of the longest times jungkook had been apart from them and from the country in general, so they wanted to make it extra special. though you were the main mastermind behind the gathering, you initially didn’t want to do it at all.
“yeah, i hope so,” you replied, as you poured yourself a glass of white wine. “you guys all deserve it.”
over the years, jungkook’s band mates slowly became some of your friends, as well. it was somber goodbye for you in all kinds of ways. everyone was preparing to send them off with good luck and high spirits.
the boys were also preparing in their own way. you noticed that taehyung and jimin’s girlfriends were missing from the party, which only confirmed your speculations.
“it was just bound to happen,” said a voice.
it was taehyung who joined you and namjoon in a quiet circle at the corner of the living room. all of the boys looked a little bit sad, despite the celebratory atmosphere, but you read a different kind of story in taehyung’s eyes.
he smiled with a hint of gloom. “you’re looking around for her, right?”
as a fellow idol and also a girlfriend to a member of one of the biggest groups in the world, taehyung’s girlfriend grew to become one of your close confidants in the past few years. you guys were polite before, but this connection created a specific bond that couldn’t be understood by anyone else. however, you hadn’t heard from her in a few days and with her absence at taehyung’s goodbye party, you put two and two together.
to his side, namjoon clapped a hand on his friend’s back. “sorry, man.”
“i hope it was cordial,” you mustered up, ignoring the growing heaviness at the pit of your stomach. you could only hope you weren’t next.
taehyung replied. “she understood, but she wasn’t happy. regardless,” he sighed, “we’re still so young. her career is just blowing up even more, i feel like i’d only be holding her back.”
that was the way it went. when enlistment rolled around for most couples, it was either breaking up or a ring. you looked at your feet, not knowing what to say.
“jimin also told me that he broke things off with - “
a loud yelp squeaked from taehyung, who was abruptly jabbed in the side with namjoon’s elbow. the latter cleared his throat and you recognized that look. namjoon only made that face when he pulled the leader card and needed to put someone in their place. you figured that your worries were transparent to those around you.
namjoon cleared his throat. “not in a chatty mood?”
while you greeted people during the set-up of the party, you realized that you had yet to actually try socializing. things were awkward with jungkook’s parents, who you long suspected didn’t approve of you for various reasons. in general, most people were interested in chatting with the boys, which you didn’t mind. it was a gathering to send them off, after all.
“not really. you guys should go mingle with your friends,” you said, taking another sip of your wine. “it’s your party.”
“i hope i’m not overstepping, but did you and jungkook get in a fight?” taehyung asked.
you blinked slowly. “no. does it seem like it?”
“just seems like he’s nervous about something,” he commented and you noticed namjoon glare at him once more, as if to shut up.
for the first time that night, you felt a glimmer of mixed feelings that left you wondering. why would he be nervous? the big visual forming in your mind was a diamond ring. you and jungkook had contemplated marriage in the past year, but it was also the source of many arguments. you weren’t even sure you wanted to get married now, but your mother had been getting into your ear about you getting older. then, there were your respective companies who lost their shit at the idea. but, what really mattered, was jungkook’s opinion. he seemed to wave it off or change the topic at every opportunity, so your hopes for a ring lived in the back of your mind.
despite this, taehyung was right. jungkook looked nervous. he’d been irritated at being dragged to his surprise party - you wondered if it was delusional enough to believe that he had plans for the two of you, instead.
for the rest of the night, you continued to keep to yourself. you weren’t lying when you told jungkook you were tired, but you were determined to stay as long as you could and pretend that you and jungkook weren’t stealing mysterious glances at each other for the entire evening. it was obvious and only made you anxious.
a few hours later and the party only grew in numbers and in noise. you thought you lost him in the crowd, until you left to refill your nth drink and found him talking to his cousin.
the two were smiling and laughing, as his cousin appeared to be showing jungkook pictures on his phone. you assumed it was her newborn daughter - she gave birth just two months before her fiance was to be discharged and now that he was back, the wedding was just around the corner. you remembered jungkook telling you that she was proposed to on the day of his enlistment.
jungkook caught your eye and he immediately looked away - what the hell was that? he even turned slightly and you couldn’t read his lips. something was going on. you watched him shove his hands in his pockets and you swore you saw the shape of a small square inside.
eventually, you grew tired of the tension in the air and the music began to make your head pound. the longer you thought about your partner, the greater your anxieties grew. there was a chance you even just although it was late in the year and a fresh sheet of snow adorned the streets of seoul, you decided it was best to step out into the balcony to take some time to breathe.
nobody else was there, thankfully, and you let out a shiver when you stepped out. the peppermint air dispelled the haze in your head and in your heart, as taking a deep breath was the greatest relief you felt all night. though your muscles remained tense and you knew you wouldn’t last out in the cold, the balcony was a welcome change.
you weren’t sure how long you were outside when the door creaked open and just by the footsteps alone, you knew who it was.
“your guests will miss you,” you said, not even looking behind you.
at this point, you were hugging yourself to stop shivering. a rustle later and you felt a thick blanket drape over your shoulders, the wool of its make completely enveloping you with much needed warmth. you relaxed your shoulders, but couldn’t look jungkook in the eyes.
“something’s wrong. tell me.”
jungkook’s wine stained lips were pulled into a frown and although he hid it well when he was chatting away with his friends and family, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. he sniffled a few times and you knew why, but you decided to bite your tongue. it was his party and he was an adult who could celebrate whatever way he wanted. it was also clear that neither of you had the energy to argue. instead, to his surprise, you raised an arm and gestured for him to come closer.
he sidestepped towards you and although you were shorter, let you wrap some of the blanket around him. his cold arm snaked around your waist and you tensed up again at his touch.
you continued to look out into the skyline. “i was going to say the same for you.”
“i’m really thankful for the party, love,” he ignored your question and pressed a kiss against your temple.
you mumbled under your breath, “it wasn’t easy." this was the first time all night that you were comfortable enough to physically touch jungkook and you suspected alcohol played a role in relieving the tension between you two, but it was always going to be easy to fall right back into routine.
and just like that, you felt a stinging sensation in your eyes. tears welled up and blurred your vision, which only made you turn your head away further from your boyfriend. he caught this immediately, his instincts nothing but natural when it came to you, and pulled you right into his chest.
the sound that came out of your mouth sounded nothing like you. the sob was desperate and helpless. it was akin to a toddler who couldn’t do anything by themselves. your voice cracked with each body-shaking sob and you didn’t have the guts to conceal it. your head was buried into jungkook’s new shirt, ruining it, but he only stroked your hair and wrapped the blanket tighter around the two of you.
“it’s okay. . .” jungkook cooed and for what seemed like the first time in a while, he sounded like himself.
it wasn’t like jungkook had undergone a drastic change from his time in america, but it was a gradual shift that you felt over a longer period of time. you attributed to the fact that you were no longer teenagers and things weren’t going to be the same as it did ten, even five years ago. that was what you told yourself, but you weren’t sure why you still held on to the old jungkook you knew.
in that moment, he sounded like the fifteen year old boy you met in a convenience store again. he sounded like the jungkook who wrote you disgusting love songs that were horrible, but you adored anyway. he sounded like the man who you talked about children and a big house and an annoying dog with.
as you found the bravery to finally pull away from jungkook’s comforting embrace, you looked up and saw that future in his eyes. his features softened, but he looked sad. your heart sank once again.
“you’re not just crying because i’m enlisting, are you?” he finally spoke, just above a whisper. his tone was certain, barely a question - after ten years together, jungkook knew you better than you knew yourself.
you froze. there was nothing else you could do but shut your eyes tight, pretending that this wasn’t really happening.
after a beat, you found your voice. “listen. . .we both know what happens after a man enlists. look at taehyung and jimin. look at your cousin.”
over the years, you and jungkook had gone through hell and back. you thought the worst day of your life was when dispatch leaked the news that you were dating five years ago, but you were able to recover. you thought it was the worst day of your life when your breakup was witnessed by the entire world, but you were able to recover. you even thought the worst day of your life was when word got out that you and jungkook got back together, effectively proving that you were weak and were the type of girl to crawl back to her ex. you recovered then, as well.
at the second part of your sentence, you felt jungkook physically tense up.
“is that why you’ve been acting weird lately?” he replied.
you don’t know where it came from, but something triggered a spark of anger in you. still, with a tear stained face and a runny nose, you opened your eyes and met his. this was not something you would be able to recover from.
you said, “it hasn’t just been lately, jungkook. you know exactly what’s on my mind, we’ve been talking - “
“ - and you know what my answer has been, baby. you know what kind of position i’m in,” he interrupted, breaking apart from your hold and the blanket he brought for you.
he wasn’t wrong. you did know what kind of position he was in. one of the biggest stars in the world and he had everything to lose, especially with the anxieties looming in the air for him and the rest of his group. every one of them were on their toes as soon as their enlistment dates were finalized, fearing their fade from the spotlight. you and the rest of the world knew that it was bullshit, that the bts was going to be forgotten just because they were going into the military for a few years.
marriage would surely ruin that further, right?
you said, “and you know what position i’m in.”
the careless joys of your early twenties had come and gone, which left you at the mercy of your mother’s constant talks about marriage. not just her, but other family members and even some of your friends. after all, you and jungkook had been together for ten years and you were pushing thirty sooner or later.
you also had your own fears in regard to your career. jungkook once laughed when you expressed your worries about the public no longer finding you young and pretty, but it was a real fear. most girl groups didn’t last more than a few years. many of your contemporaries had long said goodbye to their idol persona and went their separate ways from their band for a new life. you were considered a lucky one to remain with your group and maintain relevance, but for how long? was it time for you to finally settle down? you weren’t granted the same longevity as jungkook’s renowned group and you weren’t bitter about it, but nervous.
snowflakes began to fall once again and as one fell on your eyelashes, you noticed jungkook’s jaw clench.
“we’ve talked about this,” he said and you knew your wandering thoughts about a potential proposal were too good to be true.
you began, “look, i know that things are different for people like us. . “ but, things were changing. in recent years, you watched several of your peers get married and have children without losing their spot in the limelight.
“y/n. . .what made you think i changed my mind?” jungkook sighed, pacing back and forth to calm himself down.
“i just thought. . .”
“i’m sorry, but i wasn’t going to propose before my enlistment.” this time, jungkook’s frustrations melted away and there was genuine sadness in his voice.
he stepped closer to you and put his hands on your waist. you didn’t know what to say. you really had been pretending that his strange behaviour was because of a hope that seemed impossible now.
you took a deep breath. “you never said no. you made it seem like you were considering it.”
that was what silenced jungkook. it was true, there was never an outright refusal from jungkook. he would say things that implied he would talk to his company again or “with time” it would come. he gave you just enough reassurance, but never confirmation.
continuing, you said, “and you even indulged in keeping the fantasy alive with me. you’re sick for talking about honeymoon destinations with me and suggesting songs we could dance to.”
“hey. i’ve said time ands time again that there is no future where you aren’t by my side,” jungkook tried getting you to look at him, but every time he moved, you turned away.
there was no reason for you to make eye contact. you felt like a fool and if you met his eyes, you knew you would just burst into tears again. then, you thought about your conversation earlier with your friends and your vision became wet again.
“were you planning to break up with me before you enlisted?”
“what? no,” he responded, but you weren’t convinced.
you responded, “it was going to be inevitable, wasn’t it? like jimin and taehyung. you were going to be done with me.”
this time, jungkook forced you to look at him by the chin and your shoulders dropped. there was a crease in between his eyebrows that you don’t remember seeing even just a year ago. he looked more tired than he did as a rookie with barely survivable living standards.
“time really goes by, huh?” you murmured, fighting to keep your voice stable.
“we were never going to break up, love,” jungkook maintained.
still, his words didn’t penetrate further than surface level. you were left numb and the chill of winter in seoul had nothing to do with it. you wished that someone would just call jungkook away, but the party inside continued on without him.
“you bought a ring. i saw it when we video called.”
jungkook’s lips parted. you knew it. you knew you weren’t losing your mind. over the last ten years, you made some crazy accusations for all kinds of reasons. this time was different and you saw it on his face.
even after what seemed like forever, jungkook couldn’t find words to say. the longer he waited to speak, the faster your heart began to race.
he rubbed his temples and finally, he spoke. jungkook spoke and you immediately dropped the blanket he brought for you, dashing right back inside. you walked past every single attendee and ignored the few that cried out your name. you didn’t care what it looked like. you just knew you had to get out of there.
jungkook said there was a ring. he began to open his mouth and explain further, especially when he read the horrified expression on your face, but you wanted no part in it. there was no room for you to think about what that meant. you only saw red.
you weren’t sure why you wanted a proposal so badly. you knew you didn’t care that much about what your mother wanted and getting married was no solution to the prospects of a dying career. you were second guessing if your wishes for a wedding were even genuine.
on the other hand, maybe you intended for the wedding to be a solution to a dying relationship.
LATEST NEWS: hybe dismisses reports that bts’ jungkook and S.IREN’s nova are engaged, seeking legal action against gossip website that went viral for spreading the false rumour
@butnotmontana @rinkud @kookiescutie @nlr1606 @claireshelby @xtrataerrestrial @whoa-jo @tinyxrose @lavendersugarplum @bangtans-momma @firelcrds @sstrongstyle
#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x reader#jungkook imagines#jungkook scenarios#jungkook angst#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x oc#jungkook fluff#jungkook drabble#bts imagines#bts fanfic#bts scenarios#kpop fanfic#kpop imagines#bts au#jungkook au
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Normalcy
"I'm so sorry! This…this never happens!!”
She drew her lips in a line and nodded, like she’d heard it a thousand times before, then went back to smacking her gum as she balled up the soggy diaper with practiced precision.
“No! I’m serious! I’m a grown man!! It’s not like I walk around pissing myself all the time!”
She scoffed, then shrugged. “Well you weren’t doing much walking—first of all—more like waddling. But you mean to tell me you never wet yourself? You’ve never wet a diaper before?”
“No…i…”
She inclined her head to the corner of the room, where a big sack of loaded diapers sat in a blue see-through bag.
“Okay…fine, I do. But only after a very long time period!! You don’t understand! My wife will leave me in them for the whole day!”
“I’ve only been here for an hour…”
“Yes but…” i wanted to tell her that was because my wife had made me drink three entire baby bottles of nasty fluids before she left. I tried to hold it. I really did. I didn’t want her little ‘babysitter’ to see me in a soggy diaper. In hindsight, i should have just let it all out with my wife and begged her to change me before she went off with that other dude. “It’s not a regular thing!”
“She told me you wet the bed.” The girl said, hardly even blinking as she taped my plump padding into a ball.
It was hard to explain that one away. Sure, there were several drunken nights where I’d blacked out and woken up with wet sheets in our marital bed. My wife was none too happy, but somehow those incidents kept happening even when I was sober, until she finally grew sick of it.
“So how long have you been in diapers?” The girl asked, setting my old one to the side and grabbing a fresh pamper. She asked it so casually, like it was a common point of conversation.
“3 months…” I said, unable to deny it anymore. “For the last two weeks it’s been 24/7. She…threw out all my underwear.”
The girl nodded as if nothing were out of the ordinary, tapping my thighs, apparently signaling for me to lift. I did so without incident, allowing her to slide the new diaper underneath.
“Do you make poo poo’s in them too?”
“No!” I said instinctively, but again she looked at me like a rugrat attempting an obvious lie.
“So if I go put your head in that bag, you won’t suffocate under a cloud of your own shit?”
Her words were cold, I had a feeling she’d do it too.
“Okay…fine. I do…”
“Do what?”
“P-poop…”
“Poop where?” She grinned, still smacking her gum, “I want you to tell me.”
I scrunched up my nose, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I poop in the diapers.”
But she wasn’t satisfied, “now tell me wike a baybee!”
She couldn’t be serious, but when her face turned stern with impatience, it told me that she probably wasn’t someone I should cross.
“Uh…i…” I felt my voice growing smaller, higher, “I make poo poo’s in my pampies!!”
She smiled wide at that. “How do you poop?”
“I…what?” I asked, voice returning to normal.
“How do you do it? Do you crouch? Get down on hour haunches and make a pushy? Or have you learned to go in any position already? All the men I babysit have a different method. It’s adorable. One of them even has to sit on the potty in order to go!“
“I just…do it…I guess. I dunno?” Usually squatting, it came out surprisingly easy that way, but I didn’t want to tell her that, and she didn’t press further, just seemed intent on making me blush.
“Well…I don’t feel like changing a poopy diaper today. So you’re going to get the plug, okay?”
P-plug?
She reached into her diaper bag that she brought herself, and pulled out a rather large silicon buttplug.
“Oh…i dunno…” I said, squirming on top of the diaper splayed out beneath me. “My wife and I don’t really do butt stuff…”
But she just smiled and squirted some lube on it, painting the glob over it with her fingers. “It’s cute that you think you have a say in the matter.” She giggled, “legs up!”
Before I knew it, my ankles were in the air. It was like she had some sort of power over me that I couldn’t resist.
I winced as she pressed the plug to my hole, gently working it in and out, in and out. I had to bite my lip to keep the squeals (and moans?) in. It felt…surprisingly good.
By the time she’d worked it all the way in, there was a little puddle leaking out of my chastity cage. It had spread onto my belly button while my legs were in the air.
“Sorry…” I said as she grabbed a baby wipe to clean up the sticky mess I’d made.
"Don't worry about it.” She smiled, amused. “It's...normal..."
“Is it?” I asked, feeling a sense of relief.
“Sure.” She shrugged, but it came off sarcastic. “Well…not normal to be a grown man in diapers. To poop said diapers. Not normal to have your wife go off and hire a babysitter to change your diapers. And definitely not normal to have another man fuck your wife. But leaking a little cum through your chastity cage while getting a plug shoved up your ass?” She tossed the sticky wipe down into my open diaper, lifting the front so she could tape it on, “yea, I guess that’s pretty ‘normal’…”
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last forever [1/13]
Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.
Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)
Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on
Notes: Hello, this is a fanfic I've been working on for a few months now. I'm still not done, but I figured I would go ahead and start posting it here as a cross post with Quotev and AO3. Sometimes I find this, Zoro and the story, hard to write, but I'm trying. This will NOT be a one-to-one rehashing of the arcs but will have more focus on Zoro and Reader's relationship as it progresses. The first two chapters are written in past tense, everything afterward is present tense, sorry about that. I've been having more fun writing present tense instead of past tense. I have the first three chapters completed, I'm still working on chapter four, but hope to have it done for Monday, and I intend to update mostly on Mondays for this one. Zoro and Reader call each other husband and wife at times, it's in italics on purpose. Hope you enjoy this one.
You were so grateful you couldn't stop crying and thanked him numerous times, never once telling him you hoped you'd never have to get an annulment with him. Your feelings for him were still new, he was a year older than you, but he'd protected you well in the time you knew each other. Of course, you could hold your own as a swordswoman yourself, but Zoro always tried to leave the recon to you while he took out your bounty targets.
Never did you think or imagine your wedding day would be like this. In a courthouse in a backwoods town with no real witnesses, to someone you'd only known for about a year and a half now. This wasn't even out of love for him, he'd only agreed to prevent you from being legally forced into marriage with a man several years older than you who had two other wives already.
No, you and Roronoa Zoro weren't in love, but he was trying to help you out so you didn't end up in a bad situation or with bodyguards chasing you down to force you back to your home village. When you had told him the story, he was honestly disgusted hearing how your family was treating you like an object to be sold, instead of as your own person. The whole reason you'd run away from home was to avoid this, but a letter brought to you by your family's personal carrier bird a few weeks ago changed that. As soon as you turned eighteen, if you weren't married or engaged to someone else, you'd be forced into marrying the creep that agreed to this when you were just fifteen. While you broke down in tears out of fear, Zoro told you he'd marry you to keep you from being taken back home. You told him he didn't have to, but he brought up that after your family heard, if they dropped the arranged marriage, you could get an annulment and it would be like this marriage never happened. You'd be free from your family and the creep, still able to travel and live your own life.
So, a week after you turned eighteen, once you reached a small town with a courthouse, you both immediately went there to get this sham of a marriage completed. The clerk looked you both over several times, asking your ages and you lied, claiming you were both twenty-one when she said you'd need parental approval if you were younger than twenty. She didn't ask for proof, instead mumbling something to herself about how it seemed people were getting married younger and younger every year. No more questions about witnesses, parental approval, or identification to prove your ages, the older woman just filled out the paperwork and had you two sign it for processing.
While it was being processed, she sent you to the other side of the room to sit and wait.
"Thank you."
Zoro just shrugged, wishing the old bat would hurry it up so you could find a hotel and get a room so he could go to sleep. "You don't have to keep thanking me."
Nodding, you bit your lip. It was weird to think you'd legally be husband and wife, despite not being in love with each other, but part of you hoped that maybe over time Zoro would come to love you, and you him, so you'd be a few steps ahead of the curve.
The clerk called you both back over a few minutes later, stamping the papers in her hands and pulling a few more. "You're legally married now, congratulations. I've given you an extra copy since you requested it, and here's an annulment form if you've decided you made a mistake. You have six months to fill out and submit it, at any courthouse, otherwise you'll have to get a divorce."
You nodded and thanked the old woman, who told you two to be careful as you both left. You weren't entirely sure why, but if Zoro knew, he kept his mouth shut about it. Once you left, Zoro started looking for a place to stay while you found somewhere you could have dinner. Neither of you planned to stay in this town for more than a night, so you weren't worried about cashing in any bounties that day.
After finding a place to eat, you stayed nearby while you wrote a brief letter to your family and sent it to them, with your marriage certificate, by your family carrier bird. You really just hoped and prayed that they would accept this information and not still demand you return home, whether they wanted to meet Zoro because they believed your letter, or they wanted you to annul the marriage immediately to marry the creep that agreed to it first. Either way, you had no plans to follow their demands or return home.
You and Zoro didn't meet up until it was about dinner time, not a word about your marriage being spoken but your plans to leave the next morning and head to the next town were the main subject. You split off again after dinner, Zoro giving you the second key to your hotel room while he took a walk, in case you wanted to go and shower or go on to bed. You did so, taking a long shower to keep yourself distracted before choosing one of the two beds as yours for the night, laying face down with your face in the pillow. By the time Zoro did return, you were nearly asleep until he woke you when he opened the door.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
"It's fine…I wasn't sleeping yet."
You weren't sure if it was just you, but things felt awkward with Zoro now. It probably was just you, because he went to bed like nothing was different, telling you that he wanted to leave as soon as possible in the morning. Shells Town was the next destination for the two of you, since a Marine base was there you figured new bounty posters would be available.
You spent the night half awake, unsure of what you were feeling anymore, but you knew one thing.
It was definitely not the kind of wedding day you ever expected to have.
+!+
What do I do, what do I do??
Pacing around the Marine fortress, you didn't know if you should even try to break in and free Zoro or just wait for the month he agreed on with Helmeppo to be up. All of this because he protected a little girl from the brat's dogs and punched him in the face, the spoiled boy using it as an excuse to bring Zoro in like a criminal, and you just weren't sure what you should do. He'd told you not to interfere and when Helmeppo tried to include you in it, you were surprised Zoro threatened him further and said you had no part in the matter.
Stopping, you sighed and crouched, holding your head in your hands and whining. "What do I do…?"
"Hey, you okay??"
The voice above you sounded kind, and you looked up to see a boy with a straw hat and a scarf under his left eye, with another young boy who had pink hair and glasses. Both looked concerned, wondering why you looked like you were fighting a headache outside of the Marine fortress.
"I'm fine…"
"You sure?" The boy in the hat grinned at you, wanting to really make sure you were fine, getting eye level with you while the other boy looked nervously around. "You don't look fine!"
"Luffy!"
You laughed, sighing a bit and standing up, the boy called Luffy following suit. "Yeah, I'm…I'm sure. My friend just…the Marines got him, I'm not sure what to do."
Luffy and the other boy, Koby you learned, both questioned you until you revealed it was Zoro that was your friend, causing Luffy to get excited as he climbed the wall to look into the yard, while Koby was even more nervous than before. He couldn't even believe that you were friends with the notorious pirate hunter Zoro, let alone traveling with him.
"Hey so that's him??"
Koby climbed up with Luffy and nearly fainted, almost falling off the wall when he saw Zoro. You were so focused on the two boys you didn't notice the little girl, Rika, climbing in and over the wall with rice balls in hand. You could hear her offering them to Zoro despite him telling her to scram, before Helmeppo showed up and had her thrown back over the wall, Luffy catching her and surprising you.
"Hey, I'll take her back to her mom's place!"
Luffy nodded and gave Rika to you, letting you run off with her. You got Rika back to her mother's restaurant, making sure she was alright when Luffy and Koby arrived. Luffy told Rika that Zoro actually ate the rice balls Helmeppo ruined, which didn't really surprise you. He had a soft spot for kids, you'd noticed over time, and always tried to help them if he could.
When Helmeppo came back around and started bragging that he was going to have Zoro executed in a few days, Luffy did the same thing and punched him in the face. The three of you ran off, Luffy jumping over the wall to tell Zoro that if he helped him out, he had to join his pirate crew, but Zoro didn't get a chance to fully agree or deny before Luffy ran off to the fortress to find his swords. Koby and you attempted to untie Zoro, but he was arguing against this due to the deal he made with Helmeppo.
"Come on, I only have to last a couple weeks more!"
"He's not gonna let you go! He's gonna have you executed tomorrow!"
"What?!"
Zoro looked at you, wondering if you had heard that or if Koby was lying to him, even though the younger boy had no reason to lie to him.
"I heard every word, that's exactly what he said."
The Marines, including Axe-Hand Morgan, came after the three of you and attempted to fire at you and Koby, but you knew how to use your sword well enough to block them from hitting Koby or you with their bullets.
Luffy returned finally, blocking another set of bullets about to hit the three of you, showing off his rubber powers which actually kind of freaked you out. Zoro, finally having his three swords back, was able to get free and stop the Marines from attacking all of you any further, calling Luffy Captain after agreeing to join his pirate crew. Another shock for you, one that you'd have to deal with later on.
Luffy was the one to beat Morgan, the other Marines all cheering once they realized they were free from the tyrant's reign.
The whole thing made you smile, glad things had worked out, even as Zoro nearly passed out from hunger, making you laugh and shake your head.
"You're so lame sometimes, husband."
+!+
"So why'd you call him husband earlier??"
Face turning red, you looked at Zoro who sat next to you in Luffy's small boat that just barely comfortably held the three of you. Your husband was fast asleep, arms behind his head, but you waved your hand in front of his face to make doubly sure he was asleep, before hearing a light snore come from him.
Scooting across the boat, you sat right next to Luffy who gave you a confused smile.
"Look, Luffy…you can't tell anyone else you recruit."
"Huh?"
You were trying to keep your voice down so Zoro didn't wake, but Luffy acted like he couldn't even hear you.
"Zoro and I are married."
"You're WH–"
You threw your hands over his mouth, looking over to Zoro barely moving, but still fast asleep. You'd quieted Luffy just in time so he didn't wake your swordsman.
"We're married, but it's only because he's helping me with something. We're not in love, we're not a couple. It's…a marriage of convenience okay?"
Luffy nodded, like he understood everything you just told him. He didn't really, but he at least understood you and Zoro weren't in love, just married.
Weird, but he thought he got it.
"Please, don't tell anyone. I'm waiting to hear from my family before we annul the marriage."
That part confused him, but Luffy decided to agree and promised he wouldn't tell anyone, he didn't question you further. He thought you and Zoro were close, he wouldn't have been that surprised if you said you two were in love and together, but if you said you weren't, that this was just a friend helping another friend, he'd believe you.
That, and as soon as his stomach started growling he forgot anything else he wanted to ask.
"Do you have any food, Luffy?"
"Nope!" Luffy grinned and your face paled, looking at Zoro who just snored again and you had a feeling of dread.
"Oh lord what have we done?"
#one piece#roranoa zoro x reader#zoro x reader#fem!reader#reader insert#one piece x reader#last forever
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Writing Character CHANGE
Character development is absolutely CRUCIAL to a story, but having spent more time thinking about this topic, I came to the realization that I misunderstood a lot of points other people have made when teaching how to write character development.
There are a lot of factors that play into character development, but in this post, I'll cover some overall, but the main thing concerns any change to your character! (Which is also a huge part in development, really.)
So with this post, I'll be teaching you MY personal tips regarding this subject!
*The Basics*
Before we really get into the developmental stage, there are some things you want to establish, in which I'll explain later!
A couple of flaws.
How your character views themselves at first.
Your character's morals/ideals and how they think.
These things may vary, but you want your readers to be able to at least roughly predict how your character will act during specific events!
*Change*
Character development is just about how your character changes throughout the story. I like to say that there are several different ways one may change, (we'll get into that later on) but your character should NOT stay the same as the same person during the exposition and during the resolution!
"During character development, your character should grow."
This is a common piece of advice; your character needs to grow. And while I've assumed for the longest time that I understood what it meant, it never truly clicked.
While they will use words such as grow, what they really mean is that your character should mature. By the end of your story, your character may not always end up as a better person. When I say mature, I mean that they have reflected back on their life and have understood the consequences that came with their actions (if any) or how they could've done things differently.
Your character will not always end up as a better, fixed person, but they should understand their world and themselves better.
*Negative/Passive Change*
Alright then, so how does a character develop if they don't necessarily change for the better? Well, I'll get into that!
No matter what, your character should have learned a lesson through their experience. Even if they haven't exactly improved as a person, there should be a moral they can learn from what they have gone through.
If not, then did they really grow?
Additionally, how did their qualities negatively impact themselves? If they are bad traits, then it needs to be clear. And the best way to achieve this is by demonstrating how it hurts your character! However, it is rather uncommon for a character to undergo little to no change after a story!
*Positive Change*
Let's circle back to the basics, real quick. Remember how I said that before any development takes place, your character should be anything but perfect? That same thing applies to after the change.
Do NOT create a flawless character by the end of your story. Instead, focus on one or two flaws that get fixed as the story continues. These don't have to be huge, life-changing imperfections, but they can be minor ones that still shape their life in one way or another.
"Fixing" too many shortcomings can make your character seem, well, out of character, producing a character development that's more forced. The same thing applies if you're attempting to FULLY alter a fault that's just too big. The change will be too noticeable.
What am I talking about? Here's an example!
Imagine a character who's incredibly closed off to other people, wanting to ensure that he never gets too close to others.
That's a pretty sizable flaw, no? By the end of your story, you do not want to completely change because you need to preserve character, but you can change it a bit. Does he have a few friends now? Does he understand that there are some people worth trusting?
He may still be closed off to majority of people, but at least it's not everyone, and that's a realistic change.
*Different Changes*
As I continue to read more stories and watch more shows, I have realized that character development is not always about fixing flaws or personality, but it can extend far past that line.
So listen up, because I feel like no one really talks about this.
Your character can change their IDEALS, MORALS, and how they VIEW THEMSELVES.
Hear that? If your character has strong morals, they will hardly stay the same as they reach the end. Remember the requirements I mentioned at the beginning?
See how it connects now? There is SO much more to character development than changing a few imperfections. Like I said in the start, your character needs to grow and mature. Things like new morals or ideals assist with that!
*SUMMARY*
In order to start character development, you need a couple of flaws, an idea of how your character looks at themselves, and their morals. This is because those are the main parts of you character that may change through time.
Growth = Maturing (gaining a better sense of who they are and the world they live in.)
NOT ALL CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IS POSITIVE!
For negative or passive change, make sure to clarify how their imperfections affected or hurt them and have some sort of moral that follows.
YOUR CHARACTER SHOULD NOT BE PERFECT!
They should not be perfect in the beginning, and not perfect in the end! Do not 'fix' too many traits because you want to preserve character.
I think that's all! It's quite the post for something so simple, eh? But hey, character development is absolutely PIVOTAL to a story so I hope I at least explained the 'change' part of that well!
Happy writing~
3hks <3
#writing#writeblr#writerscommunity#writing tips#creative writing#writing inspo#writing advice#character writing#writing characters development#character development#character change#writing characters change#character building#tips on character development#tips on character building#advice on character building#advice on character development
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of our own making
(an X-Files fanfic)
Oh hey, look, it's that massive story I've been working on since January! I'm so thankful to everyone who has shown interest in the concept of this fic and the little snippets I've posted. You've been more help than you know. Without that support, I don't think this would have ever gotten finished.
A special thanks to @numinousmysteries who kindly beta read for me and did a fantastic job. I wanted to make sure I got this right, and she was a great help!
And now I can't wait to share this with you all! New chapters posted daily!
[Read on AO3]
Chapter 1/34 - ink and paper
How long has he been thinking about this, she wonders. What exactly is he thinking? Her mind races, trying to reconcile this Mulder whose deepest desires are spilled out here in ink on worn and crinkled brochures with the one she’s spent nearly every day with these past several months.
She'd never have guessed...
Find out if adoption is right for you!
Visit us at 8080 Meadowlark Ln. Annapolis, MD
“A Home for Every Child!”
Scully stares down at the brochure on the desk. One of many, which are half buried underneath a pile of paperwork from their current case. Certain words and phrases are circled in pen, underlined, annotated in the margins in the familiar scrawl she knows almost better than her own.
stability – less travel? change in division? discuss with Scully
loving home – ask Frohike for real estate agent #
The word “family” is circled three times.
She swallows with some difficulty, finding—to her dismay—that her hands are shaking. Mulder will be arriving any second, and here she is, frozen like a statue.
How long has he been thinking about this, she wonders. What exactly is he thinking? Her mind races, trying to reconcile this Mulder whose deepest desires are spilled out here in ink on worn and crinkled brochures with the one she’s spent nearly every day with these past several months.
She’d never have guessed…
“Morning, partner,” his voice calls out, and she jolts in surprise. She hears the door snick shut behind him, but she can’t bring herself to turn around. With deft fingers, she pushes the brochure back under the stack of papers where she found it, only the colorful corner of the page visible.
“Morning, Mulder,” she tries, clearing her throat. It comes out strained, but she hopes he doesn’t notice. She hides her trembling hands in her lap under the desk.
He looks down at her, half amused, half concerned. “You okay? You're not getting that stomach bug that's been going around, are you?”
“I'm fine,” she answers defensively, warning him to back off. She grabs a file off the desk in front of her with a little more force than necessary, plopping it open.
‘Okayyy,’ he mouths exaggeratedly, eyebrows raised. He sits down at his desk and leafs through some papers sitting on top, arranging them into neater stacks. When he uncovers the brochures, his eyes widen and he clears his throat, hurriedly covering them with other papers and trying to act natural.
Scully thinks about letting it go and pretending she doesn’t know what he’s hiding, but she knows she won’t be able to sleep until she finds out what’s been going on in that ridiculous head of his.
She idly flips to the next page of the file in her hand, displaying a confidence she doesn’t feel in the firm set of her shoulders
“Doing some light reading, Mulder?” she asks, attempting to look disinterested.
His head shoots up, a look of alarm on his face. For a second he thinks she might be talking about something else, that she couldn’t possibly know, but one look at her throws that theory right out the window. He glances back and forth between her and the papers on the desk a few times before dropping his shoulders in defeat.
“I’m sorry, Scully, you weren’t supposed to see those,” he says, shuffling all the brochures into a pile while carefully avoiding eye contact. “I was working here late last night. I must have forgotten to put them away.” As he speaks, he opens the top drawer of his desk and shoves them inside, then takes a seat at his desk. His nose is buried in a file before she can even respond.
She watches him now. He is a curiosity, determinedly feigning concentration on a case she knows he finds disinteresting and a waste of time.
Typical.
“You're really not going to say anything?” she asks, arms crossed in front of her.
That rankles him. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, indignation boiling below the surface.
She looks at him incredulously, the file in front of her all but forgotten.
“You're thinking of adoption? When were you planning to share this with me?”
He sighs and shakes his head, pleading silently with her. “It's too soon, Scully. I didn't think you'd want to hear it yet.”
“But you're looking into it because…”
“It's just been on my mind, that's all.”
She stares at him, brows furrowed.
“Since when?”
Since when… Images flash of a life he didn’t recognize. His sister, alive and grown up. A quiet suburban neighborhood. Cancer Man living just down the street. A wife and kids, but not the right ones. It was wrong, all of it was wrong.
“A hallucinatory trip into an alternate universe tends to make you think,” he answers simply.
He’s looking at her now, deadly serious despite the joking tone. She doesn’t respond. Can’t respond.
“I'm sorry, I didn't want to bring all this up,” he continues. “I know it's a sore spot for you.”
It takes her a moment to conjure words from her mouth, her lips moving but no sound coming out. “I just wasn't expecting…”
“For all I know, this isn't even something you'd want.”
What does she say to that? Is she interested?
“I– I'm not sure. I've never really considered it before.”
He waits, his eyes assessing her for some hidden meaning, some insight into her state of mind. He gets nothing. She’s totally blank.
“Well… what do you want?” He thought the question was innocuous enough, safer territory than straight up asking her if she wants to adopt, but apparently not.
She shuts her folder, abruptly standing and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I'm going back to the crime scene,” she declares, changing the subject. “I want to see if there's anything we missed.”
“Scully…” he tries.
“Not now, Mulder.” Without even taking the time to put her coat on, she flees, leaving the door partially open in her rush to get away. Cursing under his breath, Mulder grabs his coat from its hook and hurries after her.
The elevator doors are almost all the way closed by the time he catches up, but in this case, he figures it’s worth the potential loss of a limb. He throws his hand between the closing gap in the metal doors, and it bounces back open to allow him entrance, to the extreme displeasure of one Dana Scully. He wisely stays silent in the elevator, stealing glances at her every few seconds out of the corner of his eye as they ascend. He can feel the frigid air coming off her in waves. It’s been a while since he’s seen her this annoyed with him, this eager to get away.
He won’t let her. Not this time. He’s learned from his mistakes.
In the parking garage, she's walking briskly, heels clicking on the concrete, and he has to pick up the pace to keep up with surprisingly agile little legs.
He didn’t want this confrontation. There was a reason he was keeping his research a secret. This is exactly what he was hoping to avoid, at least until the time was right to carefully drop some hints here and there. But now? There’s no carefully about it. No option to wait and let this blow over. There’s only one way out of this at this point, and unfortunately, that way is through.
He picks up the pace.
“You're the one who brought this up, Scully, I was perfectly happy throwing those brochures in my drawer and not saying a word.”
His voice echoes in the concrete parking structure, sounding harsh even to his own ears. As frustrated as he is with her, that isn’t his intent. He only wants to know what he can do to help her, how he can help her fulfill her dreams. He lets out a breath, and with it, releases his selfish frustration. She’s still walking away at a breakneck pace, and he doesn’t know how he can get her to stop and face this.
“If you want to talk about it, let's talk about it,” he says, pleading. “I can't help you if I don't know what you want. You want me to shut up, never mention the subject again?” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air, “Fine, just tell me. What do you want, Scully?”
“I just want to be a mom, okay?” she yells, whirling around to face him. Her words instantly silence him, and he watches stone-faced as tears spring in her eyes. “I see all these other moms out there and think… I could do that too. Why can’t I do that too?”
Well, mission accomplished. The truth is finally out there. Part of him feels bad for pushing her, but the other part knows that it was doing her no good to keep her feelings bottled up inside to deal with by herself. He reaches out a hand, intending to comfort her, his eyes softening in sympathy.
“You could. Scully, you’d be the best mom.”
She flinches away, stepping out of his reach. “You don’t know that, Mulder. I can’t even—even my body is even telling me no. Over and over.” She resumes her brisk walk to her car, and he thinks he sees her brush angrily at her face, no doubt wiping away the evidence of the stubborn tears that have managed to escape.
He rushes to get in front of her, walking backwards so he can keep her in his sight.
“When has that ever stopped you?” he asks. “You had cancer, and you kept fighting. You’re alive today because you refused to give up when your body quit on you. What about that?” He stops abruptly, forcing her to come to a halt before she crashes into him.
There’s no way out of this, is there? Her shoulders slump in defeat.
“You saved me, Mulder,” she admits quietly, shaking her head. “You’re the one who didn’t give up. Not me. It was only because you were with me that I survived.”
This time, when she goes to walk away, he stops her, placing a hand on her shoulder. The simple touch causes her to freeze, hardly breathing, and when he steps closer, she stays. His hands slide down her shoulders, holding her securely in place to ensure that his next words come through loud and clear.
“I’m gonna be with you here on this too, I promise.” His thumbs brush back and forth on the fabric of her sleeves, for his comfort or hers, she’s not sure. “You can still be a mother, Scully. I’ll help you.”
She shakes her head, her heart feeling like it has been ripped to shreds. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” He gives her a little shake for emphasis. She still won’t look at him. “You’ve kept me alive all these years, how much harder could a baby be?”
That gets a breathy chuckle from her, and her head falls to her chest. Groaning with the agony of this burden on her heart, she stops fighting it and leans into him. Without hesitation, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his embrace.
Her hand comes up to find purchase on his suit jacket, relishing in the comfort only he can provide. She’s past caring if anyone sees them like this here. Let them talk. They already do, anyway.
“Well, at least when you wake me up in the middle of the night, you’re not crying,” she speaks into his chest.
She feels him shrug, and can almost see the goofy smile she knows she put on his lips.
“Usually.”
She looks up at him with her chin on his sternum before taking a deep breath and pulling away.
“It's raining,” he says softly, glancing down at her and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “We can go back to the crime scene later.” She nods, unsure what else to say. She allows herself to be led, his ever-present hand brushing against her back as they start toward the basement.
“Adoption,” Scully mutters to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t know, Mulder. This—this is different than IVF. With that, all I was asking for was your…” her eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at him, “genetic material. This is something entirely different.”
He’s pleased she’s at least considering it, but she doesn’t get it at all, if that’s what she thinks.
“How? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, the process of getting a baby is a little different, but in the long run, the result is the same.”
She pauses, looking at him in confusion. “What– what are you saying?”
He runs a hand awkwardly through his hair, suddenly taking a unique interest in his shoes and the floor of the parking structure.
“Yeah, we probably should have talked about this before…”
“Talked about what?”
He sighs and guides her into a stairwell. It’s stuffy and poorly-lit with a flickering lightbulb, but here, there’s less of a chance they’ll be overheard.
“Look, Scully, I don’t know what you had in mind for my involvement beyond contributing to half the baby’s DNA when you first asked me to help you get pregnant,” he starts, fighting hard to meet her eyes instead of shying away. “But, I– I had hoped it would be a little more than ‘Say hi to Uncle Mulder,’ every couple of months.”
She blinks back at him, speechless.
“I’m sorry if that’s overstepping, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with all this, I just—” He takes in a breath. “I guess I got to thinking of what it might be like to have a family again.” His bout of honesty is met with a blank stare, and his nervous smile drops. “I completely misread the situation, didn’t I?” he asks, self-loathing waiting on standby. “Got ahead of myself…”
She stops him by catching his coat sleeve. “No—uh. No, you didn’t.” She collects herself, willing herself to offer him some reassurance. Her fingers release the fabric of his coat, shifting her grasp instead to his hand. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
He glances down at where she holds tightly to him, and his lips curl into some semblance of a smile.
“I guess they might have had a point with all those communication seminars we’ve skipped, huh?”
She chuckles softly.
“I don’t think this is exactly what they had in mind…”
With a gentle tug, Mulder leads her down the stairs, committed to holding her hand as long as she’ll let him. The air is stagnant and silent, only the rhythmic echo of their shoes clicking on the concrete steps as they make their way to the bottom floor.
She’s thinking. What she knows now, it changes everything.
She had asked him to leave. Hid her grief from him as much as possible after her initial lapse into weakness when she came home with the news. She had almost kissed him, then, unsure of what else she had to live for. She knew she was hurting him by folding inward on herself in the weeks that followed, but that didn’t stop her from doing it. She was in a dark place, hardly able to see what was right in front of her. What she couldn’t see was that his hurt wasn’t just for her, born of some misguided sense of guilt or pity. It was his own, too.
“Mulder, all those months, after it failed—” There’s something like fear in her voice as she utters these words, or maybe regret.
“I was just worried about you.”
She squeezes his hand, feeling tears well in her eyes once more. “No, you were grieving like I was, and I didn’t notice. I pushed you away…”
“Dana…” He turns, a couple steps ahead of her, so for once it’s him who has to look up to meet her eyes. Her lip wobbles as she looks down at him, and he brushes his thumb tenderly over her knuckles. “You had to deal with it on your own, I understood that. I don’t blame you for anything.”
Those eyes. So open and honest and sad. She wonders how anyone could hurt him, could bear to break this man’s heart. How could she?
Choking back a sob, she falls into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding tight. His arms encircle her back, supporting her weight, and she feels herself being lifted as he goes up a step, closing the distance between them.
His hand climbs up to the back of her head, stroking her hair soothingly.
“I just wanted to be there for you,” he mumbles into her neck.
“You were, Mulder,” she gasps between bouts of tears, finding comfort in the feel of his soft hair between her fingers. “You’ve always been there.”
He pulls back, lifting his hands to cup her face and wiping away the tears he finds there with the pads of his thumbs.
“You don’t have to give an answer now,” he says, reassuring, “This is… a big commitment, I know, and I don’t want you to say yes just because I suggested it. I just wanted you to know it’s an option, and if you want to have a baby, I’m in. However you want to go about it, I’ll be as involved as you want. Just– let me know, anytime. Okay?”
He’s looking at her now, head ducked so those sad, puppy-dog eyes can get his message across.
She nods, holding tight to the wrists that so tenderly cup her face.
“Okay.”
~~~
Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]
@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @bby-got-books @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @mulderscully @oofubad @p34chi @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson
#msr#txf#x files#xf fanfic#mulder and scully#my fanfiction#fox mulder#dana scully#of our own making#ooom#msr adoption fic#adoption
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a little less sixteen candles
Something I wrote for Sloane's birthday (April 28th, 1875). I didn't anticipate it being so bittersweet, but that's what happens when your MC's birthday coincides with the end-game events....
(art by puri.dew)
SWF | 2.6k words
[read on Ao3] | [read on wattpad] | [tumblr masterpost]
It's spring—late April, to be exact. Flowers bloom all over the Scottish Highlands, and students take advantage of the warmer weather to spend their afternoons and evenings outdoors. Most travel to Hogsmeade and the surrounding hamlets, some take to the Quidditch pitch, and others lounge in the courtyards to daydream and watch the clouds pass by.
Instead of enjoying the beauty of nature or spending quality time with his friends, Sebastian is holed up in the Undercroft, scribbling notes on a blackboard with the last nub of chalk. On the table nearby, several textbooks and dusty tombs are spread open, their margins littered with more of his scrawl. He dusts his fingers off, smearing white across his pant leg before grabbing a quill to hunch over the latest pilfering from the Restricted Section.
Curses, Curses, and Even More Curses
It is an encyclopedia of sorts, one Sebastian found tucked away in some dark corner of the library's basement, being used to prop up a wobbly cabinet. The book smells like it has been fermenting in the lake and is icy cold to the touch, but the few pages that remain legible offer more information than he's been able to gleam in recent months. Despite having Salazar Slytherin's spellbook, it has taken considerable effort and time to translate, and even then the ancient writings refer to artifacts and magic Sebastian is just barely starting to comprehend.
He is reading a particularly interesting passage about blood sacrifices when he realizes he is no longer alone. Ominis stands on the other side of the table, eyebrows bunched together and lips pursed in an everlasting state of dissatisfaction. When the bloody hell did he sneak in?
"I won't bother with asking what it is you are doing, as I have no interest in arguing with you this evening."
"Lucky me," Sebastian quips back. Their friendship has been strained ever since Anne's curse, the relationship gradually turning into something far more toxic. But the fear of losing one of his best and only friends is overshadowed by the deep dread that consumes Sebastian every day—he will not let Anne die.
He attempts to refocus his attention to the yellowed pages of the old tome. "It must be a special occasion, if you're letting me off so easily."
"Now that you mention it," Ominis replies, sardonically.
When he doesn't elaborate, Sebastian glances up and finds himself curious for a new reason. His friend is dressed up, or rather, dressed down, in a neat but casual ensemble that is so uncharacteristic it might as well be a prank. Since when did Ominis walk around in anything less than his school uniform?
"Today is a special occasion," Ominis finally clarifies, though his tone makes it obvious he is teasing Sebastian for the gap in knowledge.
"Uh..."
What day is it? He wonders, furrowing his brow in thought. Tuesday? What important event occurs on a Tuesday other than...potions? No, he attended class that morning, even if he cannot recall the details of Professor Sharp's lecture. Crossed Wands? That isn't until Friday. All Sebastian really remembers from the last twelve hours is bartering with the kitchen-elves for leftovers after missing dinner, again. That, and being shooed away from the library by Madam Scribner, again.
The prolonged silence causes Ominis to scoff, more irritated than before. "Seriously, Sebastian?" he snaps, shaking his head. "Do you really not remember? Ugh, why am I even surprised? I only came down here to confirm for myself that you truly are lost."
"I am not—"
"Shut up," Ominis cuts him off with a pointed look that is a tad more menacing than usual. "After all she did to remind us—you—" he sighs, temper simmering. "Siobhan did well to hide her disappointment, but even I could tell by the sound of her voice she was upset by your absence."
"Sloane?" Sebastian blinks several times as the realization dawns on him. Tuesday. The twenty-eighth day of April.
Today is Sloane's birthday.
He drops the book and threads his hands through his hair in exasperation, cursing under his breath, "shit."
"It is remarkable, really, the patience that girl has," Ominis remarks, ignoring the way Sebastian starts to frantically pace. "More than I posses, at least. I do not know the details, nor do I wish to, but it is a small miracle she considers you a friend, for all you have put her through."
Sebastian pauses to glare at his friend, almost daring him to repeat the snide comment. What the hell does he know? But, for what seems like the millionth time in five years, Ominis is right. In his pursuit for a cure, he is slowly alienating the people he cares about. Sloane is a recent addition to his inner circle, though sometimes it feels as if she's been there all along. His feelings for the Hufflepuff are...complicated, to put it mildly. Sebastian knows he likes her, perhaps more than he's ever liked a member of the opposite sex. However, inexperience and denial leave him unwilling to call it love.
He lets out a pitiful groan, palms pressed hard against his eyes.
"I can't believe I forgot!" The memory of Sloane inviting them to a small celebration in Hogsmeade crashes into view, adding to his shame. He's been so wrapped up in research and schoolwork that it slipped his mind. "Merlin's beard—I'm an arse!"
"Yes," Ominis flatly agrees, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Good thing wallowing in self-pity solves everything."
Sebastian frowns, his gut twisting with regret, frustrated by his own preoccupation. The spread of journals and scribbled notes seem to taunt him, his head and heart torn between obligation and desire. He returns to pacing, murmuring incoherently as his brain tries to prioritize what the first step should be. Bathe? No time. He unceremoniously sniffs under his arm and winces—a cleaning charm will have to suffice.
"Is she still in Hogsmeade?" he asks, allowing some hope to flourish when Ominis nods. "Do you think...she'll forgive me?"
"She shouldn't," Ominis says, sighing again. He shakes his head, almost as if he is humored by Sebastian's enthusiasm. "But she will."
Sebastian allows himself thirty minutes to get to the Three Broomsticks. It's still early, but Sloane and her friends have already been celebrating in Hogsmeade for most of the afternoon. Better late than never, right? After fixing his appearance as best he can in the nearest washroom, he rushes to the kitchens and haggles with the kitchen-elves for the second time that day, this time for pastries so he doesn't show up completely empty handed. He will need to procure a proper gift when his mind isn't so rattled.
By the time Sebastian exits the great hall, the sun is just setting beyond the horizon. It's warm, and as he speed-walks across the viaduct courtyard, sweat forms on his brow and neck and elsewhere he does not want to think about. Knowing his luck, he'll be a perspiring, smelly mess by the time he makes it to Hogsmeade. How attractive, he mumbles to himself, checking over his clothing again to make sure he's properly buttoned and tucked and—
"Sebastian?"
He freezes mid-step, snapping his gaze up to find Sloane and two of her Hufflepuff roommates—Poppy Sweeting and Lenora Everleigh—standing at the top of the stone steps. Sebastian opens his mouth to speak, but his short-circuiting brain won't allow a coherent sentence to form.
Eventually, he squeaks, "me."
Poppy and Lenora giggle while Sloane's lips curl into a sympathetic smile. All Sebastian can focus on is the pale pink of her dress and the way the curve of her neck and collarbone are exposed, making it that much more difficult to speak. Her cropped hair has a slight curl to the ends, and...is that rouge on her cheeks? He's never seen her look so...
"Wow," he breathes, perfectly aware of how lopsided his grin must look. Sebastian straightens up a little, clutching the small, wrapped box of baked goods in his hands. He lets out a shaky laugh. "I was...just coming to find you, actually."
"You were?" Sloane's eyes widen in surprise—is his presence that startling? He tries not to frown at the gut-wrenching realization that she didn't expect him to show up at all. When her friends don't budge to give them any privacy, he reaches up to tug at the knot of his tie, the suffocating feeling lingering as they stare down at him. Sebastian feels like he might faint, or retch, or both.
"Sloane, I—"
"Oh, this'll be rich," Lenora mutters, rolling her eyes. The dark-haired Hufflepuff is consistently disapproving of his relationship with Sloane, though he can't imagine why. Or maybe he can.
Poppy hushes her and the three return to holding similar, expectant expressions. Sebastian clears his throat.
"I—I'm an absolute git for forgetting your birthday," he starts, hoping he sounds as earnest as he feels. Multiple excuses tickle the tip of his tongue but he knows better in that moment than to offer any. This is his fault, his burden to bear. "I'm so sorry, sorrier than you can imagine."
"That's what he said last time, isn't it?" Lenora mumbles.
If Sebastian isn't trying so desperately to look forlorn, he would glare at her. Now's not the time for a reminder of how he's unintentionally, or perhaps intentionally hurt Sloane. For all the mistakes he's made, she has forgiven him time and time again, and everyone in their circle has noticed. Regardless of how much he wants it, maybe he is undeserving of her grace. Maybe the best gift he can give is to cut himself out of her life for good—one less burden for her to worry about in an already chaotic first—fifth—year.
His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach and his hopeful smile falls into a dejected pout. Before Sebastian can fully spiral into another pity-party of one, he flicks his gaze back to Sloane and decides that surrender simply isn't in his nature.
"Can we talk?" he softly asks. He'll beg if he has to, even at the risk of making an even bigger arse of himself in front of Sloane and her friends. "Please?"
Even though Lenora and Poppy are hesitant to let Sloane go, she waves away their worried whispers and nods. "Okay."
While her friends reluctantly head back towards the castle, Sebastian and Sloane find their way to the boathouse, the long walk accented by their echoing footsteps and sideways glances. More than once he thinks about reaching out to hold her hand but refrains, not wanting to further muddle their already shaky friendship. Sloane surprises him when they reach the pier, balancing herself against the wall so she can discard her heeled loafers and stockings. She perches herself on the dock's edge, bare feet just barely grazing the dark lake waters. Sebastian follows suit, tugging off his boots and socks before sitting down next to her, making sure there's a comfortable distance between them.
Before he can find the courage, Sloane breaks the more than awkward silence, "what do you want to talk about?"
It's an innocent enough question, one that puts control of the conversation in his hands. Sebastian could easily take the cowardly route and skip past an apology, force some laughter and pretend nothing is wrong. Instead, he digs deep and swallows his pride.
"I really am sorry, Sloane," he starts, finding it nearly impossible to look at her directly when it feels like his heart might burst out from his chest. All the regret he's been carrying rises to the surface. "I've had so many chances to make things right between us and I've mucked them up over and over again that I honestly can't fathom why you give me any of your time at all."
"You are..." he trails off in hesitation, remembering that a little bit of vulnerability can go a long way. "You are one of the better aspects of my life. One of the kindest, if not the kindest person I know. And...while we haven't been friends for very long, I'm bloody well terrified of losing you over my own stupidity."
Sloane flashes him a curious look. "Losing me?"
"You know what I mean," he quickly replies, even if he is still figuring it out himself. Or maybe he is too scared to admit the truth. The last thing he wants to do is push his luck when it has already run dry. They are friends—it is selfish to hope for more. The uncomfortable tightness in his throat returns. "Am I...too late?"
For a moment that feels like eternity to a fragile boy like him, Sloane doesn't respond, her gaze focused on the water and the reflection of the moon. Her pensive expression is impossible to read, but he takes it as a good sign that she hasn't run off or shoved him into the lake for the squid to drown. She sighs and slowly turns her head to look at him again.
"You're here now is what matters," she says, lips twitching up into the faintest smile. Sebastian should feel relieved, but the guilt lingers. Perhaps in an effort to change the subject, Sloane gestures to the small box, partially crumpled by his anxious fidgeting. "Is that...?"
"Oh! Right," he hesitantly hands it over, watching as Sloane lifts the lid to reveal several squished lemon tarts. He rubs the back of his neck as he lets out a self-deprecating laugh in an attempt to save face. "They're meant to look like that. It's an after-hours kitchen specialty, I'm told."
Sloane's smile widens slightly as she plucks one from the box, generously handing it to him before taking one for herself. Emboldened, Sebastian quickly conjures a small candle to press into her share and carefully ignites the wick.
"I already made a wish," she explains.
Sebastian isn't discouraged. "Well, now you can make a second one. Happy birthday, Sloane."
He continues to watch her as she momentarily ponders, the flickering flame reflected in her eyes before she softly extinguishes it with a soft breath.
"What did you wish for?"
"The first or second time?" Sloane responds, somewhat cheekily.
Sebastian doesn't push her to offer a real answer and instead allows for a comfortable silence to settle between them as they nibble at the lemony treats. The lake water gently splashes at their hanging feet and for the first time in recent memory, he feels calm. It might be temporary, but he allows himself to sink into the feeling, smiling as Sloane offers him a second tart.
"Sebastian?"
"Hmm?"
He turns his head just in time, barely registering what is happening as Sloane moves closer with her head tilted just so. Her lips meet his and Sebastian is stunned, taking several rapid heartbeats to react, fluttering his eyes shut as he leans into the kiss. If he knew that her lips would be this soft and warm, he would've kissed her ages ago. As greedy as he is to taste more, he allows the kiss to remain chaste, inching his hand across the short distance to cover hers.
Sloane eventually pulls away and when he peeks open his eyes she is smiling, cheeks dusted with a blush he yearns to brighten. Sebastian is still too flabbergasted to utter a response, nervously laughing when she reaches up to brush away a crumb from his cheek. He catches her hand before she can pull away, squeezing her fingers in his own. The momentary calm of his heart explodes into a burning inferno he struggles to contain. This time, he is sure he knows the answer, but still asks.
"Your wish?"
"It already came true."
#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow#hogwarts legacy fanfic#sebastian sallow x f!mc#sebastian sallow x mc#fanfic#sebastian sallow fanfic#hufflepuff oc
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For me, the most heartbreaking aspect of Ivan is that the poor clueless bastard didn't have the tools to express his affection in any way that didn't involve violence or manipulation, or weren't too inscrutable, quiet, or unseen to be picked up by Till.
I definitely interpret Ivan as autistic for several reasons, a big one being their Segyein teacher's notes about him:
It's just. Classic ND behaviour to me.
Not only does expressing emotion and communicating the way other kids do not come naturally to Ivan, but it's not as if he's been given a great example of coping with this from the Segyein.
Ivan managed to mask in a way that made him popular with other students, and got him in the good graces of their captors. He did everything expected of him to survive and thrive in this environment.
Then he meets Till, inscrutable and very different to the other kids, just like Ivan is. Except, Till doesn't mask. He doesn't change or try to endear himself to their captors, and he doesn't bend to anyone, no matter how much he is hurt and punished for it.
This is a new situation for Ivan, and he's never had anything to compare his feelings to. He also can't figure out how to communicate with Till, every interaction, no matter how well meaning, seems to end in failure.
I bring your attention to the cheer up comic, and how, again, autistic this interaction feels:
There could be many reasons why Ivan chose to say what he did, but to me it feels like ND bluntness not being received well. And that's fair! From Till's perspective Ivan is being a jerk for no good reason.
Instead of responding with glee towards Till laying him out (as we see from Ivan when they're a bit older), Ivan justs seems... really confused. Like he didn't expect that statement to upset Till that much, and he didn't expect Till to respond in the way he did. Everything was fine a second ago, what went wrong?
Then, Ivan uses the phrase he learned from Till in an attempt to self sooth. It might have been the first example of comfort after an injury/hurt he had ever seen, given how he defaults to it. And it was from Till trying to cheer up a flower.
This also shows some of Till's blindspots. He has grown up having to be vigilant, because violence and hurt have been a core part of his upbringing. This leads to anything he doesn't immediately, clearly understand as being perceived as a threat or a slight, and so he reacts violently to Ivan's statement.
I'll also draw your attention to this comic where, as far as we know, Ivan is simply stating a true fact in a blunt manner:
In my interpretation, these types of interactions keep adding up, and Ivan is grasping at straws the whole time, trying to be closer to Till and failing every time.
Eventually, the only surefire way to get Till's attention is to piss him off, provoke him, manufacture scenarios to talk to him. I'm not excusing this behaviour, but I understand where Ivan could be coming from, from the perspective of both an emotionally immature/stunted child and/or an ND child.
Despite how much they fight and bicker, at every moment it really mattered, Ivan was there for Till. It was always Ivan coming to free him, to take off his collar or gag, and it was Ivan who led their escape.
Ivan couldn't leave Till behind when he went back for Mizi. Even with the confirmation that Till would choose Mizi over Ivan every time, Ivan couldn't leave him.
The miscommunication goes two ways though. It's insane to think that Till didn't care about Ivan at all. They were close as kids, and I doubt Till ever forgot about the escape he gave up.
We have the graduation messages, where Ivan is able to write something that could be reasonably interpreted as affectionate or fond towards Till.
Meanwhile, Till's message-
If we're being charitable with our interpretations, we can say this was Till's way of saying 'of course I remember you' and attempting to communicate that Ivan HAD left a lasting impact on him.
However, how could any reasonable person be expected to get THAT out of 'you stole my fucking pencil'? Ivan could have taken this one of two ways:
1) Omg he remembers me 🥰
2) he leans into his 'i will never be loved back' bias and thinks that Till really doesn't care about him at all
Who the hell knows what goes through that weird little brain of his. But given how Round 6 went, and what Ivan had to say in the confession comic, he obviously didn't think his impact was significant enough.
Then Alien Stage happens, and in Round 3 Ivan is FINALLY communicating his feelings in a way that is vulnerable and might even have a chance of being understood as love and yearning!
Till is unconscious through it until the very end.
Then in the next round, Mizi goes missing, and Till can't care about anything anymore.
Ivan finds him after the private performance, takes off his gag, and just holds him. Again, Till is unconscious for all of this.
Then, in Round 6, not only is Till distraught from the disappearance of Mizi, but he's given no time to process what the fuck is going on before Ivan is dead at his feet. Till might have finally had a chance to really understand where Ivan was coming from, how he really felt all this time, and Ivan DIES.
And still, Ivan's most transparent act of affection? It's delivered with violence. He's kissing a distraught Till who tries to push him away, and neither of them are happy. He puts his hands around Till's neck, not really hurting him, but it's enough to look convincing for the cameras, and it's enough for Till to go limp and wait for death. Ivan's final loving act is to give Till a soft look with blood pouring out of his mouth, that Till still does not see, and then let go before falling to the ground.
It's just a collection of failures. We see from Ivan that he truly loved Till, made a lot of selfless decisions for his sake, was filled with so much longing and affection, but he just couldn't get it across in a way that doesn't seem fucking deranged from an outsider's perspective. And when he DID manage to communicate his feelings more clearly, it was to a Till that was unconscious, or too distracted/dense/traumatised to see Ivan's actions as ones of love.
There's no guarantee that Till would have reciprocated even if Ivan had managed to communicate his feelings in a healthier way, but there was at least a CHANCE. At least Ivan could have gotten some closure, even if he was rejected.
Instead Ivan died thinking he was completely unloved by the person who he cared about more than anything else, and his last ditch effort to make Till understand was deeply flawed and uncomfortable.
If these kids had grown up any other way, maybe they could have had a chance. Unfortunately, the world they were in didn't equip them to not hurt eachother in their attempts to grow closer.
#alien stage#alien stage ivan#alien stage till#alnst#alnst ivan#alnst till#ivantill#tillivan#alien stage round 6#if you saw me edit this a bunch of times trying to link the masterdoc post no you didnt
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Untitled.*
♡⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹♡
♡⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹♡
A/N: a piece i never finished. This has been sitting for 2 months. My actual first piece of writing, too!
♡⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹♡
Your peaceful life in your home village was perfect— growing up at a local bakery by dusk, tavern by dawn where starting as a toddler you learnt how to make, cook, and bake delicacies, from smoked steak to cultural foods day by day, eventually taking the small bakery-tavern in your name once the clock hit and your beloved loved ones had perished.
Keyword: was.
It all crashed so fast, so soon... you wondered what could've happened if the feared myth— the king of curses, as they call, Hadn't ambushed your village, Hadn't gone on a killing spree, breaking down everything and everyone he could see in his view, Hadn't followed the narrow grass pathway leading to your bakery (curse you sweet aroma of bread), hadn't walk in and look at you in the eyes before your vision went out, without knowing what he even did.
Snapping out from your train of thought, you stay laying at the futon you were set to rest at. Your hand goes up to comb through your hair in an attempt to calm your thoughts and heart rate down. Your life's getting soooo fucked up. You don't feel like you. You don't feel like yourself wearing the plain kimono the unknown servants dressed you up in, you don't feel like yourself staying at an unfamiliar room, you don't feel like yourself when you aren't in your homey small house where you wear your simple flower pattern kimono topped with an apron.
Had you done anything so wrong whoever god or goddess watching from above or below give you this fate? Whether the answer was yes or no, you'd plead and bow and cry for them to change your fate, if only you had the chance.
Now you're stuck at an eerie castle, where uncomfortably several servants, cooks, and concubines scatter around. Thankfully for your poor unfortunate life, you were captured to become one of his personal cooks. You wonder if that was his last minute choice, to take you as his cook due to the aroma of your baked goods. It was understandable, however you would've picked to be sliced into pieces like your fellow villagers than to work for him. Fortunately for you, you didn't become a servant, you knew you were tidy, but not tidy enough to work as a servant. You were heavily grateful for not being a concubine, perhaps you werent..qualified enough to bring pleasure to him. hurtful, yes, but you you could not dare think of being used as a mere toy he could play with whenever he pleased—..maybe it would be better, not him. After all, you dont understand sorcery and curses as your now burned down village was secluded.
♡⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹♡
You silently hum a tune to yourself as you were left alone at the large kitchen after miss Uraume said you were assigned to make the Lord's meal. The ingredients you were givej and said to use were..odd. atleast one of them were as the others were simple ingredients like seasonings and fresh vegetables. It was pieces of meat unknown to you. Maybe it was because you weren't wealthy enough to buy them. Maybe.
You tried to get comfortable around the castle, it wasnt that difficult to since you've never seen Lord Sukuna walk around anywhere, you doubt he was even here..until now that is. You did your own observations here and there, which you had obtained hypothetical facts about him.
you slide the plate with his meal to the side and take the wooden chopping board along with a knife and basil leaves, ready to cut it up to finish off the meal, you start chopping, but your thoughts go another place.
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
1. The human form of gluttony.
— He's quite a man..or demon of appetite. Though he doesn't demand for food much, the amount of cooks handpicked be him to serve meals says tons. Its as if he prioritizes them. The food— not the cooks, that I know.
2. ..hormonal.
— The terrifying amount of concubines he has is..terrifyingly uncomfortable. It is not my business to talk about it as I am a cook, a mere servant for him. But that fact doesn't make it any less uncomfortable to think of when I look at him..well, think of him, since I've never seen him in person.
3. Mysogin—
☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆
Your eyes widen when you feel the sharp blade cut through the pad of your finger. Hissing in surprise, your dominant hand drops the knife to the wooden cutting board as you shake your bleeding hand to lessen the sting.
Using your uninjured hand, you take the chopped basil leaves and sprinkle it on the meal you made, finish it off right on time as a maid—wait..a woman with a golden kimono..a..concubine? Arent concubines simply for the kings pleasure? Why is she here? Your thoughts slip out of your mouth before you notice. "Am I not allowed to bring food for my King?" She responds in a snarky tone. Ah. You remember this maid, Yorozu was her name? You don't know. But you do know that shes delusional. Clinging onto lord sukuna like a leech, thinking her feelings were reciprocated. Poor woman doesnt know he merely sees her as an object. (You dont feel sympathy with the way she talks to you, fortunately.) "I don't think this is any of your business, but I'll forgive you." She walks closer to you, nudging her shoulder with yours before taking the prepared food. You give her an annoyed side glare, keeping quiet.
♡⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹♡
"My lord, your meal has arrived." The maid's voice echoes around the dining room after the clinking of a bell. "It's about time it does. I suppose my standards about my cooks are too low, no?"
.... *end*
And yeah. Tahts it. First piece of writing i have. Never finished it. Dont think i will 🤗
#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x y/n#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#lmao#sorry#im sorry#☆— 【 fanfiction !! 】
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Tiny Percy
Tiny demigod Percy did beat up bigger bully in School.
And the thing is, no one believes the bullies when they go to the teacher to snitch (many bullies are that way). The victim fights back! I will make him a bad person!
The situation worsened as Percy confronted Ethan Thompson after he attempted to grab his lunch once more. Percy beat up the taller bully.
After the event was reported via email, Principal Matthews called Ethan, his parents, Karen and David Thompson, and Sally Jackson.
Percy was immediately accused by Karen, who said, "Your son assaulted my baby boy, Ethan."
Sally Jackson, Percy's mother, responded with disbelief, "I don't believe it. It can't be true."
At the same time, Percy's home teacher and swimming and gym instructor, Coach Anderson, weighed in skeptically, saying, "I find it hard to believe. Perseus has a lot of athletic potential. Let's avoid drawing hasty assumptions." The suggestion is that, given young Percy's ability, he would simply ignore it even if he did participate in such an activity.
David Thompson chimed in, "You've seen how Ethan is." Ethan has several bandages prominently around his head and limbs, indicating that there are several wounds or abrasions below. There appears to be a fracture to one arm, as indicated by the cast, which is kept immobile by a sling. His face is rather bloated, and the bruises that have caused his skin to become purple and yellow are a few days old. Patches adhere to various body areas, perhaps masking minor wounds or scratches. "My child is an MMA fighter! Explain this!!
Sally was unwavering in her belief that Percy was innocent, saying, "It just can't be Percy."
David brushed off Sally's justification, saying, "Don't try to excuse it!!"
Principal Matthews stepped in and called Percy into his office, recognizing the gravity of the issue. He hit a button on his radio. "Perseus, could you please come to the principal's office?"
Shortly after, there was a very young voice that said, "It's Percy, and you all know it."
The parents saw that Percy was considerably smaller than Ethan as he walked in.
This even made some kids and professors chuckle, as it finally made the Thompsons' parents understand why their assertions appeared improbable to others.
The parents, bewildered as to how their small child could have surpassed their strong son, were left to wrestle with the possibility that their son's story could not be credible. To hide a friend who had committed this, he just told lies.
"We would just now depart, and it would be best if we forgot about this whole thing," David Thompson said as he got to his feet. "It seems like I noticed the error."
Karen quickly got to her feet as well and dragged her son out. Already, this was too much for her, and she was terribly ashamed. She didn't even look aside as she dragged her son, Ethan, along.
"Can I stay here till math is done?" Percy asked Principal Matthews as the three of them were outside and heard the two parents scream at Ethan.
Sally gave her son a look and said, "No."
Percy simply turned and walked out the door. "Drat."
#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#percy pjo#percy series#Sally Jackson#OC#School#Tiny Percy#Child Percy
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I (unwisely) recently logged on to the website formerly known as Twitter, and was immediately greeted with more eva fandom misogynist apologia on the for you tab. Will this ever end?
Equating Shinji's misogynistic actions towards Asuka (and his more subtle misogyny towards Rei and Misato) to Asuka being rude and abrasive to Shinji is just absurd. Is Asuka rude? Yes. Does she have poor social skills? 100%. But Asuka is not a bully, period. Why? Bullying, like abuse, is about power structures. The only character more powerless than Asuka in this show is Rei. Asuka has no adults on her side. Misato favors Shinji because he reminds her of her father wound and neglects Asuka because she reminds her of the feminine parts of herself (read: her unhealthy interactions with men and boys, particularly Kaji and Shinji, which, ironically, stem from her father wound). Or have we forgotten about this scene? Similarly, once Kaji arrives in Japan, he also begins neglecting Asuka in favor of Shinji.
In addition to Shinji's mistreatment of her, Asuka's also experiencing culture shock (compounded by the fact that she's functionally illiterate in Japanese, since she canonically can't read kanji) and the fact that Kensuke was literally manufacturing and distributing csam material of her (and other girls!). Asuka also lacks the protective Eva Unit that Shinji benefits from at almost every turn. The only ally Asuka has is Hikari, who is an ordinary girl with no power over any of the things that are harming or have harmed Asuka.
The smoking gun here is the fact that Shinji is fantastically unfazed by Asuka (who, it must be said, makes several attempts to be kind to Shinji -- which he typically shuts down). Until eoe, the most emotion that he shows around her is when he's understandably upset that she moved into his room while he was at school, and even then he's not upset with Asuka, he's moreso upset at the situation. When he does finally get angry at her in eoe, it's because she was honest with him about how he hurts her and how she does not want to help him (to be clear: she's not obligated to).
Besides that, he nonchalantly tells her not to speak to him that way, or confesses to another character that he finds her bothersome or annoying. There is no real evidence that Asuka has any significant, negative impact on Shinji's psyche the way an actual bully would have on their victim; no, the characters who have the most negative impact on Shinji are Gendo, Yui, and Misato.
What empowers bullies of any age in real life is a power structure (be it at a school, workplace, or in the home) that is negligent towards the victim. There is a reason why school bullies tend to be star athletes, high academic achievers, or exceptionally well-liked (by students, staff, or both) students -- it's because these students often come from privileged backgrounds and/or are aligned with the power structure of the school. Power empowers, go figure.
Misato's treatment of Shinji is definitely not admirable (let's not forget that by the end of the series, Misato has assaulted Shinji); but it's not neglectful. She's very concerned with and involved with his inner life, albeit for selfish reasons. Conversely, Misato knows every ounce of Asuka's pain (rewatch the end of episode 10) and still neglects her! Keeping both Asuka and Shinji in the same household after episode 9 was a mistake on Misato's part. A good, competent caretaker would've discussed the issue (the nonconsensual kiss) with them both separately with the end result being one or both of them moving out into the dorm-like housing that NERV has.
Point being is that the power structure exclusively benefits Shinji relative to Asuka. Despite also suffering as a child soldier and a victim of trauma and abuse, he is privileged relative to Asuka due to how the adults who have power over him and Asuka favor him through their interactions.
Finally, eoe beats us over the head with how uncompassionate Shinji is towards Asuka, Rei, and Misato. Characters who just to happen to be...women and girls. Huh. How about that? It's almost like there's a message there. Although there are a few moments in the show where it's suggested that Shinji ought to empathize more with boys and men like Toji, Kaji, and Gendo (suggestions to empathize with Gendo tend to come from Rei in particular, which I'm not a huge fan of, for the record, but I also recognize that this is Rei imparting her own perspective regarding her own internal journey of questioning onto Shinji), the fact that in eoe, the piece that marks the end of the series, much of the narrative focuses on Shinji's treatment of the women and girls in his life is absolutely significant and sends a message about misogyny.
Does being a misogynist make Shinji a horrible, irredeemable character? Well, that's up to each viewer to decide. My take is that he can still break the cycle and improve. Any story about childhood trauma and abuse would be incomplete without at least one of the characters going down the road of turning into an abuser and/or their traumatizer -- Shinji fits this bill in eva, same with Misato and Ritsuko. Despite everything, I like Shinji. I find him endearing and even identify with him to a certain degree.
When you ignore these facts about Shinji's character, you are erasing a large, very interesting part of his character. Reducing him down to any flavor of sensitive, soft boy is as boring as it is cliche after the more than a quarter of a century since the first episode aired in 1995.
The softness, the sensitivity -- this is Shinji's exterior. Beneath it lies someone who is selfish, callous, bitter, rude, and self-flagellating. As is the case with every eva character, the interior is more interesting than the exterior.
The thing is that everything I've discussed in this post isn't just some throwaway line or a piece of blink and you'll miss it symbolism. It's present in this show basically from episode 1 onward. Seriously, rewatch episodes 1-7. Shinji clearly has some misogynistic ideas about how women should be and this rubs off on how he thinks of Misato (and Rei!), especially regarding how women should dress, keep house, and interact with their sexuality. He not uncommonly makes jabs at Misato for being a slob and having poor dating prospects. After Asuka arrives, much of this is transferred to her.
If anything I've written here sounds like vilification to you, I'd encourage you to examine why. For better or worse, this is the reality of eva and Shinji as a character. Will you face this reality, or just keep on dreaming?
#originals#shinji ikari#asuka langley soryu#nge#neon genesis evangelion#end of eva#eoe#end of evangelion
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Drunken Joy || Demetri, Felix & Heidi
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐒: "Could I have some drunk head canons of Felix, Demetri and Heidi, generally and with a mate, do they get flirty, sentimental? Let’s say there was a celebration or something and that’s why they’re tipsy, you can do just them being drunk or looking after a tipsy s/o if you like, whatever you like! I just got the image of Demetri trying to dance despite being adorably uncoordinated, Heidi being giggly and Felix telling stories x"
I feel like these three together is either the most wonderful and fun time, or someone ends up crying because they lean on one another so much. But adding a mate into the mix as well? Oh it is downright asking for a scandalous tale.
!𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒! None.
𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎
If Felix has a mate: When this man is sober he looks at his significant other as if they hung the moon and stars, when drunk it is as if his mate is god incarnate; and him their humble servant. He would spend most of the evening holding their hand or allowing them to fully lean on to him as they got deeper into their cups. He would not shy away from telling stories about his mate, proclaiming how much he adores them every chance they get; much to the amusement of both Heidi and Demetri. If you acquire Felix as a mate there will never be a moment he does not remind someone how much he loves them.
If Heidi has a mate: Oh she would be exceptionally soft with a mate when she has a few glasses of blood-wine in her system, eyes sparkling with a love that is hard to describe with mere words. More than once she would leave lipstick marks against their cheek with a grace only Heidi possesses. If Demetri tries to get cheeky with her mate however, Heidi will promptly scold him; something that would leave Felix and her mate keeling over with laughter. If the tracker and executioner get a little too inebriated, Heidi and her mate will take care of the two fools, small glances shared as Heidi invites her mate into her life more thoroughly.
If Demetri has a mate, and he has not accepted them: He would sit as far away from the mate through out the entire evening, no matter how many times Heidi keeps elbowing him. For being a fun drunk he is quiet for the first time in centuries, half-heartedly glaring at Felix for attempting to bring him together with his so called fated mate. Though he keeps his distance he does make sure they feel alright, asking if they are having a good time several times. On the morrow Felix and Heidi would be teasing him about being unable to keep his eyes off of his soon to be mate; Demetri goes for an extra long walk that day.
If Demetri has a mate, and he has accepted them: The tracker will simply not leave his mate alone for one moment, either he will be touching them constantly or draped across their lap as if he is starring in some extravagant painting; blood-wine sloshing out of his glass and on to the floor from time to time. When his face is not tucked into their neck he is probably kissing their cheeks or dragging them into a dance. If I am to be entirely honest, Demetri would most likely herd his significant other back to his own quarters for some intimate fun.
#Demetri Volturi#Felix Volturi#Heidi Volturi#Demetri Volturi Headcanon#Felix Volturi Headcanon#Heidi Volturi Headcanon#Twilight#Twilight Renaissance
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X-Men '97, Post-Episode 7, ~2500 words Morpherine established relationship, missing scene (unless the show actually does explore what happened during that fight, in which case boy is there egg on my face).
I follow established show canon by referring to Morph as he/him in diegetic works (fanfic and fan art) and they/them in non-diegetic works (my episode analyses and reblogs), because that's the stupidest option and, like Morph, I am also an enby with a terrible sense of humor.
Now come watch me struggle to write two whole lines of dialogue for one of my favorite characters in the series, Beast, because Me Too Stupid to Write Smart Talk Good.
--
“You wanna explain what the hell happened back there?”
Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the question, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan glaring back at him with an expression as hard as the adamantium underneath it. Although it’s a look he’s seen plenty of times before as an innocent bystander, Morph has only been the target of that glare on a handful of occasions. Usually when he’s severely fucked something up. Or when Logan is completely out-of-his-mind, cuckoo-bananas worried about him.
Morph suspects that this time, it’s a little Column A, a little Column B.
A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph smirks and asks, “What, the Summers Family Reunion? Well, you see, when a man and the clone of his wife love each other very much…” Morph chuckles. “By the way, this might be a bit creepy to say as one of his honorary uncles, but Baby Nathan grew up to be a serious hottie—emphasis on serious.”
No laugh. Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best material, but not even a lip twitch? Logan must be pissed.
Morph sighs and slouches in his seat. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Or maybe ever. He can feel his throat literally closing up to stop the words from coming out.
When enough time has passed that what little patience Logan had left in the tap completely runs dry, he goes right for the jugular: “I thought you were dead. Again.”
Morph winces.
“I saw that… ‘Trask Sentinel’ blow your goddamn head off. Then, next thing I know, you’re up and walkin’ around like nothing happened.”
“Not that you’re complaining, right?” Morph asks with a weak attempt at a laugh. “You know what they say about gift horses. Although, you’d think the lesson from the Trojan War would be that you should look gift horses in the mouth.”
From the seat behind him, Morph hears: “Although it’s a common misconception, that phrase actually has nothing to do with the Trojan Horse. The proverbial ‘gift horse’ is a literal, living horse, and to look it in the mouth—”
“With all those books you read,” Logan grumbles, “I thought at least one of them would've taught you it's rude to eavesdrop.”
“It would be difficult not to overhear, given the two of you are speaking quite loudly in a confined space while surrounded by people,” Beast points out. “Have you considered that this perhaps isn’t the best venue for a private conversation?”
“He is a super-genius. We’d better listen to him,” Morph tells Logan. “We’ll talk later, okay big guy?”
The stubborn set of that heavy jaw says Logan knows damn well ‘later’ means ‘never,’ and he isn’t gonna let Morph weasel out of this that easy. “If you ever want me to let you off this plane, you’ll talk now.”
“Let me?” Morph scoffs. He transforms into Quicksilver, puts on his best smug speedster grin, and says, “Just try and stop me, slowpoke.”
To his shock, Logan actually flinches. It’s a subtle thing, Morph might not have even noticed if he didn’t know Logan so well. The cause eludes him, however—until Morph remembers that he looked like Maximoff when the Thrask Sentinel… when everything went dark and quiet for a few seconds.
Funny. There was a time when Morph, blinded by youthful naivety and hero-worship, would have insisted Wolverine wasn’t afraid of anything.
Returning to his default form, Morph mutters out an apology. He tries to imagine what it would be like to see Logan die, only for him to get up a few seconds later and act like nothing happened. With that healing factor of his, they’ve gotten damned close to that exact scenario more than a few times.
How much worse would it feel, if Logan had kept his quick-healing abilities secret and Morph had to find out the hard way?
Morph takes a breath, looks out the window at the black clouds rushing by, and starts from the beginning.
“You know how most of us don’t know we’re mutants until we hit puberty, and our powers manifest? Well… I didn’t have to wait that long. Problem is, since I was just a baby, I had no idea how to control my powers—no more than a normal baby is born knowing how to walk or talk.
He holds out his hands with his palms cupped together to form a shallow, makeshift bowl.
“When I was born, I looked like a wriggling lump of white clay, about yay-big. No arms or legs, no face, no ears, no eyes. Just a mouth that would appear somewhere on my body whenever I was hungry or wanted to cry.”
Whatever Logan was expecting to hear, from the look on his face, it clearly wasn’t that.
“But even at that tender age, someone clearly recognized my star potential. I was only two days old when I made my media debut: Severely Deformed MUTANT Born In Pittsburgh Hospital.” Morph shrugs. “Not the most positive review, I’ll admit, but you know what they say: all publicity is good publicity. After all, that’s how the professor found me.”
Logan’s frown returns, more confused than angry. “You told me you didn’t meet Xavier until you were thirteen—after your mom passed.”
“That’s when I moved to the Institute. Turns out we actually met quite a lot earlier than I remembered, which is pretty embarrassing. Ideally, you don’t want to meet your future high school principal, college instructor, mentor, and world famous civil rights leader while wearing a diaper. Even worse, I was wearing a diaper, too—and I told him, mister, one of us is going to have to go home and change his outfit and it sure isn’t going to be me.”
That gets him a smile and a huff of a laugh, which would be an encouraging sign if he didn’t know how the story ends.
“So Xavier talked to my parents, explained the whole ‘mutant thing.’ Dad wasn’t happy. Then again, I’m not sure he ever was. He would have been disappointed to have a girl—a sentient lump of polymorphic biomass was right out. Thankfully, Xavier was able to use his telepathy to coach me through my very first transformation. He showed me how to turn into a normal baby boy, who would eventually grow up to look like this.”
Morph transforms into his old default, the one he still uses whenever he wants to pass: pale (although not that pale) skin, brown eyes, brown hair, hooked nose, pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, arched brows. Not exactly Fabio, but it’s the face Logan used to know him by—the face he sometimes worries Logan might secretly still prefer.
“Then he put some psychic blocks in place to limit my powers to something a bit more… manageable. Don’t give me that look. It sounds shady, but the professor messing with my head was the only reason I got to have a normal, happy childhood with my parents. God only knows what would have happened otherwise—if I’d even be alive now.”
The worry and suspicion that appeared on Logan’s face at the mention of psychic tampering grudgingly fade away. “When did you find out?” he asks instead.
“A couple months after the professor… y’know,” Morph sighs. “I hacked his personal files. Since he wouldn’t be around anymore to help you recover your memories, I hoped that maybe I could find something small he overlooked, some clue that might give us an idea where to look next.”
Logan’s eyes widen and his mouth goes slightly slack. “Morph…”
“I didn’t find anything, before you get excited. Not about you, anyway. Sure found out a lot about myself, though—a lot more than I was bargaining for.”
“That’s when your default form changed,” Logan realizes.
“Yeah. It was kind of hard to think of this,” Morph replies, gesturing at the face of his human-passing form, “as my ‘real’ face after that. Not that my new look is any more real, of course.”
“Who else knows?”
“Other than our friends listening to this conversation right now?” Morph asks pointedly, causing an entire plane full of X-Men to each make their best attempt at looking busy. Nightcrawler’s method of peering thoughtfully at the radio controls with one hand on his chin is particularly masterful—Logan mentioned he used to perform in a circus, so it’s no wonder he’s got such a good instinct for stage-business. “I told Hank and Moira not long after I found out. Seemed like a bad idea to keep that information from my doctors. Especially when one of them is also my therapist.”
At receiving a glare from Logan, Beast develops a sudden and convenient fascination with the view through the Blackbird’s window.
“But you didn’t want anyone else to know.” Logan could accept that, even if he doesn’t like it. Nothing personal. A man’s business is man's business, after all—even for a not-quite-man like Morph.
Too bad it wouldn’t be the truth; no more ‘real’ than any face that Morph wears.
“I didn’t want you to know.”
Morph can handle Logan’s anger, no problem. That’s almost charming, after all these years. But it’s the flicker of hurt, just like that little flinch earlier, that really cuts him to the quick.
“Not because I don’t trust you, or want to keep things from you or anything, it’s just… I didn’t—I couldn’t—”
He sighs and looks away again. He transforms back into his new default: smooth white skin, mask-like face. Obviously inhuman.
Still a lot more human than he looked when he was born, though.
“So, yeah. That’s why I’ve apparently gained the ability to survive having my head blown off. It sure would have been handy to know that my organs were optional the last time a Sentinel put me down. Now, instead of being out of commission for two years I’ll never get back, I can just squish myself back together and keep on keepin’ on.”
Logan doesn’t respond, and slowly, the mutter of other conversations step in to fill the void. Morph stares at nothing, sick with nerves. It’s deeply unfair that he can still feel nauseous even though he doesn’t have a stomach anymore.
He would say it’s all in his head, but if he can survive without one, maybe he doesn’t have a brain, either.
Badum-tch.
Good line. Hopefully he’ll remember it after the existential horror wears off, in the brief window when things will be funny again before the heartbreak sinks in.
Because there’s dropping a bombshell on a relationship—then there’s dropping a fucking nuke.
Oh God. There isn’t going to be a window, is there?
“Morph. Look at me.”
Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the command, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan looking back at him with an expression as soft as the heart he usually tries to hide.
“No matter what you look like, there’s one thing you’ve never been able to change,” Logan tells him. “That’s real enough for me.”
A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph can’t stop himself from opening his big stupid mouth. No wonder that was the one feature even Baby Morph knew to give himself. “There are more blocks Xavier left behind that I haven’t pushed through, yet. Maybe I’ll even figure out how to change my scent, someday.”
From the look on his face, Logan clearly hadn’t considered that possibility. Morph immediately wishes he could take it back, feeling like he’s just tarnished something sacred.
It’s always been strangely intimate, the way Logan can recognize him by scent alone. Even from the beginning, when Morph decided to pull a prank on the grumpy new recruit, only for Wolverine to sniff him out mere seconds into his planned routine—it was as if, like the Emperor’s New Clothes, he suddenly realized he had been naked the entire time.
Another, smarter shapeshifter might have avoided Logan after that; Morph couldn’t get enough.
One-sided pestering turned into an unlikely friendship, turned into friends-with-benefits, turned into… whatever they have now. That which dares not speak its name.
The thought of losing that connection, the idea that someday he may be able to change himself so thoroughly that even Logan won’t be able to recognize him anymore… It’s too awful. Cursed knowledge. Like learning about the solar cycle when he was a kid, and suddenly having the horrible realization: if even the sun is going to die someday, what makes him so sure Mom will get better?
Out of the corner of his eye, Morph sees Logan’s hand start to move, stop, then start again, reaching across the aisle towards him. For a insane, terrifying moment, he thinks Logan’s about to hold his hand, outing them in front of God, the other X-Men, and everybody—but of course, that enormous, rough mitt lands on his shoulder instead. Perfectly platonic, approved for all audiences by S&P.
Though they’re shooting through the air at supersonic speed, under the heavy weight of that hand, Morph feels rooted to stable ground. He closes his eyes and takes a few slow breaths he doesn’t actually need, with lungs he only has when he remembers to make himself some.
If there are any people left when the sun finally burns out in a few billion years, they’ll still be telling each other jokes as they go into that endless good night. Just think of the money we’ll save on sunscreen. Maybe, but you know the light-bulb companies are gonna take us to the cleaners. Ha ha, freeze frame, theme song, end credits.
Even as her body slowly wasted away under the combined onslaught of cancer and chemo, Mom always laughed at his jokes, no matter how many times she heard the one about the chicken who crossed the road. His most appreciative audience, to the very last curtain call.
The world is pretty fucking scary right now, and only getting scarier. Sinister. Genosha. Losing Gambit. Sentinels again, in all new and even more monstrous forms. Even worse: total war between humans and mutants looming over the horizon, shaking the ground with each step, getting closer and more inevitable every time someone mentions it, like a demon whose power grows every time you says its name.
But just because things are scary doesn’t mean the world's turning into a horror movie, and just because things are sad doesn’t make it a tragedy. Everyone gets to choose the genre of their life story—and Morph will always pick comedy.
He gives the hand on his shoulder a friendly pat, and uses the motion to disguise a slightly more-than-friendly squeeze. “I’m alright, just a little airsick. I think it’s making me maudlin.”
As he pulls his hand back, Logan frowns a little in confusion—he knows Morph is experienced enough in the air that he shouldn’t be getting nauseous over what are, for the Blackbird, barely above pleasure-cruise speeds.
“How unfair is that, by the way?” Morph asks. “I don’t even have a stomach right now.”
Logan chuckles. Nah, baby, don’t give it up for me that easy, Morph thinks, fighting a grin. You gotta make me work for it a little…
He needn’t have worried, though. When he does make it to the punchline, Logan laughs so hard that he snorts, the laugh-lines Morph has personally carved into that seemingly indestructible face creasing and growing deeper still. And as their friends who Definitely Weren’t Eavesdropping join in—even Rogue, so teary and congested that her laughs would sound like sobs if she wasn’t smiling—Morph knows all their attempts to hide their relationship have been for nothing, because there’s no way that all the love he feels for Logan in that moment isn’t writ large all over whichever face he's wearing right now.
That’s real enough for him.
#x men 97#x men#morph#wolverine#morpherine#my stuff#wait what this actually ended up good#have I actually been a good writer this whole time and just too depressed to notice?#what the fuck that's not fair
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@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "rushing train"
Cw: panic attack
Crowley tried to take a deep breath, but it was already too late. His chest had seized up, and his lungs wouldn’t work. The panic attack rushed him like on oncoming train, and he didn’t have time to get off the tracks.
He barely had time to crumple onto a low rock wall in the garden. Gasping for breath, he clutched at the stones as everything spiraled wildly around him.
The world blurred out, and Crowley groaned. Typical, so bloody typical. He and Aziraphale had plans.
“Why now?” He could barely even get enough breath to complain. “Okay. Okay. Calm down.”
He didn’t manage to calm down. Trembling rushed through him, and he let out a strangled scream as he thumped the wall. All he accomplished was hurting his hand.
Several failed attempts to breathe later, he slid off the wall and crumpled to the ground. He pressed back against the cold stone, solid and secure. No one was about to grab him. No one was even here.
Unless they were. What if Heaven and Hell had finally decided to attack? What if he’d picked up on it subconsciously?
Hyperventilating, Crowley twisted around. Was Hastur behind that tree? Maybe there were angels hiding on the other side of the fence. Maybe—
“Crowley?” Aziraphale called. “Where are you, my dear? We’re going to be awfully late for dinner if we don’t leave soon!”
Ohshitohshitohshit, Aziraphale was here. He was in danger.
Crowley shoved off the ground, stumbled sideways, and nearly fell over his bag of gardening tools. He pulled himself together—except for the frantic hyperventilation—and forced himself to move. “Aziraphale!”
Aziraphale, coming down the stone path, tutted are him. “There you are, you old serpent. Whatever have you been up to? Why are you breathing so hard?”
“Trying to outrun a train,” Crowley choked. He grabbed Aziraphale and shoved him behind an old oak tree.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale struggled against his panicked grip. “Goodness, whatever is the matter with you? Did you spend too much time in the sun and get delirious again?”
“Nuh.”
“You certainly seem delirious.”
“M’ not.” He was increasingly dizzy though, and he lost hold of Aziraphale. “Look. Look. It could happen, couldn’t it?”
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “What could?”
“The…” Crowley tried to inhale, and this time he didn’t get any air at all. “The… whatsit. Them. Blam!”
His vision fuzzed out, and he fell over.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale caught him and eased him to sit on the grass. “Dear chap, you must tell me what’s wrong. Are we in danger?”
Crowley wheezed in response.
“Are you certain we’re in danger?”
Crowley wheezed less certainly.
“Hmm.” Frowning, Aziraphale rubbed his arm and looked around. “Well, I certainly don’t see any trains. And if by ‘Them’ you mean giant ants, I shall reiterate my statement that you’ve been watching far too many horror films before bed.”
That was so insulting that Crowley almost managed to reply. But he couldn’t get enough air, not yet.
The immediate panic was starting to die down, though. The pressure on his chest eased, and he managed a labored gulp of air.
As soon as he got a little air, his mind started to clear. Which meant he immediately winced with embarrassment. “Er. Hi. Sorry. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.” With a worried smile, Aziraphale took his hand and patted. “Although I do hope you feel up to explaining. Your claim that there was a train was rather alarming.”
“Sorry. Metaphorical train.” Heart still racing, Crowley leaned back against the tree and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “Dunno. I just…”
“Had a panic attack?” Aziraphale asked kindly.
“Nrng.”
“Was it about anything in particular?”
“Nah. Nah. I don’t think so.” He looked around nervously anyway. “I was just planting marigolds, and then wham. Couldn’t breathe, freaked out, whole nine yards.”
The frown returned to Aziraphale’s face. “We only have one yard. Granted, it is quite extensive, but…”
“Figure of speech.” He definitely didn’t have the energy to try to explain that or anything else right now. Except there was one thing he did have to explain. “Er. Angel. I don’t think I can do dinner. Sitting in a restaurant is eurgh.”
Terrific. That was a really eloquent explanation.
Aziraphale sat beside him under the tree and put an arm around his shoulders. “I understand.”
“Gosh, really?”
“Of course. If you’re having sudden feelings of dread in our very own garden, a restaurant would be intolerable.” Ducking down, Aziraphale met his gaze through the dark glasses. “I truly don’t believe there’s anything to fear, you know. You’re home and perfectly safe. There’s been no indications that either of our old sides have any interest in us.”
“Right. Right.” Gulping, Crowley tried to drag his mind around to that concept. “I’m home.”
“Yes, you are. We both are.”
Crowley took a deep breath. It came more easily this time, which was a relief. Technically, he didn’t actually need to breathe, but that didn’t matter in the throes of a panic attack.
He curled up against Aziraphale’s side and just relaxed for a while. Enjoying the cool afternoon breeze, the smell of flowers, the utter lack of anyone trying to kill them. No more oncoming metaphorical trains.
“Okay. Okay,” he said when he was sure he’d recovered. “We’ll try dinner out tomorrow, maybe. You wanna head in and we’ll cook something together for tonight?”
Aziraphale beamed at him. “That sounds so lovely.”
They helped each other up, and Crowley glanced around once more. Then, since all was well, he and Aziraphale joined hands and strolled back to the cottage together.
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in your fic “paint it over” is that how you imagine jason making it out of the explosion at the end of utrh? not exactly the events that follow, but the preferable characterization of bruce digging jay out of the rubble and carrying him to help. and how do you think jason made it out canonically (without the help of bruce) also!!! what are your thoughts on the specifics of jason’s scar and how he’d behave toward it. i liked the part of your fic where jason was temporarily unable to speak due to the trauma his neck received. i think the scar is something that rests on the junction of his shoulder/neck, and that can be hidden with whatever clothes he wears -> no one knows he has it (or how he got it) either. i like to imagine while bruce knows his batarang made contact with jason’s throat it’s never fully registered to him that it scarred until he sees it for himself (and while i believe bruce would turn the moment in head over and over again until it’s engraved in his brain, his delayed realization—to me—is due to his repression of the occurrence)
oh i adore this whole ask. some of it i explained in my notes, but this fanfic is quite dear to me, so i will elaborate.
short answer to whether this is how i imagine jay making it out of the explosion: not exactly?
the premise that i wanted to explore with paint it over is almost the opposite of a fix-it, and definitely not what i believe it should be in canon.
what i wished to explore there is, however, the part of utrh that is perhaps the most shocking to many readers: that bruce leaves jason to die.
in-universe, i think the answer why it happens is surprisingly simple enough: bruce does not come because he is just... not there. my understanding is, that in a way, the events of under the red hood did not happen. there is nothing to follow. that purple mist in the finale of the utrh, that is often read as a force resurrecting jason (not technically wrong, either)- i believe that is the timeline already rewriting itself, making the whole story into something that was not.
and the reason for the above is the infinite crisis. if i'm not wrong, it's also the inifinite crisis miniseries where bruce meets dick right after the explosions in (or of) bludhaven-- that in batman clearly happens in the background of his confrontation with jay. however, in infinite crisis (#4, just checked it now), bruce tells dick: "i wanted to make sure...you're alright... i was in new york when it hit. got here as soon as i could." which could be a lie or a matter of the editorial not being synced enough- but i'm willing to give them a benefit of the doubt given how it ties with that sudden, stunted ending of utrh.
this makes sense for canon for several reasons. in the animated movie, since it spares us the infinite crisis tie-in, bruce says of the whole incident: this changes nothing. it changes nothing because although aditf isn't, utrh is a tragedy; it changes nothing because since his death, jason is necessarily always pushed at the peripheries of the narrative, no matter how much the fate itself tries to fix it, becoming a tragic footnote. the dead have one right and it's the right to remain silent. and that is ironically ensured on a cosmic level, with his violent attempt at being seen hidden in the folds of the timeline. you can also see it clearly in canon -- i believe it was not until the infinite frontier that the events of utrh got just tangentially mentioned (before that, even lobdell barely touched upon it). other than that, they have no consequences; they are barely ever spoken of; they seem to slip out even from jay's solo comics.
this move was necessary for batman, as a character and as a title: let's say bruce does hold red hood as he does in the alt cover of annual 25 (and the cover of the deluxe edition of utrh.) that would implore a reckoning with his failure and his (suddenly non-productive) grief that would either reconstruct the whole myth or lead to some terrifying implications. these terrifying implications are, essentially, what paint it over is about. it's about the worst happening and about there being no way back from it. and jason, in receiving what he wanted (his father's love and care) wants to deny that reality. they both want to. yet even jay cannot ignore it completely -- and i chose to use the batarang injury to emphasize it.
and about the scar: i mentioned it briefly before, but in the au jason aggravates the wounds on purpose, hence it will scar worse and cause long-term issues for his voice. it's a theme i also keep in some of my other stories (to come...) and i very much think this is what would happen in canon if he had to take care of that injury. yet as it healed, i believe he'd take to hiding it, mostly. still, as it stands, my primary take might be that in canon (if it was to follow the interference into the timeline from the crisis at least) jason would simply end up with no scar at all, and only memories for evidence of what happened, which is perhaps worse for him too (but of course better for bruce. and as it happens, this is bruce wayne's story and everyone else is just living in it- or dies in it- for better or worse. and if we're ignoring that metaphysical timeline bullshit, as you said, i believe bruce would repress it all anyway.)
#this is probably a mess but it's 3am and i should go to sleep so#sorry if it does not make sense/i did not properly reply to everything. i might follow up...#and i'm very curious if you have any more thoughts on jay's scar!!#+ most importantly <3 thank you for reading my work. this makes me so happy.#outbox#yutro writes#btw. i had another post in which i said that i consider what was said in annual 25 about jay's initial resurrection being an attempt ->#of “fate” to fix things to be central to my view on canon. i guess in that case the utrh becoming half erased is another attempt at it ->#when universe loves you so much it rids of the evidence of your trauma...#also i forgot to mention. i am very much for jay's storyline challenging the status quo of batman as a title#-> but that would make him literally the main character<3 and i don't think most people are ready for it or want it
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bloodlines and boundaries - the notice
summary: You gave up everything for a normal life; your inheritance, your friends, your family. Was it enough to truly separate you from the dramatics of the mafia families littering New York's skyline?
pairing: Mafia!Steve Rogers x ex-Mafia!female reader
series warnings: minors DNI, eventual smut/NSFW, violence, assault, death, toxic parents/childhood
a/n: here is ch.1 of bloodlines and boundaries! if there is ever another language, i used google translate - so sorry if anything is incorrect! reblogs, comments, likes are all always appreciated ~feel free to reach out with your thoughts as well :)
series masterlist | full masterlist
Your hands shake as you read the letter in your hand, blinking in a foolish attempt to convince yourself this wasn’t happening. Rent wasn’t exactly cheap in New York, less so when you had to be so picky about which buildings you were able to run your business out of. You’d been careful, two years ago when you signed this lease, to stay just outside any of the family territories but close enough that your studio would still get foot traffic.
You should have seen this coming, you scolded. He was too nice when you walked away…
Your father, who adopted you when you were less than 2 minutes old, was the Carter Gibbs. One of the biggest names amongst the mafia world; a world that you had left behind nearly six years ago now. You still saw your Carter on occasion, he’d insisted on a monthly ‘family’ dinner that consisted of you, him, and whatever bimbo he was banging that month. The conversation was always the same condescending questions about your business and empty offers to help you grow if you publicly rejoined the family.
You should have guessed he’d do something to force your hand, though buying your entire building and doubling your monthly rent seemed a bit drastic. It worked, you had to scoff at yourself as you watched the numbers climb on the overly ornate elevator of Gibbs Builders Inc. You were walking directly into his trap but you were too angry to care; your blood was boiling as you storm towards the receptionist’s desk on the 30th floor of the building.
“Oh,” the barely graduated sorority blonde squeaked when you stopped at her desk. “M-Miss Gibbs, Mr. Gibbs is booked the rest of the day but I’m happy to schedule you an app—” You cut her off with the flick of your wrist, turning back towards the lobby with an eye roll. One glance around the room was enough to remind you of how severely underdressed you were in the present company.
The same stained and torn denim overalls you’d been painting in for the past ten years clung to your body, barely covering the blue granite-patterned bikini top you’d tossed on after avoiding your dirty laundry pile for another day too long. You couldn’t tell if it was your sudden appearance on the floor or the way you’d dressed, but every suit and pencil skirt in the room now had their eyes trained on you.
You sighed softly, feeling your cheeks heat up before you connected with the steel blue orbs of none other than your ex-fiancé, Steven Grant Rogers. God, what you’d do to smack that stupid smug grin off his face. He sat on the couch on the opposite side of the room along with a handful of his men. You rolled your eyes and let your shoulders slump slightly; the universe was punishing you for something today.
“Well,” Steve’s annoyingly calm timber mocked as he crossed the room towards you. Every person in his path seemed to cower and turn their eyes to the floor as he passed them. “If it isn’t little miss ‘too good for money’.” His smirk never faltered for even a second as he carefully flattened his hands down the forearms of his suit jacket – a don should always be presentable and wrinkle free.
“Rogers,” you grumble in response, turning towards the window that looked out over the Hudson River.
“We all thought we’d seen the last of you…” Steve continued, ignoring the way you obviously tried to cut the conversation off. “But, you’re not you anymore, are you? Poverty doesn’t look good on you, Y/N.”
You rolled your eyes, you don’t know the first thing about what real poverty looks like. “Careful,” you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest. “You never know what mamas are listening – you wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re consorting with the disgraced Gibbs.”
Steve snorted, “please… nobody would believe that I would give the time of day to someone who would turn her back on her family.”
“Can I help you with something, Rogers?” You finally turn back towards him, glaring as his eyes scanned up and down your figure like an animal looking at his prey.
“Tell Gibbs he has two minutes to honor our meeting before I walk,” he raised his voice slightly higher, looking away from you for a short second to glace at the receptionist. “Can you do that for me, doll?”
“Pathetic,” you grumble under your breath as the blonde starts to stutter out words followed by stuttered apologies for stuttering… then apologies for apologizing.
“What was that?” Steve hissed, grabbing your elbow harshly. “Chose your next words carefully, traitor.”
“I thought the Roger’s family were big bad scary men,” you challenged, pulling your arm from his grasp. “But that must have only been your father, it seems all you know how to do is flirt and bat your eye lashes to get what you want.”
“Don’t make me show you the big bad scary side,” he threatened, his eyes darkening enough to make your breathing hitch. “You’re just jealous that I never tried to flirt with your pathetic ass, fiancé.”
“Ex—” you grumble back, preparing to fire off another insult but the swing of a door and a chorus of goodbyes echoed through the lobby as the previous meeting finished with your father.
“Y/N, darling!” Carter’s typical condescending tone cheered when he saw you. You rolled your eyes before taking the glare off Steve and tossing it towards Carter. “I see you got my letter.”
You tightened your fist around the paper in your hand. “Is this some sort of joke?” You hiss, fighting the urge to pummel his stupid face with your fists.
“It’s only business, dear,” Carter brushed you off, barely hiding his smirk as he watched your face redden further.
“Business?” You scoff, finally crumpling the notice into a ball.
“Now, Y/N,” he chastised, stepping towards you. “I will expect all my tenets to pay the proper rent. You won’t get any special treatment, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” You roll your eyes before tossing the crumbled ball at your fathers’ face.
“Go to hell,” you groan before storming off towards the elevators, shouldering Steve out of your way and ignoring the way each of his men reached for their guns when you touched him.
You anxiously fidgeted with the pleats on the skirt of the white strapless-knee length dress you wore while pacing in front of the small bar at your studio. You couldn’t afford to be stuck so close to your father, you knew you needed to leave and find a new studio. Of course, Carter wouldn’t make even that easy for you. He threatened litigation unless you paid a half-years’ worth of rent to break your lease early.
“And remember, you’d be responsible for finding your own lawyer,” he reminded with a knowing smirk. “No using my name to get you out of this.” You finished the rest of your scotch in one gulp before replacing the empty glass with a champagne flute as guests started to arrive.
You’d never be able to afford the outrageous $21,000 fee and a deposit on a new studio, so you needed a little more of a cushion. A cushion that required you to sell every piece you’d planned to hang onto for yourself. You looked around the room as the posh fakes with deep pockets conversated, paying your art very little attention.
Thankfully, you’d had your fair share of charity events, galas, art auctions, and parties in your life to know how to host one perfectly. Your tray-passed appetizers were a hit, along with the fully stocked bar and free champagne; everyone was starting to loosen up enough to care less about their money than they normally did.
“This is beautiful,” a soft voice compliments as they hug you tightly.
You laugh softly and return the gesture. “MJ,” you breathe as you pull away. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” You babysat MJ Watson when you were in school still, she was like a niece to you and was one of the only people who hadn’t alienated you after you publicly denounced your father’s business.
“Are you kidding me?” she scoffed, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” You roll your eyes and open your mouth to thank you but a tall skinny figure approaching forces a scoff out instead.
“Here you are, caro,” [dear] Peter Parker mused as he handed MJ a soda. He smirked over at you when he saw the scowl you’d given him. “Don’t worry, Gibbs; I won’t tell dear dad.” Parker was the youngest don any family has seen since coming to the states; after his parents died when he was just a kid and then the recent passing of his aunt and uncle, Tony Stark was named as his guardian.
But, Stark works for Roger’s which means… “Yeah, how about your boss?” You shoot back with raised eyebrows, taking the beer bottle from the underaged teenagers’ hand and replacing it with a water from the passing tray.
“I don’t have much of a choice in that,” he grumbled in response, glaring at you. “If it means anything, I didn’t know this was your gallery until MJ told me when we got here.” He slung his arm over MJ’s shoulders and kissed her temple lovingly. How is it that two kids found such a pure form of love in a world like this?
You aimlessly wandered the gallery, answering the occasional question about some of the art, when a deep voice sounded behind you and sent a shiver down your spine. “When Pete mentioned going to an art studio tonight,” you didn’t miss the mocking edge to his tone. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Gibbs.”
Steve rounded towards you, placing himself close enough that you’d need to tip your chin upwards to properly see him – even with your heels, he still towered over you. “Quite the selection up for auction,” he noted with a smirk as you did your best glare forward at the piece on the wall. He chuckled softly as he drew a sip of his scotch. “You know, I’m in the art business myself.”
“Barely,” you scoff into your own drink, glaring up at him for a moment. Steve Roger’s was the most powerful man on the east coast, even the NYPD was on his payroll. He was cunning in every deal he made, he was creative in every transaction, and he was downright terrifying when threatened. He famously created a system for the larger drug sales he profited from where he’d host auctions for high end art pieces and hide the drugs within the frames and canvas’. You were pretty sure he promptly tossed the historic and iconic pieces in the dumpster after they served their purpose.
Steve smirked at your reply, you hated how easily he could weasel his way under your skin. It’d been nearly ten years since your engagement had broken off, ten years since you’d had any type of conversation with him; and he still played you like a fiddle. “I’ve been looking for a new piece to hang in my living room,” he mused, stepping forward to face the painting more squarely and put his back towards you.
You glanced at the painting again, oil on canvas depiction of Grecian ruins with children dancing around. You’d been inspired by seeing MJ, Pete, and Morgan Stark playing as children – it was one of your favorites. Your heart dropped to your stomach and you quickly grabbed the inside of his elbow. “No,” you gasped, looking up at him. “I do not want your money.”
Steve spared one glance at your hand before looking at you with his brows raised; a silent warning. You quickly took your hand away from his arm, shaking slightly. “I don’t think you are in the position to be picky about where the money comes from, bambola,” [doll] he grumbled, looking you up and down with a look that you couldn’t read. You winced at the Italian nickname and made a mental note to look it up in the safety of your own home later but you could tell he didn’t mean it kindly.
The auctioneer’s voice drew the two of you apart as Steve made his way towards the beginning of the auction. Your heart was pounding so loudly you barely heard the introduction of the first piece before cards were thrusted in the air. You stumbled towards the bar, switching your empty champagne glass for a stronger scotch again before leaning back to watch all of your best and most personal works be bought off.
Steve would occasionally make an offer as the auction went on, each time sending a cunning smirk over his shoulder to where you stayed against the bar. You didn’t want to owe him anything, and you hated the idea of your work being used as an illegal suitcase in and out of the country. You tried not to focus on him, or even what works were leaving your personal inventory, but instead on the amount of money you’d made after the first six paintings: $12,000. $3000 for the food, $2000 for the liquor. $14,000 more until you can be free from your father.
The biggest piece was next; affectionally named after your home town, Ballinaboy, Ireland. It was another oil on canvas that depicted a landscape where the rolling hills met the mountains and the ocean threatened to take over. The bottom right corner where a signature should rest being left as bare canvas – it was incomplete. MJ came to stand by you now, intertwining her fingers with yours tightly.
You didn’t think much of it, you were too focused on the painting as it was being introduced. The auctioneer went off script to give some sort of deep art-jock explanation for the unfinished status of the piece in hopes it would encourage people to spend more on the painting than what it was worth; he was wrong. Your face burned as the crowd murmured with a renewed understanding but it was wrong.
The painting was simply incomplete. The intention was to finish it, but you never even tried. You’d started it with her when you were 12 and traded it back and forth until she died when you were 16. You couldn’t finish it – it was her turn.
Your ears rung as the auction numbers rose, your knees threatened to buckle when it hit the new high of the evening. “$5500, can I get a five-six. Five-six going once,” you glanced around the room, tears brimming your eyes. “Five-six going twice,” Pete raised his card into the air. “$5600, can I get a five-seven?”
“$6000!” Steve called out with his card raised high. You stepped forward with a small gasp as you realized what was happening.
“No,” you croaked, your hand going limp in MJ’s grasp. “What are they doing?”
“I’m so sorry,” MJ whispered, obviously being sent by Peter to make sure you wouldn’t stop the bid at any point. You helplessly watched as Steve and Pete went back and forth, spewing out numbers a thousand dollars at a time until you saw Steve give the smallest glance at Pete and MJ tugged you back as you tried to step forward.
“Fifteen thousand dollars, ladies and gents,” the auctioneer announced, seeming shocked himself. “Can I get a fifteen-one? Going once, twice… SOLD to card 54 for fifteen thousand!” You felt your lip tremble as Steve turned towards you with a proud grin plastered across his face. Asshole, you screamed internally as a single tear slipped down your cheek. You finally pulled out of MJ’s grasp as Pete walked back towards you and made a b-line towards the backdoor.
You managed to wait until the door closed to let a strangled sob leave your throat. When you decided to sell that piece, you’d wanted it to go to a nice posh home where it would adorn their office wall or maybe rest above the fireplace. This was much worse. You sat on the cold metal stairs of the fire escape nearby, not caring about what the butt of your white dress likely looked like now because of it, and held your head.
You didn’t know how long you sat there, the only thing you could feel was numb; though you couldn’t be sure if that was because of the event or the cold air stinging your bare shoulders. “Fai girare la macchina,” [pull the car around] Steve’s stupidly perfect accent from the exit nearby pulled you from your head and had your blood boiling.
He passed you with no acknowledgment until you stood up and took a purposeful step towards him. “Rogers,” you grunted trying to keep your voice even. He stopped in his tracks, looking back at you in confusion as you continued your path towards him. There were just five more steps between the two of you when all of his men snapped their guns out and trained them on you.
You stopped in your tracks with an eyeroll, not intimidated or scared – just annoyed. Steve smirked before raising his right hand, his rings catching the dim light as he waved his fingers. “Giù, ragazzi,” [down, boys] he ordered. He kept his eyes on you as each of his men retreated towards the SUVs that pulled up in front of the alleyway. “What can I do for you, Gibbs?”
“Look, if you want the painting that bad, I will sell it to you for the $5600,” you sighed; you lost some of the anger you’d felt moments before 15 guns were threatening you. Steve rolled his eyes and shoved one hand into his pocket.
“Don’t insult me, Y/N,” he replied coldly, barely looking you in your eye. “I will pay what everything is worth, even if it’s paying out a traitor like you.” You open your mouth to reason with him further but he cut you off. “Just take the fucking compliment,” he hissed before turning abruptly.
When you finally found your way back into the gallery, the auctioneer was the first to speak to you. “$48,500 in total, miss,” he grinned, handing the final count to you with the name and contact of each buyer. Your eyes burned with tears when you looked at Steve’s signature next to Ballinaboy – even his handwriting seemed to mock you. You chewed your cheek, barely listening to the man in front of you as your mind raced with questions. What would Steve expect of you now?
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@krirebr
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