#(I think it’s made worse by the fact that my workplace is actually very nice and the job isn’t bad at all and it is very much in the sector | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fatliberation · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Abandoning Body Positivity and Here’s Why

In short: it’s fatphobic.

“A rallying cry for a shift in societal norms has now become the skinny girl’s reassurance that she isn’t really fat. Fatness, through this lens of ‘body positivity’, remains the worst thing a person can be.” (Kayleigh Donaldson)

• • •

I have always had a lot of conflicting opinions about the body positivity movement, but it’s much more widely known (and accepted, go figure) than the fat liberation movement, so I often used the two terms interchangeably in conversation about anti-fatness. But the longer I’ve been following the body positivity movement, the more I’ve realized how much it has strayed from its fat lib origins. It has been hijacked; deluded to center thin, able, white, socially acceptable bodies.

Bopo’s origins are undoubtedly grounded in fat liberation. The fat activists of the 1960s paved the way for the shred of size acceptance we see in media today, initially protesting the discrimination and lack of access to equal opportunities for fat people specifically. This early movement highlighted the abuse, mental health struggles, malpractice in the medical field, and called for equal pay, equal access, equal respect, an end to fatphobic structures and ideas. It saddens me that it hasn’t made much progress in those regards.

Today, the #bopo movement encapsulates more the idea of loving your own body versus ensuring that individuals regardless of their weight and appearance are given equal opportunities in the workplace, schools, fashion and media. Somehow those demands never made it outside of the ‘taboo’ category, and privileged people would much more readily accept the warm and fuzzy, sugar-coated message of “love yourself!” But as @yrfatfriend once said, this idea reduces fat people’s struggles to a problem of mindset, rather than a product of external oppressors that need to be abolished in order for fat people to live freely.

That generalized statement, “love yourself,” is how a movement started by fat people for the rights of fat people was diluted so much, it now serves a thin model on Instagram posting about how she has a tummy roll and cellulite on her thighs - then getting praised for loving her body despite *gasp!* its minor resemblance to a fat body.

Look. Pretty much everyone has insecurities about their bodies, especially those of us who belong to marginalized groups. If you don’t have body issues, you’re a privileged miracle, but our beauty-obsessed society has conditioned us to want to look a certain way, and if we have any features that the western beauty standard considers as “flaws,” yeah! We feel bad about it! So it’s not surprising that people who feel bad about themselves would want to hop on a movement that says ‘hey, you’re beautiful as you are!’ That’s a message everyone would like to hear. Any person who has once thought of themselves as less than beautiful now feels that this movement is theirs. And everyone has insecurities, so everyone feels entitled to the safe space. And when a space made for a minority includes the majority, the cycle happens again and the majority oppresses the minority. What I’m trying to explain here is that thin people now feel a sense of ownership over body positive spaces.

Regardless of how badly thin people feel about their bodies, they still experience thin privilege. They can sit down in a theater or an airplane without even thinking about it, they can eat in front of others without judgement, they can go the doctor with a problem and actually have it fixed right away, they can find cute clothes in their size with ease, they do not suffer from assumptions of laziness/failure based on stereotype, they see their body type represented everywhere in media, the list goes on and on. They do not face discrimination based off of the size of their body.

Yet diet culture and fatphobia affects everyone, and of course thin people do still feel bad about the little fat they have on their bodies. But the failure to examine WHY they feel bad about it, is what perpetuates fatphobia within the bopo movement. They’re labeled “brave” for showing a pinch of chub, yet fail to address what makes it so acceptably daring, and how damaging it is to people who are shamed for living in fat bodies. Much like the rest of society, thin body positivity is still driven by the fear of fat, and does nothing to dismantle fatphobia within structures or within themselves.

Evette Dionne sums it up perfectly in her article, “The Fragility of Body Positivity: How a Radical Movement Lost Its Way.”

“The body-positive media economy centers these affirming, empowering, let-me-pinch-a-fat-roll-to-show-how-much-I-love-myself stories while failing to actually challenge institutions to stop discriminating against fat people. More importantly, most of those stories center thin, white, cisgender, heterosexual women who have co-opted the movement to build their brands. Rutter has labeled this erasure ‘Socially Acceptable Body Positivity.’

“On social media, it actually gets worse for fat bodies: We’re not just being erased from body positivity, fat women are being actively vilified. Health has become the stick with which to beat fat people with [sic], and the benchmark for whether body positivity should include someone” (Dionne).

Ah, yes. The medicalization of fat bodies, and the moralization of health. I’ve ranted about this before. Countless comments on posts of big women that say stuff like “I’m all for body positivity, but this is just unhealthy and it shouldn’t be celebrated.” I’ve heard writer/activist Aubrey Gordon once say that body positivity has become something like a shield for anti-fatness. It’s anti-fatness that has been repackaged as empowerment. It’s a striking double-standard. Fat people are told to be comfortable in their bodies (as if that’s what’s going to fix things) but in turn are punished when they’re okay with being fat. Make it make sense.

Since thin people feel a sense of ownership over body positive spaces, and they get to hide behind “health” when they are picking and choosing who can and cannot be body positive, they base it off of who looks the most socially acceptable. And I’m sure they aren’t consciously picking and choosing, it comes from implicit bias. But the socially acceptable bodies they center are small to medium fat, with an hourglass shape. They have shaped a new beauty standard specifically FOR FAT PEOPLE. (Have you ever seen a plus sized model with neck fat?? I’m genuinely asking because I have yet to find one!) The bopo movement works to exclude and silence people who are on the largest end of the weight spectrum.

Speaking of exclusion, let’s talk about fashion for a minute.

For some reason, (COUGH COUGH CAPITALISM) body positivity is largely centered around fashion. And surprise surprise, it’s still not inclusive to fat people. Fashion companies get a pat on the back for expanding their sizing two sizes up from what they previously offered, when they are still leaving out larger fat people completely. In general, clothing companies charge more for clothes with more fabric, so people who need the largest sizes are left high and dry. It’s next to impossible to find affordable clothes that also look nice. Fashion piggybacks on the bopo movement as a marketing tactic, and exploits the very bodies it claims to be serving. (Need I mention the time Urban Outfitters used a "curvy” model to sell a size it doesn’t even carry?)

The movement also works to exclude and silence fat Black activists.

In her article, “The Body Positivity Movement Both Takes From and Erases Fat Black Women” Donyae Coles explains how both white people and thin celebrities such as Jameela Jamil profit from the movement that Black women built.

“Since long before blogging was a thing, fat Black women have been vocal about body acceptance, with women like Sharon Quinn and Marie Denee, or the work of Sonya Renee Taylor with The Body Is Not An Apology. We’ve been out here, and we’re still here, but the overwhelming face of the movement is white and thin because the mainstream still craves it, and white and thin people have no problem with profiting off the work of fat, non-white bodies.”

“There is a persistent belief that when thin and/or white people enter the body positive realm and begin to repeat the messages that Black women have been saying for years in some cases, when they imitate the labor that Black women have already put in that we should be thankful that they are “boosting” our message. This completely ignores the fact that in doing so they are profiting off of that labor. They are gaining the notoriety, the mark of an expert in something they learned from an ignored Black woman” (Coles).

My next essay will go into detail about this and illuminate key figures who paved the way for body acceptance in communities of color.

The true purpose of this movement has gotten completely lost. So where the fuck do we go from here?

We break up with it, and run back to the faithful ex our parents disapproved of. We go back to the roots of the fat liberation movement, carved out for us by the fat feminists, the queer fat activists, the fat Black community, and the allies it began with. Everything they have preached since the 1960s and 70s is one hundred percent applicable today. We get educated. We examine diet culture through a capitalist lens. We tackle thin, white-supremacist systems and weight based discrimination, as well as internalized bias. We challenge our healthcare workers to unlearn their bias, treat, and support fat patients accordingly. We make our homes and spaces accessible and welcoming to people of any size, or any (dis)ability. “We must first protect and uplift people in marginalized bodies, only then can we mandate self-love” (Gordon).

Think about it. In the face of discrimination, mistreatment, and emotional abuse, we as a society are telling fat people to love their bodies, when we should be putting our energy toward removing those fatphobic ideas and structures so that fat people can live in a world that doesn’t require them to feel bad about their bodies. It’s like hitting someone with a rock and telling them not to bruise!

While learning to love and care for the body that you’re in is important, I think that body positivity also fails in teaching that because it puts even more emphasis on beauty. Instead of saying, “you don’t have to be ‘beautiful’ to be loved and appreciated,” its main lesson is that “all bodies are beautiful.” We live in a society obsessed with appearance, and it is irresponsible to ignore the hierarchy of beauty standards that exist in every space. Although it should be relative, “beautiful” has been given a meaning. And that meaning is thin, abled, symmetric, and eurocentric.

Beauty and ugliness are irrelevant, made-up constructs. People will always be drawn to you no matter what, so you deserve to exist in your body without struggling to conform to an impossible and bigoted standard. Love and accept your body for YOURSELF AND NO ONE ELSE, because you do not exist to please the eyes of other people. That’s what I wish we were teaching instead. Radical self acceptance!

As of today, the ultimate message of the body positivity movement is: Love your body “despite its imperfections.” Or people with “perfect and imperfect bodies both deserve love.” As long as we are upholding the notion that there IS a perfect body that looks a certain way, and every body that falls outside of that category is imperfect, we are upholding white supremacy, eugenics, anti-fatness, and ableism.

#body positivity #bopo #body posi #body positive #body acceptance #fat acceptance #fat activism #fat liberation #anti fatness #anti blackness #anti fat bias #lookism #beauty standards #self acceptance

296 notes · View notes

young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 4 years ago

Text

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

Ding dong fannibals I’m back on my bullshit :)

I discovered that I cannot for the life of me be concise so this one might come in a couple parts. I don't anticipate it's gonna go as long as Cult Girl but we'll see. Y/n is an introverted waitress at a fancy restaurant with a crush on a mysterious regular. An encounter with a dangerous criminal pulls her into his world.

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence; implied drug use; religiously-motivated violence.

In some ways, waitressing was the perfect job for an introvert. Customers didn’t see you as a person, they saw you as an NPC. As long as that was the case, you weren’t expected to engage with them beyond the script: you take their order, bring them the food and they, hopefully, leave a tip. To ensure that, you perfected the art of fake happiness. You were there to make money, not friends.

Well, there was an exception to every rule. Yours was the sommelier.

The sommelier was a regular at the restaurant, but never ordered a meal. He mostly just sat at the bar, drank expensive wine, and watched the people come and go for hours at a time. Among the waitstaff, he was a bit of a local cryptid. Waitresses whispered about the handsome gentleman with an unidentifiable accent and deep pockets. About how lucky you had to be to score a bartending shift on one of the nights he showed up. It got to the point where bartending shifts were swapped like currency, because every woman on staff wanted the chance to meet the sommelier.

One of the more religious line chefs liked to remind you all that the devil would come as everything you could ever desire. He was fully convinced that the sommelier was Satan incarnate, and he wasn’t completely off the mark. Standing at six feet tall with features sharp enough to cut diamonds, the sommelier wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire thriller. He always dressed in dark suits. Your coworkers hypothesized this was so the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Despite the chef’s well-intended (if not condescending) warnings, even the threat of eternal damnation couldn’t scare you off.

As much as you liked to believe you were above stupid workplace gossip, you knew you weren’t. You were never the most socially adept person, but this gave you something to connect over. It’s how you discovered that you and the other waitresses were all in the same boat; broke, lonely and in desperate need of some excitement. And if that came in the form of a wine-loving vampire taking a liking to your restaurant, there were certainly worse ways to go.

Unfortunately, not even the chance at encountering the sommelier could make you look forward to working Easter Sunday. Your manager had you working from noon to midnight that day. As employers went, he wasn’t much of a tyrant. He offered you time and a half and even let you switch from waiting tables to bartending halfway through the shift. He, too, knew how coveted the bartending shifts were. And you weren’t in any position to refuse, either. You quite enjoyed having a roof over your head and food in your stomach.

That didn’t make up for the fact that most of the other twenty-something employees had left for the holiday, and you were one of the few stragglers left available. Easter was the most dreaded workday of the year, because the infamous after-church crowd quadrupled in size and lasted all day. They came in double-digit parties, had no concept of birth control and tipped in prayer. Too many times had you reached for what looked like a generous cash tip, only to find that it was a church pamphlet disguised as a fifty.

You clocked in at noon exactly, after waiting for the second hand to pass the twelve just to be sure.

“[F/N]!” Your coworker, Charissa, grabbed your attention before you could walk away. “I heard you’re at the bar this evening. Congratulations.”

“He’s not going to show up, Charissa.” You rolled your eyes. You decided to go into this shift expecting the absolute worst, that way you wouldn’t be setting yourself up for disappointment. “It’s Easter.”

“You don’t know that.” Charissa nudged you in the side.

You grinned. “Why would a vampire come to dinner on the one day everyone is gonna be wearing a cross?”

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that.” Charissa gasped. “Well, good luck anyway.”

The first wave of customers filing through the door and filling the restaurant with noise pushed all optimism out of your head. Sighing, you approached a person that Charissa had already seated.

“Hi, my name is [F/N], I’ll be your server today.” You greeted the first customer in your block. “Can I get you something to drink today?”

The man couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, if that. He was still lively in a way that meant he hadn’t experienced the drain that was a minimum wage job. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘on fire for Christ’ under a flannel with no buttons. One look and you knew he wasn’t going to tip.

The man flashed a row of eerily white teeth. “I thought you said you would bring the wine?”

You momentarily thought you’d already taken his drink order and shook your head. “I’m sorry, did I--”

“Ah, I see your confusion.” The man shrugged and forced a laugh. “You’re waitressing this week, you and I are going on a date next week. My mistake.”

Great. You thought. It hasn't even been five minutes and I'm already being gaslit.

Any interaction that forced you to go off-script was bad, but this was a particularly irritating diversion. “Would you like to see a wine list?”

“I’m Chase.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you, [F/N].”

“Have you decided on a drink?” You repeated, trying not to grit your teeth too obviously.

"I'll have a glass of your finest coke, please." He faked an English accent, poorly.

"We only carry Pepsi products." You said, dreading how this joker would react to such a minor inconvenience.

He threw his head back and made a face like he had just taken a bullet to the chest. "No, it's gotta be coke! It's coke or nothing!"

"Did you want something else, then?" You tried to hurry him along. "The bartender makes a very nice mimosa-"

He smacked the table as if he had some urgent question. "McDonald's or Chick-Fil-A? There is a right answer, so choose wisely."

"...uh," You mumbled, just praying that he would order a drink already. There wasn't even a Chick-fil-A in the area. "I like McDonald's."

Again, he acted like he was shot in the chest. "Oh, you're down zero to two!"

"If you need a few minutes to select a drink," You said. "I can come back-"

He grabbed your arm and forced a laugh. "I'm just kidding around with you, [F/N]. Pepsi is fine."

You scribbled the order down on your notepad, mostly just to pry your wrist from his grip. You wanted to go into the bathroom and scrub yourself down, but perhaps it was just easier to chop the whole arm off. That way you could get worker's compensation, too.

The tables were filling up and you had spent far too long coaxing a drink order out of this youth pastor creep. You had actual families to wait on. The shift was off to a horrible start.

You made him wait for as long as you could get away with. You took drink orders from three full booths before returning to the youth pastor. Because you knew he was raring to corner you again.

You planted the pop in front of him, the glass already wet with condensation. "Have you decided on a meal?"

"I was just looking over this menu and something caught my eye." He began, looking at the holiday menu your manager had printed off. "This rack of lamb, it's a special, right?"

"Right." You nodded. "It's a pretty large meal, though, so I'd recommend sharing it-"

"No, y'see.." he cut you off. "Jesus was the lamb of god. He died on the cross for your sins. And, look!"

He pointed to the menu. "It says it's a 'praying hands' lamb!"

"Oh!" You forced yet another smile. "I can see the confusion. That just refers to how the rack is arranged."

"I think it's a sign from god." He said.

You demonstrated the shape of the dish with your fingers. "See, the rib bones are long and the racks are Frenched, so the dish takes the shape of a pair of, well, praying hands."

"I'll take it." He nodded furiously.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and you started to seriously wonder if his definition of "coke or nothing" had a double meaning. It formulated in your head as a joke, but it became more and more of a serious inquiry by the minute.

You leaned in just slightly to get a closer look at his face. Some details you hadn't noticed before were beginning to come into focus. His eyes were vacant and glassy. A small but noticeable stream of blood trickled from his nostril.

"Sir?" You said in a clear, projected voice. "Is there someone I could call for you?"

He turned his head. "Jesus died for your sins."

You looked around the room for any sign of your manager, a supervisor or anyone with a shred of authority. "This man needs help!"

In your haste to call attention to the situation, you didn't see him pick up his steak knife.

"You want to know what Jesus felt when you pierced him?" He muttered, just loud enough for your ears alone.

You felt the serrated knife puncture your skin before you had time to process his words. The pain shot through your body, making you freeze in place.

A chorus of screams filled the restaurant. Blood was pouring from the open wound in a quantity you didn't think possible. Underneath, the knife went straight through your hand and into the table.

The man gripped the handle and gave it a twist, a look of horrifying pleasure on his face. At this point, several people had stepped in to restrain him. He was tall and athletic and could easily overpower many of the other customers, which he did. He found another steak knife and began to cut throats while chanting an incomprehensible prayer.

An older woman claiming to be a doctor rushed to your side. She made a makeshift tourniquet from a napkin and a butter knife. Everything after that was a blur. You struggled to stay conscious as the woman tried to guide the knife from the table while keeping it embedded in your hand.

Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The woman placed you in the care of one of the many EMTs, then rushed away to assist the others.

"I'm just doing what Jesus says!" The youth pastor shouted, before gouging his knife into another man's throat. "Spreading his love!"

The officers notably didn't open fire and made an attempt to de-escalate. Maybe that was how the youth pastor was able to escape.

#hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #tw religion #tw christianity #long form #tw customer service #tw blood #tw violence

224 notes · View notes

nagisa-shiota-worthy-shit · 4 years ago

Text

Tinder Matches

Karmagisa Week 2021, day 1 prompt: Matching wordcount: 1600

----------------------------------------------------------------

The fact that Nagisa had a tinder account wasn’t something he really shared with anyone. At the time, he’d created it as a joke, a way of amusing his friend’s stupid suggestion. According to Kayano, it truly could be the solution to his lack of experience in the love life department. Nagisa hadn’t been too sure about that. He was more than aware of the application’s status and, no, he wasn’t really interested in finding people to just have sex with.

Yet, somehow, he still found himself swiping through people on the app one night. He was alone in his room, a little bored, and perhaps even a little too tired after a day’s worth of teaching. None of the people he came across really interested him much, although he had to admit that he’d probably give them a shot if he saw them in real life, just because he wanted to believe in the best in people.

This app, however, gave little to no information on someone’s personality. Then again, some people were very clear about looking for someone rich to provide for them, which Nagisa guessed his teacher’s salary wasn’t exactly right for, and he supposed that also said something about their personality and what they were like in a relationship. Nothing Nagisa really wished to deal with.

After swiping left on complete strangers in fear of one secretly being a stalker, murderer, or just having horrible table manners, he suddenly stopped when a familiar face popped up on his screen. the red hair, the golden eyes, that all too familiar smirk. Nagisa recognized exactly who he was seeing, yet somehow couldn't exactly process the idea. it just didn't seem entirely right.

Someone like Karma wouldn't need to use tinder, right?

He found himself staring at the title picture for a while before he realized he could scroll through and see more. it wasn't like he didn't know what karma looked like... but... he sure was curious about what karma was putting out there.

It didn't appear to be all that special at first. A selfie in a casual outfit, a picture of him at a bar with people Nagisa didn't recognize, a traveling picture, but the last picture was something else. This picture appeared professionally taken, or at the very least it wasn't a selfie and the picture was set up. Karma was posing in it, after all. Posing in a suit, the jacket in his hand, thrown over his shoulder as he glanced at the camera with those devilish eyes. Nagisa was nothing but taken back by it.

He shouldn't be staring, should he? This was his close friend and fellow assassin graduate, the staring was just weird. Yet, somehow, he couldn't look away from the picture and thought back to when he’d first met Karma, so many years ago now. He’d felt the same sense of awe back then. Karma was just so perfect, how couldn’t he. This picture, him as an adult looking like a literal model, was like a visual representation of everything Nagisa used to feel Karma was.

The sudden noise of the train passing near his apartment woke him up from his state. suddenly turning very red, he frantically moved his hands and went to swipe left, except his phone nearly fell out of his hands in the process. He caught it, hands all over the screen and, through his own fingers, he could see Karma being swiped right.

no. no nonono. please go back

Nagisa fumbled with his phone, hoping to undo his actions, but before he could do anything, a message popped up on the screen. He was surprised by it to say the least.

‘you've got a match’

A match. He matched. but that meant... Karma had swiped right on him as well?! why would he- probably as a joke. he probably came across nagisa and thought it was funny, right? Nagisa had to assume that was the truth, although deep in his mind a thought echoed around saying the exact opposite. Maybe he wanted it to not be a joke.

After panicking for a hot minute, his phone made a ping sound, indicating he’d gotten a message. He was too scared to look. Somehow, before even opening the message, he could already sense who it was from. Sure enough, once he finally did gather the courage to check the notification, his fears were proven right. This was the worst situation.

Karma: well well well, didnt take you as the tinder type

He considered ignoring it. What was that called again? Ghosting? Yes, he could ghost Karma. If he didn’t respond to the message, perhaps nothing else unfavourable would be happening. Well, Karma would probably mention it to him the next time they spoke in real life. That would probably be even worse. It wasn’t like he could ignore Karma for the rest of his life. It wasn’t like he wanted to.

Nagisa: i'm not

Karma: yet here you are.

Karma: swiping right on me ;)

The cockiness almost oozed out of the message. Nagisa was left frowning at his phone. The main thought going through his mind was that Karma was probably enjoying this. He was a sadist like that. He was having fun while Nagisa wanted to bury himself as deep underground as possible.

Nagisa: you swiped right first!

Nagisa: mine was an accident

Nagisa: I was surprised to see you on here and my phone dropped

Karma: ah, so you wouldn't swipe right on me :( am I too ugly?

Nagisa felt his face grow hot. He probably shouldn't look at his reflection if he wanted to save himself from the image of his head being a tomato. He didn't think karma was ugly. quite the opposite, actually. Not that he could say that. That would be weird. So, he tried to find some middle ground answer, not calling karma ugly or the opposite of that.

Nagisa: I never said that, I just didn't intend to swipe right on someone i'm already friends with.

There, no way that could be taken wrong. He considered sending an additional message, clarifying just how dropping his phone led to the swiping right, but decided against it. It would sound just a little too defensive.

Karma: well,its nice this gives us a chance to talk again anyways. appears youve been too busy to answrr my texts.

An awkward laugh escaped Nagisa as he looked away from his phone, forgetting Karma couldn't actually see his reaction. There was no reason to avoid eye contact when there was no eye contact to begin with. Still, he shared the sentiment. He kind of had forgotten to keep contact with people lately.

He blamed the new workplace. After finishing his days as a trainee, the new school he worked at was surprisingly more demanding. He always knew being a full time teacher was a lot of work, especially now that there was no one to keep an eye on him and remind him of certain teaching specifics of the school he taught at. Of course, the work was rewarding enough for him to barely think about his loss of contacts. He had a habit of treating those too loosely anyways.

Nagisa: ive just been working

Karma: workaholic

Nagisa: you literally have more work hours than me

Karma: and somehow you still spend as much time working as me.

The conversation went on like that for a bit, them going back and forth at each other. Overall, it wasn't a bad time. Nagisa kind of forgot about the actual use of the app, and the fact that he could just DM Karma on line whenever he wanted to, until Karma managed to bring back the conversation to it.

Karma: you know, usually when people match, they try to meet up for a date

Of course Nagisa was aware that that's what the app was for, it was sort of the reason he’d gotten it as well. However, he didn't think anything would lead anywhere for him, let alone with karma. surely karma wasn't being serious. it would be weird to go on a date with your friend.

and still, Nagisa endulged him, being so stupid as to ask further.

Nagisa: where do people even go on tinder dates?

Karma: anywhere they want to, usually just for drinks, easy way to lead them home a little tipsy afterwards

Nagisa: okay that sounds creepy

Karma: if that's not your style I could always take you out for dinner.

Karma: There's this new sushi restaurant near my place, looks like something you'd love.

somehow, he actually considered it. On any other day, that would sound insane to nagisa. Since when would he consider dating karma? Wait, not dating, going on a date with Karma. There was a difference. Sushi did sound great, and so did Karma's company. He supposed he hadn't really been out like that in a while. date or not.

Karma: i can even pick you up, very romantic

The word hit Nagisa a little hard. Romantic. What would that entail? Would they sit opposite of each other, send cute glances, maybe even hold hands beside the table? He wanted his mind to hate the idea of that, doing those things with his friend, ruining the relationship they already had. But, he also wanted to give in, say yes, and see where things would lead. At the very least, he'd have a fun night with good food.

Nagisa: you have a day in mind?

Karma: how's Saturday?

Nagisa: Saturday's fine

Karma: it's a date!

#KarmagisaWeek21 #Karma Akabane #Nagisa Shiota #assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #KaruNagi #karmagisa #fanfiction #fanfic #shipweek #anime #manga

129 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 4 years ago

Text

Let’s continue with my favorite Arc from all I watched so far. The Yorknew City Arc!!I sadly couldn’t do it with all of the Phantom Troupe members because I had with some huge problems, either because I didn’t know them well enough yet or I simply don’t know how to imagine them as Yanderes😕.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, paranoia, delusions, manipulation, sabotage, sadism, mind breaking, gaslighting, kidnapping, killing

Yorknew City Arc Hc’s

Chrollo Lucilfer

📖Somehow I can imagine Chrollo as a similar bad Yandere as Kurapika. He’s obsessive, possessive and manipulative. He has probably 0.003% emotions and that’s the really bad part on this. If you give someone like him, who never experienced much emotions, a person who manages to make him feel something you can bet that he’ll never let this person go. It’s almost too easy for him to find anything out about his s/o, they’re like an open book to him which he can read over and over again and still doesn’t get boring of them. He’s incredibly charming to the darling and will feed them daily with his sweet lies, trapping them slowly and ensuring that they can’t escape him. Also the aware type, he hasn’t much experience with feelings, but he knows for sure that they aren’t supposed to be this strong and he doesn’t care in the least bit.

📖Also the removal and isolating type plus the really lovestruck one. He wants to be the only one in his s/o’s life, the only one who owns their heart and he isn’t planning on being only one of many in his darling’s heart. And if he has to kill every person his darling cherishes and isolate his darling from every human contact to reach his goal then he’ll do it without a single regret. This guy sees in his darling everything he always wished for when he was younger and they’re the only ones who hold the key to his emotions. That makes him a clingy one as well, he only leaves his darling if absolutely necessary and makes sure that at least two of the other members watch over the s/o.

📖His possessiveness comes to a similar bad level as Kurapika’s so I would give you the advice to not even think about someone else because this guy will find out. Even though he’ll never show his jealousy the s/o can sense it because there’s this barely audible dangerous undertone in his voice that tells the s/o they just added another threat that needs to be removed to his already long list.

📖Do I even need to tell? It’s obvious that he’ll eliminate everyone who stands in his way of getting his darling’s love. This guy will most likely wip out every person who has and had somehow a relationship with the s/o in the past and present. Persons who insulted you, your old friends, your old bullies, the nice persons at your workplace, your old crushes, persons who were and are interested in you...Everyone!

📖I think he would at first try to court his darling into relationship with him and if we’re completely honest there’s no chance that this won’t work. At first nothing will look wrong for his darling since Chrollo seems like the perfect boyfriend, but slowly and surely Chrollo starts setting his trap to keep his darling by his side for all time. If the darling however possesses nerves made of steel and somehow manages to not fall for him then he’ll immediately kidnap them.

📖Terrible! That’s all I have to say to this. He’s ready to do unspeakable crimes for you and shows no hesitation. I can definitely see him as someone who will try to use a nen ability on you to make you fall in love with him. No chance in hell you’ll ever be able to escape since he and the troupe are always watching over you. If you somehow manage to escape then don’t feel guilty for all the lifes he’s going to take just to find you. The worst is that you might even fall for this guy despite all the bad things he does.

Feitan Portor

☠️First of all I would like to congratulate you on messing your whole life up for making him a Yandere for you. Feitan knows for sure that his feelings aren’t normal and you can believe me when I tell you that he absolutely hates the s/o for making him feel that way. He hates that he loves them! I believe he wanted to kill the darling at first, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it what enraged him even more. He’s a stalker, choosing to watch only from the distance and trying to figure out what exactly makes him feel this way and also hoping that this is just a very strong crush that will eventually pass by. Sorry to disappoint you Feitan, it isn’t. Possessive as fuck, he never really had much in his life and now he wants something more than anything else, the s/o. He’ll make sure that they’re only his.

☠️A sadistic, cold, cruel and strict Yandere. He expects his s/o to behave and if they don’t do as he says he’ll punish them without showing mercy, no matter how much they beg him. He never shows any kind of affection towards them and will terrify them on a daily base, he wants to make sure that they know what’s their place, he wants to make sure that they know that he could just kill them. He would never admit that he couldn’t bring himself to kill them and he makes sure that they’ll never know.

☠️Possessive~ Don’t try to make him jealous, it won’t end well for you and the other person. The moment his darling feels his bloodlust seeping from his aura they know they have messed up big and everyone in a radius from at least 15 meters will start trembling with fear because of his aura. The fact that he doesn’t say a word during all of this is even more nerve wracking.

☠️Don’t try to make me laugh. This man will give them something much more worse than death. He’ll show them hell and the worst part is that you’ll witness all of it because either he’ll bring you along because you need to get punished as well or you’re able to hear the dreadfully screams of the poor souls.

☠️Feitan is a stalker and just watched the darling for a long time before deciding to kidnap them, realizing that his feelings for them aren’t just temporary. For the s/o it won’t be a pleasant experience because as soon as they wake up they’ll see Feitan sitting near the bed and watching them with an intense and scary look in his eyes.

☠️I don’t really have to tell, do I? This guy punishes you as soon as you do something wrong and will use fear to keep you in line. He makes sure that you’re scared of him the moment you first see him. You also need to find the right amount of affection to give him because if you give him too much he’ll hurt you, but if you don’t give him some form of affection at all he’ll punish you even worse. He’ll never tell you what you did wrong and tells you always it’s your fault for making him this way. But just like with Hisoka this all comes from the fact that he doesn’t know how to act on his feelings for you. But with a lot of patience and a lot of pain from your side he might warm up to his feelings and you and will start treating you better.

Shalnark

📱Shalnark is a stalker and the obsessive type of Yandere. He can’t be near his darling all the time, but he’s always watching. This guy has most likely put cameras everywhere in their house to always be able to watch them and has for sure a tracker put in their phones to always be able to locate them. This makes it almost too easy for him to quickly gain every little available information of the s/o. He takes notice of the things they do and like, making sure to remember it all. Talented in lying and convincing his darling to do as he says what makes him the manipulative type.

📱He also possesses the traits delusional, clingy and lovestruck. He believes that the s/o needs his protection or else they would die in this world and he’s more than happy to give them his protection. I can also imagine him as someone clingy, even though he watches most of the time from the distance if he actually has time to spend with the s/o he’ll clinge onto their side as if his life depends on it. He grew up under pretty shitty circumstances and his darling completes him somehow. They’re like the missing half of him he never knew he missed until he felt the incompleteness when he couldn’t watch them.

📱Most of the time he watches the s/o from the distance, hacking himself into every security camera he can find to watch them. He gets jealous easily and will have an annoyed pout on his face whenever he sees his darling talking to someone else. Why would they do something like this? They only need him. If he’s with them at such a time he’ll have his slightly forced looking grin on his face and makes sure to whisper something at the other person without his darling hearing, his dark words not matching his beaming smile. I can also see him as someone who will start blackmailing other people or spreading some nasty rumors about his darling on the internet so that everyone starts avoiding him and he can be the only person they have left.

📱He relies most of the time on his hacking skills to ruin everyone’s life who he thinks deserve it. He’ll find out their dirty secrets and will spread nasty rumors, making sure that their whole life will break apart. If that somehow doesn’t work then he’ll resort to killing that person.

📱I believe that it won’t take long for Shalnark to kidnap his s/o, given the fact that he believes that they need him in order to survive. He’ll plan everything perfectly so nothing can go wrong when he takes them.

📱Shalnark is like sweet poison. His innocent smile doesn’t match his dark and threatening words! Don’t get fooled by his fake innocence! Shalnark is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, you won’t be able to believe that this grinning man can manage to do such terrible things. It’s useless to try to escape because this guy will find you wherever you go, he most likely has planted a tracker somewhere inside you so he can always locate you. His delusions don’t help either whenever you start throwing a tantrum he’ll just tell you that you need him to survive and you can’t convince him otherwise. That’s the reason why he isn’t afraid to hurt you, he’ll break your legs in order to prevent you from running away. He just wants to keep you safe.

Phinks Magcub

👊Phinks is the possessive, clingy and touchy Yandere. He wants the s/o to stay by his side for all their lifes and would go to extreme lengths to ensure that this will happen. Extremely clingy and touchy he’ll always have an arm around his darling or touch them in some way. Overprotective, his position should make it obvious why.

👊He’s also the lovestruck and soft Yandere. He’s very keen on his darling’s happiness and that they feel comfortable with him and he would be honestly so heartbroken if they should feel scared of him.

👊This guy’s jealousy is more than obvious. The moment someone even looks in his s/o’s direction is the moment he starts boiling with jealousy. He’s the only one who’s allowed to look at them! That’s the moment the other person is doomed.

👊He’ll snap everyone’s neck if he has to. No one can take the s/o away from him and everyone who he sees as a possible threat for his darling or their relationship will be dead very soon!

👊Phinks wants a normal relationship with his darling and also knows to some degree that kidnapping his s/o would make them hate him. But given his possessiveness and overprotectiveness there would have to happen only one small thing that might endanger his darling and then he would instantly take them. He’ll be really apologetic afterwards.

👊Phinks is just a gentleman for you and would never harm you. But to everyone else he’ll be a nightmare because he’s fiercely protective over his you and if someone upsets you he’ll be upset too.

Pakunoda

💘I was so mad when she died and I even hated Kurapika for a while after that. She’s such a sweetheart, just why?! However, let’s start. Pakunoda is the aware type of Yandere, she knows that the amount of love she holds for her darling isn’t normal. Also the obsessive Yandere. She has a huge interest in her darling’s hobbies, interests and favorite things and with her ability it honestly won’t be hard to find everything she desires to know out.

💘I can also imagine her as the manipulative and overprotective type. She doesn’t have the best past, she grew up in Meteor City and has seen some shit which makes her more protective when it comes to her darling. She’s also very talented in talking her darling into staying with her, always mentioning the fact that she’s just so worried about the s/o and always managing to convince her darling.

💘She understands the fact that her s/o has other people in their life as well, even though she doesn’t like it that much. But she wants to see her darling happy so for their sake she holds on for as long as the interaction goes on. She has an angel’s patience and can hold on for a really long time and even when she gets impatient she would never interrupt, just tapping her feet lightly. But of course she steps in when someone’s getting touchy with her s/o or she senses that her darling isn’t comfortable with the other person.

💘Pakunoda doesn’t care for everyone except the troupe and her darling. But she doesn’t just kill everyone who comes to close to her darling, she only kills if she has a reason too. With her ability it’s very easy for her to find out who is an actual threat to the s/o or not and when she knows for sure that someone plans to harm or try to take them away from her, she’ll get rid of them. If the enemy is someone strong who she probably won’t be able to handle alone she’ll ask the troupe members for help, most likely Uvogin who’s the most eager to fight.

💘Pakunoda isn’t the type to kidnap the s/o. She wants to avoid to do this under every costs possible. She really doesn’t want to let her darling find out how unhealthy her feelings are for them. She’s more the type to spend a few days in her darling’s house if she’s concerned about their safety and well-being, making it look like a normal overnight stay to spend some quality time together.

💘Paku is such a sweetheart!! She’s very gentle and calm with you and always respects your choices and gives you privacy if you need some. She might be a Yandere for you, but she’s very careful to not show it, you most likely won’t even notice that she’s one.

Machi Komacine

🪡Machi is a cold and harsh Yandere. She never displays much emotions and that counts for most of the time for her darling as well. She’s very harsh with her words, especially if her s/o did something stupid she’ll spit poisonous words at them whilst giving them a cold look. She is also aware of her feelings and was at first somewhat conflicted about it.

🪡Also the strict and overprotective one. She expects her darling to behave very well and will get very cruel with her words when they act up against her, but at the same time I can see her as someone overprotective over her darling. Because even though she’s pretty mean she deeply cares for the s/o and could never forgive herself if something would happen to them and she couldn’t protect them.

🪡She always has this annoyed look on her face so you’ll most likely won’t be able to tell exactly when she’s jealous. I can see her as someone who will react passive aggressive. She’ll be more hostile towards the other person who makes her jealous, slipping some pretty mean words here and there in about them and at some point this person will start to feel very intimidated by her harsh glare and also very self-cautious because of her cruel comments.

🪡She has sharp intuitions and is good at telling if someone could be dangerous for her darling or their relationship with her. So she’s willing to get rid of everyone who she sees as a possible threat. But of course she’s careful with it, not wanting the s/o finding out because this could scare them more away from her.

🪡Machi will only kidnap her darling if they would find out who she really is or if they break for some other reason every contact up they had with her. Then she’ll take her darling without a second thought and locks them somewhere up where they can’t escape her.

🪡Machi might at first look like a really cold one, but I guess over time she’ll warm up to you and show you a more softer side she doesn’t show everyone. Of course she’ll curse at you when you hurt yourself and call you stupid and dumb, but she’s quick to stitch your wounds, very careful with not hurting you. And of course she often insults you when angry, but is always your shoulder to cry on when you need comfort.

Shizuku Murasaki

🧠Shizuku is the obsessive type, she’s normally very forgetful, but for some reason she doesn’t forget things like the s/o’s name, birthday, favorite color, hobbies and all this other stuff. Even if she forgets it she’ll always find it out again, showing a huge interest in everything her darling does. That makes her believe that her darling must be someone special to her.

🧠This leads us to the delusional type. She hears and sees only what she wants to see and hear and if they try to run away she’ll forget it. Nothing can change the ideal picture she has in her mind and if her darling does something to ruin this picture she’s quick to erase that memory. She also imagines things she and her darling did together that never really happened, but she’s convinced that it happened. Also the clingy type, give her all of your attention!

🧠Shizuku expects her darling to pour their whole attention towards her when she’s with them and gets jealous of whoever prevents the s/o of giving their whole attention to her. It won’t show on her face how she really feels about it and that’s the problem because the s/o won’t see how she feels. They just continue the conversation with the other person, making Shizuku more and more jealous without even realizing that they do.

🧠Shizuku might forget things fastly, but she won’t forget the person who took her darling’s attention away from her or this guy who got a bit too touchy with her s/o. Because of her more innocent look and air headed character most people underestimate her which is the biggest mistake they can ever do in their lifes. It’ll be also the last mistake they’ll ever make in their lifes.

🧠I don’t think Shizuku would kidnap the s/o because she believes that they love her just as much as she does and is very chill about letting the s/o meet their family and friends. But you need to repay that kindness later on to her in form of showing her affection or else she’ll start seeing your close ones as threats.

🧠Her delusions here are the worst and best thing at the same time. On the one hand she’ll never give up on the thought that you love her as well and she’ll always misinterpreted your words into what she wants to hear, but on the other hand she’ll always forget when you did something wrong and lets you wander around freely simply because she’s convinced that you would never leave her because you love her.

Uvogin

🫀Uvogin is the overprotective and lovestruck Yandere. He’s almost even more protective over his s/o than over his troupe, especially when they can’t use nen. Then this guy will be like their personal guard dog. I can also see him as a lovestruck one, he becomes such a softie when he’s near his darling.

🫀Also a touchy and clingy one. It might be surprising, but he lives for his s/o’s attention and stays always, when he doesn’t have some business in the group, with his darling which is also connected with his overprotectiveness. Also an absolute fan of physical affection, handholding, cuddling, anything!

🫀He looses patience very fast, but most people don’t even dare to come close enough to his darling since Uvogin is very intimidating. If someone actually possesses the guts to talk to them, which is most likely when Uvogin is for some reason not beside you, then this person will sense the next person something big towering over them. They don’t even turn around, they just run like a frightened bunny.

🫀As mentioned most people don’t even dare to glance wrongly into the s/o’s direction because Uvogin is always with you. The only time someone would have the chance to somehow do something to the darling when he’s away with the troupe. But the moment he gets back and finds out that someone dared to flirt with his s/o or even worse, harmed them in some way is the moment he’s ready to rip this person apart. It will be anything, but pleasant.

🫀He trusts his darling enough to not try anything behind his back or try to run away from him. The darling doesn’t have much contact anyways since basically anyone’s too scared to come even near them, being afraid of Uvogin. That allows him to have his darling nearly all for himself, but he’s okay with it when they want to visit their family. Overall he doesn’t really like the thought of kidnapping them, something really extreme would have to happen for him to take this extreme step. One example being if his s/o nearly got killed whilst he wasn’t there to protect them. Then he would take them from their home, wanting to assure that he can always protect them.

🫀He’s one of the more softer ones from this list. It’s funny that this dude here is willing to become your personal big teddy bear if you ask him to. Also a Yandere who would never hurt his darling, under no circumstances. He’ll totally spoil you, getting you everything you desire.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere feitan #yandere feitan portor #yandere shalnark #yandere phinks #yandere phinks magcub #yandere pakunoda #yandere machi #yandere machi komacine #yandere shizuku #yandere uvogin #yandere shizuku murasaki

595 notes · View notes

rahleeyah · 4 years ago

Note

IMAGINE if you will. to go along with the below anon and your POV fics. And I mean this with the utmost respect for you and your ideas. YOU ARE AN INSPIRATION!

BUT BEWARE BESTIE. It ends in the middle because in my mind I don’t know where it would go from there. How would liv and Elliot interact in a professional setting but they are together and their personal lives? What would they talk about? This is new territory for them and I can imagine them being super private about their relationship in the workplace and not wanting to show too much.

Feel free to end it for me! Or rewrite as a whole fic. I can’t and could never capture the characters as well as you. LOL 🤣🥰

They hire someone else to replace Morales and this guy only knows the basics of what happened the year before with Wheatley. He knows the case, that Morales was the mole, and pretty much just what he had seen on the news.

The squad doesn’t talk about the Wheatley case much and is focusing their attention on their new case. They’ve all been working crazy hours and this new guy knows bell and Stabler, being the leads, haven’t been home at a decent time in days.

Bell has made comments here and there about her wife being upset at her, but knows it’s the job and this stage of the case doesn’t last forever- but they still don’t see eye to eye on it sometimes. The rest of the squad goes around talking about their lack of social life while laughing and discussing where they’re going to happy hour later-if they get out soon enough.

This guy has noticed though that usually, Stabler just smiles laughs and goes along with the squad but rarely offers any information himself. In fact, he doesn’t think he knows anything about Stabler’s life outside of the squad room. Not that he hasn’t asked about what the deal is, but usually people tell him to mind his business or to get back to work.

Until one night it’s just him, Sloot, and Washburn and he hears two kids arguing in the entryway about (enter problem here) and a woman telling them that they’ll figure it out when they get home. he assumes that this woman is their mother. They all said share similar features and the younger one had even exclaimed that she was when arguing with her about why he didn’t get his way.

She’s leading them into the squad room while looking down at her phone and the older child is carrying a substantial amount of Chinese food. Sloot and Washburn are going over something on the computer and haven’t noticed this woman walk in with her kids so now guesses he has to deal with it.

What is this woman lost? Who comes in here with a couple kids? He had never seen her before and from what he was told this location was pretty secure.

By now Washburn and Sloot have finished their conversation and he asks this woman if he can help her. It comes out just as exasperated as he feels and she is clearly shocked at the greeting she is getting. The two go back-and-forth, with this woman being understanding, for a little while before he notices that Washburn is behind him laughing. Even more annoyed now he turns around to snap at Washburn. But before he can, Washburn greets this woman and it’s clear that he knows her.

He greets her as Captain Benson and regret is immediately etched on his face. He will knows he will get shit for this later or worse if Stabler and Bell find out. Being disrespectful to a senior officer is a big no-no around here. How was he supposed to know this woman was a captain? Who was she and who are these kids?

It was just then that the younger one high-fives Sloot before turning to his mother and asking where his dad is. Sloot looks at the woman and responds to the child that he should be back soon. They were out following up on a lead and are expected back any minute. Shit. He knows Bell and Stabler are out but for once never made any connection. He can hear Washburn continue to laugh as the confusion is clearly written on his face. Washburn makes some comment about how he’s going to hear it from stabler when he returns.

The older child has since put down the food they brought for everyone and unlocked his phone to scroll through various apps. Everyone’s head turns in the opposite direction towards the door when it slams open and their commanding officers walk through the door. It’s clear they’re both upset. But whether it’s from exhaustion or their lead not panning out, no one is certain.

...

ANON!!! 🙌🙌🙌🙌 FUCK me this is good lmao

Ok ok ok so new guy let's call him Taylor. Taylor's standing there, looking at this woman he doesn't know, this Captain he has just insulted, however inadvertantly, this Captain who turned up with her hands full of Chinese and her kids.

Bell and Stabler, they're grumbling together as they come walking up, not paying much attention to anything else, but then Bell catches sight of the woman, and she offers a tired little smile.

"Reinforcements?" She asks as they approach. She reaches out, shakes hands with the Captain.

"Dinner," the Captain says. "There's enough for everybody," she adds, and shoots Taylor a knowing look. He wonders if she can see that his face is hot from embarrassment.

"You're a saint," Stabler tells her, steps up to kiss her cheek. He reaches for her hand, too, gives it a little squeeze while he's at it.

Holy shit, Taylor thinks. The kid was asking about his dad and then here's Stabler, kissing the kid's mom. This woman, she's his wife, and those kids, they're Stabler's kids, he thinks, and shit, how did he not know? Not know that Stabler was married, not know that his wife's a Captain, not know about the kids? Yeah, Stabler never talked about his home life, but shit.

"Hardly," the Captain laughs. Bell is busy dishing out the food, and she and Washburn and Sloot are ignoring Stabler, and his woman, and the boys. Taylor knows he should, too, but he can't help but watch. He's a cop, it's his job to be curious.

"We brought you a toothbrush!" The little one pipes up, holds up a toothbrush still in its packaging, proud.

"And a clean shirt," the older one says, not looking up from his phone.

It's just so...nice. Since Taylor's been there, Stabler's been a hard ass with a smart mouth, quiet sometimes, cocky sometimes, but he's never been soft. Just now, though, with his family, he looks warm. At peace.

"We just wanted to see you," the woman tells him softly. Stabler reaches out, tussles the little boy's hair, but his eyes are locked on the kid's mom. On the wife he hasn't seen for two days, the woman he clearly wants, but can't have in the middle of the station, in the middle of a case.

"One more day, Liv," he says. "We're close."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," she tells him, and Taylor's thinking that's probably true. She's a cop, too. She knows what the life is.

"Stay," he says. "Eat with us."

And so they do; they all stand around the table together, Washburn and Sloot and Taylor and Bell and Stabler and his Captain and his sons. Noah and Eli, Taylor learns their names, sees how comfortable they are with the rest of the team, how kindly Bell treats them. How no one else seems to think this is weird. It doesn't last too long, tho.

"I'll walk you out," Stabler says, and herds his family from the room. Mom is holding Noah's hand, and Stabler has one hand at the small of her back and one hand on Eli's shoulder. Taylor wonders if he walked them out just to get a chance to kiss his woman in private. Probably so.

"Listen to me very carefully," Bell says to Taylor once the Stablers are out of sight. "You do not ask him about his family." Her voice is deadly serious. "That man's had a hard road, he doesn't need you getting all up in his business."

"Doesn't look too hard to me," Taylor says. "Beautiful wife who loves him, two nice kids, he's got a clean shirt and none of the rest of us do."

"You don't have any idea what you're talking about," Bell says, shaking her head. "I'm just telling you, leave that man alone. And don't let him hear you call her his wife. I don't wanna have to break in two new detectives after he beats your ass."

And that makes no sense at all, but Taylor isn't stupid enough to go against his CO, no matter how curious he is about all this. So he won't ask, and he won't use the word wife, but he's got questions, and he's gonna bide his time, and keep his eyes open.

Stabler comes back, and he's actually smiling. He's had a hard road, according to Bell, but even if that's true, he looks like he's found his feet. Good for him, Taylor thinks.

"All right kids, back to work!" Stabler calls cheerfully.

It's gonna be a long night.

#anonymous #e.o #e.o thoughts #THERE ARE SO MANY DIFFERENT THINGS I WANNA DO WITH THIS WHAT A GOOD IDEA ANON

52 notes · View notes

csykora · 4 years ago

Text

A thought about meaningful change

I don’t want to distract from the most recent thing Benn did. I’m going to be talking about several different things, and some might seem smaller than others: I know. I’m not saying that the newest thing isn’t important enough on its own or that everything’s on the same level. But I think patterns can be useful.

(I have also made myself sick with nerves a couple times so I’m posting this as is: sorry for typos, and while I’ll stand behind my ideas there may be some sentences that are a little long or awkwardly worded).

Back in 2015, Jame Benn and Tyler Seguin were doing a radio interview.

Some of you might be thinking, “You want to talk about THIS, AGAIN?” Yes. More of you are probably thinking, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Yeah, that’s what I want to talk about.

cw for discussions of sexual harassment, incest, homophobia, bullying, misogyny and transmisogyny, transphobia

So during this interview, one of the radio hosts asked Benn if he and his brother were ever road roommates. Benn said no, and the host commented that Henrik and Daniel Sedin probably roomed together.

“Well yeah…that’s the Sedins,” Seguin said.

“Who knows what else they do together?" Benn said. Everyone laughed.

“Seriously,” Seguin said.

"Dude, it's creepy," the radio hosts said, "In fact, it's a good example to future brothers in the NHL on how not to do things." Then they reassured Benn, “In no way am I implying that you have a Sedin-type vibe going about you.”

Benn and Seguin laughed. The conversation continued, calling the Sedins creepy for wearing similar facial hair, leaving nearby and spending too much time together.

When asked pointblank, “Are the Sedins weird?” Benn answered, “I don’t know. I can’t say.”

To finish the sentence he didn’t: he was implying that the Sedin brothers fuck each other.

Now, these were shock jockeys. They were almost certainly hoping Benn and Seguin would say something homophobic. That said, even shock jockeys pre-screen an interview. They’re not going to invite just anyone on the air and try this with them, because all it takes is someone saying, “I don’t know what you mean,” or “No, I actually respect Dan and Henke a lot as my colleagues” to ruin that set up. If a shock jockey thinks you’re a mark, you’ve probably said something off-air that made them think you’re a mark. And if they dug a pit in front of him, Benn is still the one who decided to stick his dick in it and make things overtly sexual.

After, the Stars stated that Benn had “reached out” the Sedins to apologize. Seguin did not reach out but was “included” in whatever Benn wrote or said. Neither of them gave a public explanation or apology. As far as I can tell the Sedins never commented on whether they received that message, what sort of apology it was, or whether they accepted it. Henrik Sedin’s only comment was, “I think it says more about them than it does about us.”

Ways that homophobia is working here:

-the idea that two men having any degree of physical or emotional closeness, even family members, is suspicious.

-Benn roomed with his brother. Course he did. The hosts spell out what he was afraid of: that the other men in the room might think he had the wrong vibe. He was so afraid of them thinking he had unmanly vulnerabilities like liking his own brother that he misrepresented the situation and pushed someone else forward.

-the idea that a man having any relationship to another man’s physical body or appearance, is suspicious.

Dressing or looking too similar to another man—which means you’ve paid attention to how another man’s body looks in order to copy him, like you’re trying to take ownership of his body, which = fucking him—is a really common accusation. Gay men are seen as lusting after and trying to copy other men’s real masculinity for themselves (but of course never quite succeeding). A man thinking that another man who he knows or suspects to be gay looks too similar to him, and so must have been watching and ‘copying’ him, is a common spark for homophobic attacks.

-the idea that any of this could have been a joke depends on the idea that two men having sex is wacky and unrealistic. Imagine if that happened, wouldn’t that be weird.

Now, someone might say, “It’s not that gay sex is wacky, it’s that the incest that is!” First, incest accounts for a lot of childhood sexual abuse, so I wouldn’t say it’s wacky either. And while it’s true that people can say awful things to different gender twins as well out of a combination of gender prejudices, in this case there were also homophobic ideas about men and masculinity at play.

Ways that power is working here:

-People forgot this fast. It was treated as settled because the Stars said it was settled. People gave “kudos” to Benn “doing the right thing” afterward, or for seeming to realize what was happening and not saying yes to the final question.

I would argue that “I don’t know, I can’t say” is somehow a worse answer to a yes-or-no question, because it means that either you want to say yes but you’re scared of the consequences, or you sincerely don’t know what to say. All he had to do was say “No.” After he said “I don’t know,” Seguin continued and said, “They are weird.” If Benn had said, “No, actually they’ve been professional when I’ve worked with them and I won’t comment any more on their personal life,” Sequin might have noticed, and Benn might have encouraged him to change his behavior. Not saying “no” was a direct, demonstrable failure to show any kind of leadership.

-This counts as workplace sexual harassment. I’m not saying a case should have been pursued: that should have been at least partly up to the Sedins (although there should also be workplace rules about what is and isn’t acceptable without the victims having to ask for it). But that’s a word we can use for this, this could have been counted as that. Sexual harassment are actions based on a person’s gender, assigned sex, sexual activity, or other qualities related to sex, not just sexual attraction. I worry that often, conflicted feelings about putting people into the category of “Sexual Harasser” lead people to think that actions “aren’t bad enough” to be sexual harassment when they definitionally can be. In other lines of work, if you talk about your coworkers fucking their twins in the office, there are rules about that: at the very least, you’ll be getting a bunch of trainings and be moved to a part of the office where you won’t see them again.

In the NHL, it seems frighteningly clear that people don’t have recourse for sexual harassment. This was discussed and handled as a “childish insult”, not harassment against two coworkers/employees. Often, there’s a logic that something is just an insult, not a ‘real’ threat, because the person who did it couldn’t possibly be sexually attracted to the person they did it to.

-In 2015 Eric and Jordan Staal were living in identical houses outside Raleigh and ‘playing’ together every night. Seems super suspicious. Unless beefy Canadian boys’ behavior is normal, and European masculinity always has to be questioned as being softer-spoken, slimmer, more intellectual, scared of heavy hitting. There are a lot of reasons you might not call Eric Staal gay—maybe you know he’s bigger than you, more successful on Team Canada than you, more popular with the other Team Canada guys than you. Or maybe you just don’t look at him and think he could be gay. Or both. Eric is positioned so you’d have to punch up at him: Benn tried to position himself closer to that kind of social standing, by pushing someone else who already doesn’t quite fit in further out. This isn’t directly in the words, so I’m not all-out accusing them of xenophobia: what I mean is that it’s always worth asking if and how and why feminization is applied to Those Other People.

There’s the eating out thing. Which he sent to teammate Jason Demers, commenting “I feel like your (sic) the kind of guy who would”.

How misogyny is working here:

-the idea that this could have been funny or interesting or worth saying at all depends on the idea that vulvas are weird. Imagine if someone willing touched a cis woman with anything but their dick. Gosh.

-There’s no good explanation for what ‘the kind of guy who would’ was meant to mean. No one says, ‘Hey, do you do this widely mocked sex act? I don’t, but I think you would, and that’s cool and doesn’t affect your masculinity at all, bro, life is a rich tapestry.’

How power is working here:

-This counts as sexual harassment again. Even if asking a coworker (or really more like someone you shift-manage or who reports to you) ‘how do you fuck your partner?’ wasn’t, saying ‘you seem like you would do ___’ is. Again, I’m not saying that Demers has to feel that way about it, but he should have had options.

-Demers was also in a new relationship at the time, so this could be harassment to both him and his partner, who had no recourse when someone her partner has to work with/for comments on her body.

-I don’t think it was intended as sexual harassment. But there’s not really a nice explanation of what he meant to say. It seems like it was intended as an insult or a ‘warning’: ‘this is the way men are allowed and no allowed to be in our group, do you know your place?’

Around that time, the Stars shared a video of Benn, Seguin, and Valeri Nichushkin. Each were supposed to say a couple lines, including their name. Valeri pronounced his nickname ‘Vall’, with a native Russian accent, more like “Wall” in English. Each time Benn and Seguin laughed and questions him and the producer cut. After a couple takes Benn said, “I thought your name was ‘Val.’”

Sequin physically turned away from Nichushkin and laughed. Nichushkin, not understanding the comment, and not laughing, turned to Benn for an explanation, but Benn only turned toward Seguin, both continuing to laugh.

It was part of a pattern of comments from observers: “If Tyler Seguin and Jamie Benn are having a laugh in the locker room, Nichushkin can only guess what’s so funny.” They themselves commented on how “His English is really not good at all…A lot of times we find him just sitting there.” “(In) normal conversations, he doesn’t really know what’s going on.”

I’ll give them credit—they said they felt pity and “try to help” too. I just can’t find any examples of them doing it, compared to teammates like Sharp or Spezza who can more concretely describe spending time with him.

Nichushkin chose to burn contract time in the KHL rather than Dallas before being bought out, expressing that he no longer felt like he “belonged in the NHL.” He felt that the Stars didn’t “trust” in him, was “nervous” in the locker room, and said his family worried for his mental health because of the culture.

“There is a bit of it because I want to be part of the conversation when someone says something,” Nichushkin said. “But I don’t have enough words I know so I can join in.”

-Is it the worst xenophobia in the world? Nah. It’s not free from xenophobia, when the only joke is that someone speaks differently than you. It’s not Benn joking about his own misunderstanding to invite Nichushkin in. I often point to Tripp Tracy, who asks players to teach him words in their language and then sets up jokes about his accent so they can deliver the punchline and laugh with him.

-Is it bullying? It kind of came off like it, to make a joke about someone you know can’t understand. At least it was unnecessary, and unkind. It’s just reminding someone they don’t belong.

-It’s unimpressive. It’s deflecting. Oh, he doesn’t know what’s going on? What did you do to tell to him? My family communicate through a mix of finger-signing, Scrabble tiles, and interpretive dance: I guarantee you, if you can’t communicate concepts like “we’re going to get dinner now, you’re welcome here, we’re having fun!”, you’re not trying. Which is fine, I guess, you don’t have to talk to people, unless it’s like, your job to work with your teammates.

Wanting to ban trans*feminine athletes from competition is based on a complete misunderstanding of math, medicine, and athletics; it’s unnecessary, unethical, and unkind.

It’s an unsurprising continuation of the ideas that there’s a line between men and women and transgressing it is suspicious, that women are gross, that people who are different are shocking and funny, that social pressure can and should be used to remind people who are different that they don’t belong.

It’s a fascist use of power, which I don’t say to mean that “He is A Fascist in every sense,” but that those beliesf express a desire and a comfort with using power to control other people’s bodies, and which bodies have access to certain spaces, to maintain “purity”.

I’m not saying that anyone should have looked at any of these things and easily decided in that moment, “That’s it, he’s shouldn’t have a platform or power over other players, he’s irredeemable.” You might look at a couple of them and think, “That’s not even a problem at all.” I’ll agree to disagree on some of them, but my point is about a pattern of how this dude uses the power he’s given.

I have a phrase, or more a series of words I sometimes yell when I’m talking about subjects like this—“STRUCK A TIM HORTONS.” I shout this in commemoration of the time that Ryan O’Reilly got drunk and drove his pickup into the wall of a small town Ontario Timmies.

“Struck a Tim Hortons” is a very good phrase to read in a police report. And, also, I’m an ACoA. I’ve experienced impaired driving, I’m terrified to shaking of it, and I know that other people have experienced much worse consequences. This isn’t a perfect metaphor (it’s not an example of prejudice or violence against a class of people, etc) but my point is that I try to hold it in my heart because that’s one case where I know what it’s like to really, really want something to just be NBD. Where part of me wants to just think it was a funny mistake so I don’t have to really think about the serious implications of it, and part of me super doesn’t. I have an instinct to resolve those feelings, to come down and decide that it’s either insignificant enough that I don’t have to think about it, or significant enough that I can hate him and then also stop thinking about it, and then I can have the relief of feeling just one feeling at a time.

I don’t think it’s bad to feel conflicted learning something about someone. I think it’s important.

But the problem is that if one thing isn’t significant enough, and we decide to keep thinking someone is fundamentally Good, we often toss that thing out. So when another thing happens, we only look at the new thing, trying to decide: is this enough? And that next thing might not be enough either. So we can go on and on, until you add up to a lot of things that have each done some harm, but none of them have been enough to change how we see and talk about someone.

Now I, personally, decided that the Timmies wasn’t so bad that ROR couldn’t ever make it up to me. But I didn’t decide to feel fine about it: I tried to just put a pin in how conflicted I felt. It’s been years, and over the years I think his actions have showed meaningful change. He hasn’t struck a Starbucks, a Dunkin, or even a Caribou. There’s a pattern.

I think a lot of people who don’t really like the things Benn says or does or believes have given him a lot of chances to make up for them, because they don’t want him to really mean those things. By which I really mean that I know there are a lot of women and queer fans who liked the guy. I get it (I don’t actually get it get it, but I mean I can try to understand people coming from a very different place than I do about him).

I’ve read a lot of ways that people who are themselves vulnerable in our society try to empathize with him by imagining him as vulnerable too--he’s also experienced fatphobia, homophobia, he wasn’t expected to succeed, etc! I think that’s a wonderfully human instinct. But often I think people have more empathy for those experiences than he expresses for himself--he agrees that it was Bad to be fat and he’s Worked Hard to fit into the masculine norm, he agrees that it’s Bad to be close with another man and works to avoid it--and certainly more than he has showed in his actions toward others. If you’re going to say I hate him for saying that, I don’t--I want him and everyone in our society not to feel and do this shit!

I see a lot of people starting from the idea he is a good leader trying really hard to spin his choices as a smart strategy when he plays dumb with media, when he doesn’t give specific action plans or give public statements or apologies. (I actually agree with the first one, I think it is a strategy for him to avoid transparency and not do a part of his job that he doesn’t want to do.) It just…it seems like a lot of work to reach a pre-determined goal. It’s okay to like someone and for them to still not be good at their jobs! When I say I think a guy’s not a good leader, that’s not always the same as saying he’s a bad person. And if we keep on promoting a guy as a good leader because we like them regardless of their demonstrated leadership skills…that’s how we end up with a lot of shitty policies in the NHL.

Over the years he has consistently avoided stepping up to his captaincy and using his personal power to say things like, “No,” “Tyler, cut it out,” “This is what I’m going to do to fix a problem,” or “I believe in…” anything, really.

I really, really want to ask people to be mad as hell and advocate for the NHL to improve its code of conduct and harassment processes. I do. But I’m also tired. I don’t think, if I did ask you that, it would work. I don’t have an argument for why you should be mad at someone who’s mad at my existence. I’m not trying. I just want to encourage you, if you’re feeling the tug of feelings and just want to be able to simplify someone’s behavior and love them in simple terms, to put a pin in the more complicated parts, and remember them the next time, and look for patterns.

79 notes · View notes

join-the-joywrite · 4 years ago

Text

and I don't want to (but I love you)

@jatp-week Day 6: favourite trope

Not me doing a self-indulgent and stupidly long enemies to lovers au :>

Julie Molina didn't have enemies in her life. She had competitors, sure. Everyone did. But Sunset Curve took the whole cake. She didn't have enemies but Luke Patterson came dangerously close.

Luke Patterson, on the other hand, fully considered Julie Molina his number one enemy. He had zero qualms about saying that to her face and behind her back. He knew his band was the best but Julie had a real knack for knocking his ego down a bit and he hated her for it. Maybe he wouldn't get so riled up if she was nice about it or if not nice, she was less nasty and more stern. Honestly, it seemed like she took pleasure in criticizing Sunset Curve.

The rivalry between them extended to their bands and friend circles. Well, for the most part, anyway. Julie and Luke let Willie and Alex get away with their little forbidden lovers thing because they both thought the pair was cute together. It was pretty much the only thing they agreed on. Ever.

Willie only ever talked about Alex, not the band and Alex made sure to steer clear of mentioning Julie whenever he talked about Willie. The arrangement worked for all sides.

Julie and Luke's rivalry extended far beyond their music. It crept into their classes and had them fighting for the top spot. The teachers were thrilled. It meant Luke put in as much effort as he possibly could into every assignment or test. Even if it was out of pure spite, it was working.

And then, oh dear, and then there was a group project. Obviously, they split to opposite ends of the room with their friends to choose pairs (except Willie and Alex, who were shoved together and assured it was perfect) but apparently, it was important to learn how to work with people you dislike because in the workplace you might be forced to work with people you dislike -- or something like that.

Julie and Luke had never let their rivalry coerce them into doing stupid things -- except the one time where Carrie was convinced Luke could hold his breath longer and Julie almost drowned in the school pool to prove Carrie wrong -- but the moment they were paired up, Julie and Luke both wanted nothing more than to break several school rules, vandalism being the top one and starting violent fights being the second. It was unclear if they wanted to fight each other or their teacher.

Matters were made worse when their friends got to pair off together on their own terms while they were stuck with each other. The only thing keeping them from completely refusing to do any work was that they both were still competing for the highest scores.

Their friends had never been more entertained and the two opposing groups bonded over watching the two most stubborn people they knew suffer out a school project together. The clear awkwardness between them was hilarious and it was a pleasant thing to see them sitting at the same table and not trying to verbally murder each other. Bobby turned out to be the funniest person in the whole group. He had a meme-y caption for every moment they caught of Julie and Luke sitting near enough to have a normal conversation and the others loved it. He also seemed to be able to relate all the memes to the pair and was strangely good at photoshop, which earned him the Groupchat King title. (Julie and Luke were completely unaware of this groupchat excluding only them -- which, for the others' safety, was for the best.) Flynn's favourite was a photo of Julie with a feral look on her face, miming strangling a smug Luke. Me & 2020 was Bobby's winning caption. She wasn't sure which was which and that made it even better, in her opinion.

As the weeks passed, Julie and Luke's rivalry mellowed. As far as they said, it was still going strong but their actions told another story. There were playful nudges in the hallway, now. Teasing death glares across a classroom. Locked gazes and stifled giggles at inside jokes -- the fact that they even had those was surprising enough. They willingly shared a lunch table for the sole purpose of interrupting a mini date between Willie and Alex but most of it was spent in their own world anyway. Their mockery of each other had become gentler and more harmless teasing than anything.

And then one Tuesday, Luke didn't show up at school.

Of course, Luke's band knew exactly what was up, but they -- with support from Julie's friends -- decided it would be fun to play dumb and send Julie to Luke's house, just to check up on him, you know, despite the fact that the group project was long over and she really had no need to meddle further into Luke's life. The mere fact that Julie forgot she still had class and was seriously ready to leave immediately said a lot.

"I can promise you that it's really not as bad as it looks," Luke said from under several pillows, a puffy duvet and maybe three stuffed animals, "but there's no band practice today and I'm not coming to school tomorrow either so can one of you flick Julie's forehead for me? It's tradition."

"Band practice, huh?" Julie said, dropping her bag on the floor with a soft thud. "And here I thought you just had nothing more interesting going on in your life than disrupting mine."

Luke sat up fast enough that his head spun, his vision swam and two pillows fell off the bed. "Who told you where I live?"

"You did, dork. Here, I brought your homework and my dad's trying something out in the kitchen. He misread balf the recipe so it's the blandest thing I've ever tasted but if you're sick, it'll be good for you."

Luke responded to the bit that made sense. "I don't want bland food," he said, scrunching up his nose as Julie set a small stack of papers on the desk in the corner and walked up to him with a covered bowl.

"As if you'd know the difference. Your mom said you can't taste anything anyway."

"You talked to my mom?" Luke asked, looking mortified.

"Yeah, duh. What, did you think I climbed through your bedroom window? I don't care that much for you."

"Aww, I knew you cared for me."

Julie didn't respond to it. "So this is supposed to be a vegetable stew," she said, tapping the plastic wrap over the bowl, "but like I said, mistakes were made."

"Well, what is it then?" Luke asked, leaning over to peer at the bowl.

"I'd call it . . . semi-flavoured water with surprise veggies."

"Joy."

"I know, right? Anyway, I'll leave you to your . . . pillow fort? Cute stuffies. I have the same penguin."

Luke glanced at the penguin that was still secured in his arm. "Don't you dare tell your friends. Especially not Flynn. She's ruthless."

"She is not. But fine, only because you're sick. I'll be back for my bowl tomorrow and it better be empty."

Luke watched Julie leave with a look of amazement. As soon as he heard his front door close, footsteps pattered through the hallway, leading up to his mother sticking her head in his room. "I like her."

"I'm going back to sleep," Luke said, diving back into the safety of all his pillows, wondering if it was the fever or Julie that set his cheeks blazing.

Probably the fever.

"Good afternoon, dork. Reggie says you said you liked the semi-flavoured water and my dad felt very appreciated by that so he's made some actual stew for you to try. It's beef stew this time so please don't get surprised. Did you do yesterday's homework? You should, because I brought today's. How do you feel?"

Luke, who had been staring at Julie with his mouth slightly open in a perfect picture of surprise, blinked when he realised she'd stopped speaking. "Don't you knock?!"

"Your mom said you were asleep and I could just leave everything here for you but you were awake so. . ." Julie trailed off, shrugging.

"You . . . you are so strange."

Julie shrugged as she set the homework down on the desk and walked up to the nightstand to put the covered bowl down in Luke's reach. "You need to come back to school. I feel bad bullying your friends."

"I'm sure they'll be glad to hear that," Luke said sarcastically. He paused for a second. "Yeah, I did the homework. Most of it. My mom said it'll help to get out of bed and do something. I tried to play the guitar but she was adamant I didn't do that something."

Julie nodded and walked back to Luke's desk. She rifled through the mess and picked up all the homework. "I'll finish this essay for you," she said almost absently, searching among the pages. "Please tell me you did your science homework. I got a lot of that wrong and no one wants to give me the answers because apparently, I should learn my work."

"Uh . . . yeah. Um, yeah, I did the science. Wh-- what do you mean 'do the essay' for me?"

Julie looked up as she gathered everything into a pile of messy and uneven papers. "It's on the African American civil rights movement. It's factual and ninety percent of the class will have the same essay anyway so--"

"No. No, I mean . . . why?"

"Oh. Uh . . . why not?"

Luke didn't have a response, so he fell silent.

"Well, that's all of yesterday's homework. Get some rest and then make sure you eat. I can't have my favourite punching bag get too weak to take a hit."

As Julie turned and left his room, Luke felt the sudden urge to scream, so instead, he slammed his burning face into his favourite penguin. Yes, she had called him a punching bag, but she'd also called him her favourite.

"Music class just isn't the same without booing you. Also, Alex said you managed to keep the beef stew down yesterday so my dad thought you could try something a little heavier. This is an experimental chicken and fried rice . . . thing. I do not reccomend eating unless you're sure you're okay enough for a full meal. That said, I brought more beef stew in case you're not up for the chicken and rice."

"You can't just walk in unannounced!" Luke cried as Julie set down the two bowls on the nightstand.

"I can, actually," Julie said, flashing a set of keys at Luke.

Luke's jaw dropped when he recognized the keychains. "Hey, those are mine!"

"Wow, so observant. Your mom gave it to me before I left yesterday because your dad is at work and she needed to go out today and with you holed up in here, there wouldn't be anyone to open for me."

Luke frowned. "Oh, yeah, she said something like that but I was half-asleep."

Julie was pleasantly surprised to find Luke's homework neatly gathered at the corner of the desk. It didn't escape her how Luke seemed to glow with pride when she commented on it. She had to fight a smile as she dropped Luke's homework into her bag.

"Get some rest, dork. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call someone from Sunset Swerve. I'll be busy."

"It's Sunset CURVE and you know it."

"Really? I never noticed."

Luke pouted. "Tuxedo Sam says you're being very mean right now. I'm sick and I deserve care."

"Well, you can tell your stupid penguin that Skipper will beat his ass."

"You named your penguin after the penguins from Madagascar?"

"You call yours Tuxedo Sam."

"Yeah, okay, that's fair."

Julie rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "Take a nap, Moody McSleeveless."

Luke glanced at the penguin laying nearby as he heard Julie lock up the house again. "Don't look at me like that, she's mean all the time."

"I BROUGHT CAKE!"

Luke scrambled up, launching Tuxedo Sam off the bed. "Who died?"

"No one died," Julie said, picking up the penguin as she walked up to Luke's bed. "It's Friday and since you're doing a little better, I thought you could do with a small treat. Tuxedo Sam agrees."

"Give me back my penguin," Luke said, reaching both arms out to Julie.

"Did you do yesterday's homework?"

"Yes."

"Did you really eat both bowls of food yesterday?"

"Yes."

"And keep it down?"

"Yes, ma'am, now can I please have my penguin back?"

Julie passed Luke the stuffed animal. "You're adorable," she blurted, turning away immediately to hide her own stunned look. She cleared her throat as she headed to the desk to grab Luke's homework. "So, that group project? We got a ninety-five."

That distracted Luke easily enough. "What happened to the other five?!"

"We're very bad at teamwork," Julie said, glancing back at Luke over her shoulder to see him relax against the pillows.

"Ah. That . . . makes sense."

Julie nodded. "Mhm."

The silence that blanketed the room wasn't as awkward as it should have been.

"I have to go. Most of the teachers said it would be okay to get your homework on Monday, but Mr Hughes is on my tail about your chemistry paper. My dad is making cupcakes tonight for some reason and I told Willie he could have some, so I'll send extra with him to give to Alex to give to you, but enjoy that crappy store cake for now. I left proper lunch with your mom for when you feel like it."

It didn't register that the only reason Mr Hughes would be harassing Julie about Luke's homework was if Julie herself had taken responsibility for Luke. Well, it did register, but by then, Julie was long gone and the only response Luke could muster was a muffled scream into poor Tuxedo Sam.

"Oh, ew, gross. Luke, it smells like the middle school locker room in here. What were you doing?"

Luke had never looked more sheepish in his life as he pointed to the canister on his nightstand -- right next to his alarm clock. "My phone went off about an hour ago and I thought it was the alarm so I did the smart thing and slammed it down but I missed. Obviously."

Holding her nose, Julie dropped everything she was carrying on Luke's table and tore the curtains open, pushing the windows as far as they could go. She stood there for a moment, relishing in the fresh air. "I'll come back inside when I can breathe," Julie said, halfway out the window.

Luke wanted to melt into his pillows. A week later and he was only feeling slightly better. The pros of it was that Julie visited every day with something tasty and a level of snark that only amused him. The cons of it was that Julie visited every day and left him flustered and red in the face.

He firmly believed that Julie only came by every day because she had homework to drop off, but today was Saturday. There was no more homework to drop off.

And she could have just backtracked right out the door again but instead, she headed for the windows on the other side of his room. Why?

Because she's taking care of you, dork.

Luke couldn't help but think that the logical voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Julie.

"Hey, my parents have some stupid couple's yoga thing on Saturdays. Did you break in?"

Julie pulled the windows halfway closed and stepped back into the room. "No, I still have your keys. Your dad tried to give me the spare key to the front door but your mom said it'll be fine if I kept yours until you're back on your feet."

"Wow. She really trusts you, huh?"

Julie shrugged. "I'm a very trustworthy person."

"No, you're not. I saw you lose a pen that you stuck behind your ear and then you proceeded to lose three more by tucking them behind your other ear and in your pockets. You then tried to steal mine."

"I was fourteen," Julie said defensively.

"It happened last week!"

"I felt fourteen."

Luke gave Julie a deadpan look.

"Cute pyjamas."

"I know, right? Bobby got us matching ones when we were like fifteen for band bonding. I mean, I grew out of the pants but the shirt still fits."

Julie scoffed as she stared at the dark haired cartoon smiling at her from the pink shirt. "Looks really good on you, Skip."

"Hey, I like being Skipper. She's Barbie's most intelligent sister."

"Oh, yeah?" Luke didn't even notice that Julie had made herself comfortable at the foot of his bed. "And if you're Skipper, who are the others?"

"Bobby is Chelsea, 'cause he's the youngest of us, Alex is Barbie, 'cause his summer jobs have been everywhere, and Reg is Stacie, 'cause she's Bobby's favourite and Bobby's favourite bandmate is Reg."

Julie's head tilted slightly. "You sound drunk."

"The bottle said one teaspoon of cough syrup but I didn't read and I took two tablespoons. It's okay, though. Mom panicked and called the doctor and he says the cough syrup he gave me is for kids and I'm just really, really, really intolerant. Which you should remember for me because I plan to be super famous with the band and there are gonna be a lot of after parties and I don't wanna get drunk five minutes in. I think the cough syrup is kicking in."

"Luke Patterson, you are unbelievable."

"I know, right?" He attempted a winning smile, but it came off as plain childlike.

Julie chastised herself for finding him adorable. They were mortal enemies and she had to remember that. Then what are you doing in his room on a Saturday, after explicitly telling the rest of his band to stay away?

Julie found it unnerving how much the voice in her head sounded like a teasing Luke.

"You're like, really annoying."

Julie frowned. "I -- I'm sorry?"

"You should be." Luke was sitting cross-legged now, fiddling with the ears of a stuffed bunny. "It's really messing with my head."

Julie decided she liked tipsy Luke -- even if it was just cough syrup. "How so?"

"No, it's nothing."

"You can tell me, Luke. I promised not to tell anyone about your stuffed animals and I kept it, right?"

"Yeah, but this time the secret about you. You're not allowed to know."

Curiosity more than anything made Julie lean forward slightly. "It'll be our secret."

"Okay, but you have to promise not to talk about it."

Julie nodded quickly. Luke tugged at the bunny's ears for a moment.

"You're like . . . really pretty."

Julie couldn't help the soft laugh that bubbled out of her. Adorable, she thought.

"Like, a lot of pretty. You're pretty on the inside, too."

"On the inside?"

"Yeah. On the inside. You know, your heart."

"M-my heart?"

Luke nodded at his stuffed rabbit. "Yeah. You have a really pretty heart. It beats like a drum. Making music. Like you."

Julie's mouth hung open, surprise silencing her.

"You have the prettiest music in you. I can hear it like -- like a song that gets stuck in my head all day. It's really annoying but it's so pretty. It smells like flowers and it looks like butterflies."

At this point, Julie didn't think she'd be able to speak, even if she knew what to say. Luke was talking to the stuffed animal, frowning as he struggled to voice his thoughts understandably.

"Sometimes it's just so loud and I wanna cover my ears and run away but it just gets louder and louder and then you come over and you're saying something mean but the music is there and it's not so loud anymore but I still can't hear anything else. Your heart sounds like a ballad."

Julie was frozen to her seat at the edge of the bed. Part of her wondered if it was Luke talking or the fever. Part of her desperately hoped it was Luke.

"Julie, you are music."

It was a simple sentence. Anyone could have said it. It could mean a lot or it could mean nothing at all. If anyone else had said it to her, she would have taken it as the highest form of a compliment. But that wasn't what Luke was saying.

Everyone knew that Luke spoke best through lyrics and chords. His books and desks were covered in etched notes and scribbled words. Luke lived and breathed music. It was everything to him. Without it, Luke didn't know who he was.

And he compared it to Julie.

Julie stared at the text on her phone. She bit her lower lip, unsure of what to say in response.

Mom said you visited yesterday. I was dazed for most of it. I didn't say anything stupid or incriminating, right? Not that anything could be more incriminating than the three stuffed animals on my bed.

Ten minutes after that, another had come through. Jules, are you ignoring me? Did I do something?

Then another five minutes later. This is still Julie Molina's number, right?

Julie quickly typed out something before she chickened out again and tossed her phone to the foot of her bed once it was sent.

Hey. Got busy in the kitchen with dad. No, you're good. See you at school tomorrow?

Julie scrambled for her phone to send one last word.

A few streets away, Luke stared at the word 'dork'. He was sure he had said something. He vaguely remembered yapping on about music to Julie -- duh, what else did they share? -- and then suddenly, she wasn't there anymore. He wondered if he'd fallen asleep talking and Julie had left then or if he really had said something to make her leave.

Yeah, he wrote back, see you at school.

Luke cornered Julie as soon as he caught sight of her in the school hallway. "You've been ignoring me and I don't like that."

Julie squeaked. "I most definitely am not ignoring you."

"Julie, you're pretty much the only person in this school that doesn't keep their phone on mute or vibrate. I know you heard my texts yesterday."

"So what if I am?" Julie asked, folding her arms. "We're not friends, so why should you care if I reply to your texts or not? In fact, why were you even messaging me in the first place?"

While Luke fumbled for a response, Julie slipped past him and continued on her way to class.

"Oh, that is just rude!" Luke yelled after Julie.

She ignored him all through any classes they shared and when lunch rolled around, she made sure to sit with Carrie and Flynn at a small table. Luke had never looked more offended in his life as he joined Reggie in sitting with Alex and Willie.

"What did you do on Saturday?" Alex asked, leaning forward to whisper. "Julie was fine when she told us we don't need to come by at all."

"Julie told you not to come over?" Luke asked, ripping his gaze from Julie to Alex and then Reggie, who shook his head.

"Bro, she actually called Alex and told him that we don't need to come see you because she was going to."

"Yeah, I remember her being there but I was drugged up on cough syrup."

"Weak," Alex whispered loudly, grinning when he made Willie laugh.

"Maybe you said something?" Willie suggested.

"Yeah, probably! But she's not talking to me. She's not even insulting me, which I would very much prefer over this apathy."

"You know where she lives," Reggie said dismissively. "Maybe you should pay her a visit."

Luke glanced across the cafeteria to see Julie quickly whip her head down to stare at her fold. "Yeah. Maybe."

Julie was tired and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Her plans were thrown way off the rails when she walked into her room and found Luke petering around the shelves beside her bed.

"What are you doing here?"

Luke drew his hand back sharply. "Cute box. What's in it?"

"None of your business," Julie snapped, hurriedly closing her bedroom door. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you but you were ignoring me and--"

"You could've just yelled at me from outside," Julie hissed. "I would have come down to shut you up! You can't be in here. Get out of my room."

"No. Not until you tell me why you've been avoiding me since Saturday. Jules, what--"

"Fine! Go and wait for me in the garage. I'll come talk to you in there."

Luke hesitated, unsure if Julie was serious.

When she heard footsteps getting closer, Julie grabbed Luke by the neckline of his shirt and dragged him to the window. "Get out," she whispered hurriedly, "I'll come down to the garage, I promise."

Thankfully, by the time her father arrived, Luke was gone.

"Who were you talking to, mija?"

"Luke," Julie said with a smile. She pointed at the phone. "He liked the cupcakes I sent with Willie."

"Oh, that's great. You didn't take something yesterday and today? Is he feeling better?"

"Much," Julie said, nodding, "in fact, we have some talking to do, so I'm gonna meet him in the garage in a few minutes."

"So late?"

Julie absolutely could not lie to her dad. But she could do half truths. "It's a long overdue discussion."

"School work?"

Julie shrugged. "Music."

"Ah. The garage makes sense. Well, do you wanna take some food down? Midnight snack?"

"Thanks, dad," Julie said with a smile, "you're the best."

"Oh, your dad is the best!" Luke cried as soon as he saw Julie walk in with a plate of cookies.

"These are experimental, too. They're some kind of oatmeal and choc mint blend. They taste good, in my opinion."

"Everything your dad makes tastes good," Luke said, grabbing three cookies. "My mom's starting to get jealous of how much I love your dad's cooking."

Juli smiled and set the plate down on the coffee table. Was there any point beating around the bush? Sugarcoating things?

"You told me I was music."

Luke paused, one and a half cookies gone. "What?"

Julie kept her gaze trained on the tassels of the carpet. "You told me I'm annoying . . . because I'm pretty. Because I have a pretty heart. You said it beats like a drum and I have the prettiest music in me that gets stuck in your head. It --"

"Smells like spring and looks like butterflies. . ." Luke looked positively mortified.

Julie, refusing to look up, did not notice. "You said . . . you said my heart sounds like a ballad and then -- and then you told me I am music."

Had he really said all that aloud? Well, no wonder Julie was avoiding him like the plague.

Julie tensed up when she could see Luke's feet step in front of her. Almost every part of her screamed that this was wrong. They shouldn't be so close without bickering and fighting. But deeper within, beyond the confines of logic and sense, Luke's voice told her that this was the furthest thing from wrong.

"I said all that? Aloud?"

Julie nodded.

"You know what music is to me."

Julie nodded again.

"Jules," Luke said gently. "Julie, look at me."

Julie refused to, so Luke gingerly tucked his finger under her chin and lifted her head, waiting until her gaze fell on him before speaking.

"You know what music is to me," he said again, prompting another nod from Julie. "Then you know what you mean to me."

Julie blinked a few times and shook her head. "No. No, that's just the fever talking. You -- you didn't really mean all of that."

"If you really believe that, why are you avoiding me?"

"I . . . I don't know."

Luke dropped his hand to take hold of Julie's. He glanced at her, waiting for her to pull away. When she didn't, he interlocked his fingers with hers. "I meant every word. Okay, maybe not literally, but you know what I mean."

Julie shook her head. "We're not even friends, Luke."

"Hm, well, who said I wanted to be your friend?"

Julie wanted to hate Luke. She wanted to loathe the sight of him. She didn't want to like him, let alone love him.

And yet, she did.

So before the overthinker in her could stop her, Julie leaned up on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. Luke beamed at her like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Not the response I was expecting, but definitely one I'm enjoying."

"Don't make me regret it."

"Yes, ma'am. Now, what are my chances of getting two more? And one for the road? Within the next five seconds becaus my mom doesn't know I snuck out and she think I'm still sick."

"Dork," Julie said fondly, shaking her head.

"I'm serious!"

"You can have two."

"Three."

"Two."

"Four."

"One."

"Two will do," Luke said, letting go of Julie's hands to wrap his arms around her. He gave her a small squeeze. "Plus a hug."

"Dork," Julie said again. But he was her dork and he was her favourite.

Before anyone comes for me about the cough syrup thing, I'm drawing from experience. I mean I never confessed my undying love for anyone but I did blurt out some weird shit. Also, THAT WAS LONG AND IF YOU SURVIVED THE ENTIRE THING, CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU

Mara's masterlist

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the fat ones #julie and the himbos #jatp #juke #julie x luke #julie molina #luke patterson #sunset curve #jatpweek

190 notes · View notes

kerie-prince · 4 years ago

Text

We're Worlds Apart (7)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: none (other than blaise being jealous)

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

a/n: my workplace is under construction and i'm stressed bc i have to work around all the rubbish and it makes me stay longer when i wanna come home and write 😭 anyways, this is unedited so i'll come back to it after i clock off tonight

(gif cred)

Being friends with you was kind of weird. Draco couldn't really tell you about his day because it consisted of magic nearly the entire time. He’s also at work for almost the entire week, so he wasn't really at home much.

Except for now. Draco finally had twelve days off to spend with his best mates. He had been so caught up with the chaos that surrounded him at work that he wasn't able to plan any sightseeing activities to do with them, so he just let them pick whatever it was they wanted to do.

“I could always ask Y/N what to do,” Blaise suggested. Yes, Draco hadn't forgotten the small fling between you and his best mate. Blaise would go over to your house at least three nights a week while Draco stayed overnight at Santa Marie's. Theo didn't mind being by himself and was grateful that the guest bedroom was farthest from your bedroom window. Draco was also grateful that he chose to go on nights he wasn't home; he didn't need to hear you two throughout the night.

Now that a hatchet was somewhat buried, Draco thought that asking you was a good idea. He nodded his head and headed for the door. Blaise also got up, but the both of them stopped when their hands nearly collided on the door knob. “Oh, did you want to ask her?” Blaise questioned.

“Uh… no you go. She's your…” Draco paused, “You go ahead.” Blaise gave him a weird look before walking out the door and headed to your house. Theo watched the whole thing and waited to start laughing at Draco. He glared at Nott and spat out, “What are you laughing at?”

“What was that?” Theo held his stomach as he caught his breath. “Did you want to talk to her?” Draco didn't appreciate whatever his friend was trying to say. It's just a bloody question. He sat down on the couch and picked up the Daily Prophet from Theo’s hands. He wasn't surprised to find Harry Potter in it, a column about his recent marriage with Weasley’s sister. He was surprised that they hadn't gotten married sooner.

“Do you think it's weird that Blaise is dating a muggle?” Theo asked. His face was neutral, but his tone was suggestive. Draco internalized the question. On one hand, it didn't really disturb him all that much. He was confused as to whether or not you were his girlfriend, but Blaise doesn't really talk about you too much. On another hand, he knew Blaise and even though you annoyed him – or did you? – he always took pity on any girl that mixed with Blaise. Draco didn't know what Blaise would do, but it was enough to get anyone on their knees for him in more ways than one.

“I don’t care who or what he dates,” Draco stated. Theo went to minding his business, until something caught his attention from outside. “Oh Salazar, what is he doing?” Theo’s voice was filled with amusement. Draco turned from his sitting position and saw what was happening.

Blaise was fully making out with you right on your porch. Out where anyone could watch. One of his hands were tangled in your hair while the other one was resting gently on your waist. Your hands rested shyly on his shoulders and it looked as if you were on your toes just to reach up to his height. The kiss was slow and sensual.

It was exactly what Draco needed to see. Because from that, he felt nothing at all. Just a gross feeling that he was potentially invading someone's privacy. Sure, they were outside but it still felt weird. Draco wasn't one to enjoy public displays of affection.

“Wow, he’s really milking it out. You reckon he asked her about sight-seeing?” Theo kept observing them from the window. Draco hit his head with the newspaper rolled up. Theo laughed and turned to look at the blond man next to him. “How come you’re not with anyone?”

“With where I work, do you honestly think I have time to find someone?” Draco sassed as he continued reading. Dating was the last thing on his mind. He was too focused on work to even flirt with another woman. Pansy was the last person Draco had ever dated. He was meant to be betrothed to Astoria Greengrass, but Draco declined and started his path to becoming a healer. He also didn't want to be in a marriage knowing he couldn't genuinely love her.

Moving to America, he never found anyone interesting. Ashley was nice but not only was she already married, she was married to a woman. Other women in the department, or hospital as a whole, took an initial liking to Draco, but he figured it was solely due to the fact that he’s a foreign British man with an accent. After a month of women flirting with him, it died down almost completely and everyone treated him as normal which pretty much confirmed it to him. Would Draco like to date someone? Absolutely. But right now, he was perfectly happy being by himself.

Theo knew Draco enough to know when he was fibbing and this wasn't one of those times. He was glad to see Draco be okay with himself after all this time. He remembers the constant need of validation during their days at Hogwarts. And it was because of a certain wizard who Draco was always competing with. Now as for Theo, he had been out of the dating scene for a while and he was nearly desperate to get laid.

He dropped the topic and got up to take a short nap in the guest room. A few moments later, Blaise was knocking on the door. Draco got up to open it and was caught by surprise to see you standing behind Blaise. You looked like you weren't really sure what you were doing there either. “Mate,” Blaise started off, “what if we brought her along with us?”

You blinked at the tall man standing in front of you and then looked at Draco who had the same facial expression. “Who else better to show us around than someone who actually lives here?” Blaise suggested. It made sense; you would know your way around and Draco could save himself the trouble of not only Blaise and Theo being lost, but also Draco also getting lost. He still had a hard time with some of the streets. One-way streets, round-a-bouts, and bike lanes were still new to him. And you once mentioned how Manhattan was worse than the streets here in Buffalo, so how would he deal with that?

You stood unusually quiet. Blaise had only just asked you to tag along with them and before you could even process the question, you were being dragged to Draco’s house. “I don’t know, I don't want to intrude on–”

“Nonsense, you’d be our guide. I highly doubt Draco knows where he’s going,” Blaise assured. He got a stern ‘Hey’ from the blond but ignored it. “What do you say? Come with us?” You looked back and forth from the both of them and settled on Draco, your eyes asking him if he would even want you there. He shrugged his shoulders, leaving it up to you.

“Uh, sure. I’d just have to fix my schedule and–” you started before Blaise cut you off, “Great! We leave tomorrow at seven in the morning.” He kissed your forehead and walked inside. Draco stood at the door and was still confused as to what just happened. You started to walk away before Draco asked you, “Should we take my car?” You turned around and thought about it. “If you want.”

Draco preferred it, so he just agreed to it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” You smiled sheepishly and raised your hand to say 'bye’. Tomorrow was surely going to be… something.

—

You were hoping to be able to rest your head on Blaise’s shoulder for the ride to the airport. But here you were, in Draco’s car with the largest cup of coffee that was barely keeping you awake as you drove there. You were glad that Draco had common sense to book two flight tickets for everyone to go there because there was so way in hell you were going to drive six hours to Manhattan and another six back.

Theo, however, was resting his head on Blaise’s shoulder as he snored away during the short ride. Blaise tried to shove him off, but it turned out that the sleepy friend was heavier than he looked. It was funny, really. Draco sat in the passenger seat next to you on his phone trying to read out directions. You insisted you didn't need them, but he said they were more for himself when they come back home.

Once on the plane, you finally got some shut eye. You stayed up all night thinking about what to do for the day. Where to go, what to eat, what to see. And other things kept you up, but that's besides the point. During the security check, you had to hold your laughter. It was hilarious to watch the three men be so confused as to what was going on. They acted like it was their first time in an airport.

The seats you had were nice and surely expensive. Draco insisted that you didn't have to pay him back. Must be nice being rich you thought. Blaise looked at you and poked your nose, “Is someone sleepy?” You glared at him before laying back into your seat, “Maybe if you didn't keep me up all night, I wouldn't be tired.” You didn't know how the man could have this much energy in the morning.

The hour went by quick and you were in Manhattan by ten in the morning. You suggested a local diner that was near the airport which they all agreed to since they didn't know their way around. At the diner, Blaise and Theo had made a dash for the restroom. You laughed at the view of Theo pushing Blaise behind him and Blaise glaring at him as he smacked the back of his head.

“I swear, they’re still childish gits,” Draco groaned. “26 years old and they still don't grow up.” You nudged his arm from across the table. “Leave them be. They’re still young, and so are you. Let loose, we’re in New York City after all. Can’t be brooding the whole time.” Draco rolled his eyes and looked at the menu that was under the glass on the table.

A waitress came up to your table with a small clipboard and notepad. “Are you two ready to order?” she asked sweetly. “Not yet, we’re waiting on two people to come back,” you answered. “Oh that’s cute, is this a double date?”

Without hesitation, you and Draco stated at the same time, “We’re not together.” The waitress looked between the two of you and just nodded. “I’ll be back, then.” The both of you hadn’t said a word when she left and patiently waited for his friends to come back. Shortly after, they did. Blaise took the spot in the booth next to you and Theo next to Draco.

“Alright, what do you suggest I get?” Blaise asked you. He had his body slightly facing yours and an arm over the top of the seat around you. He hadn't bothered to look on the menu and just focused on your features. “Depends, what do you like?”

“Anything,” he lowered his voice and was close to your ear. The breath tickled your ear which made you giggle. “Okay, we get it. You two are cute. Now keep it down, I’d like to be able to digest this food,” Theo’s nose crinkled as he complained. You still didn't know Theo all that much. This morning, he walked like a zombie and he probably just became fully awake, so to see his best friend making kissy faces at you before his first meal wasn't an ideal way to start the day. Draco chuckled in his seat as he was still figuring out what to order.

“I have to make a quick call,” you announced before pulling out your phone and called one of your employees, “Were you able to open fine on your own? Okay, call me if anything happens. Okay, bye.” The waitress came back and took down the order after she set a pot of coffee for the four of you.

Theo was the first to say something, “So, Y/N is it?” You nodded in response as you took a sip from your mug. “What is it that you do in your free time? Other than Blaise, of course.” He had a smug smile watching as you blushed. Two seconds later, the table shook and Theo groaned in pain. Unbeknownst to you, both Blaise and Draco had kicked Theo in his shins.

“Stupid git,” Draco said under his breath. Theo glared at his friends as he rubbed his legs. You cleared your throat and started to speak before Blaise stopped you, “You don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s okay, he was just joking,” you defended. “No he wasn't,” Draco added. You ignored him and looked at Theo, “What do you want to know?”

He had your full attention and ignored the looks from his friends, “What do you do for a living? What’s your work like?”

“Well, I uhh,” you started, “I own a store downtown. I’m there almost everyday.”

“What kind of store is it?” Theo asked as he leaned over the table closer to you. “What do you sell?”

“Candles,” for the second time that day, you and Draco synchronized. “Yeah, I sell candles and little… knick knacks,” you still hadn't opened up to Draco or Blaise for that matter about your Wiccan activities. So to say that you sold sage bundles, specially made oils and healing crystals would raise questions you weren't ready to answer now.

“Draco, have you ever been to the place? What is it called, by the way?” Theo kept on. Blaise was certainly not kidding when he said that Theo loved to talk. “No, I haven't,” Draco answered. “It’s called Soul Beads, wasn't it?”

“Yeah, that’s the name.” The food was brought on a large tray. Blaise handed your plate to you and you grabbed your fork to dig in. He was eating slowly, looking as if he was thinking about something. “Hey, you okay?” you whispered to him, Draco and Theo having their own conversation. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m fine, love,” Blaise continued eating at a faster pace now. You looked around the men that surrounded you and smiled. Today’s gonna be fun.

—

The day went… weird. Blaise tried to have as much fun as possible but something was bothering him. Was it Theo talking his head off the entire time? No, I’m used to that. Was it his legs tired after walking almost all day? No, not that. Was it how even though you held his hands the whole time and gave him occasional kisses on his cheek or lips, you had gone the entire day talking to Draco and shared a couple laughs with him? Absolutely.

Jealousy was always an ugly emotion to Blaise. It annoyed him during his time at Hogwarts, and it annoys him now. The way girls would ask him if he was messing around with other girls and he’d always say the same thing. “How could I when you’re the most beautiful girl in these halls?” They’d all swoon over it. And by the looks of it, you swooned over his every word as well. But the looks you gave him were different from the ones you gave Draco.

From all the letters he had gotten from Draco, Blaise knew how much he hated you. No, loathed. But after the two of you decided to make nice, it was like you had been friends since day one. Draco may have even looked comfortable talking to you. And it bothered Blaise. His time with you may have been short, but today made him realize something.

Blaise is nowhere near being in love, he knew that much. But he knew that he didn't want to be messing around anymore. He wants to have an actual relationship, and right now, he wanted it with you. Blaise was confused by it all. He should be happy that his best friend and a girl he likes gets along. It would make it all that much easier.

But something about the two of you was odd today.

Maybe there was a look that lasted too long. Or a tone that came out differently. Or maybe… no. Blaise knew what it was. He just wants to have that same friendship with you. Blaise still didn't know that much about you. He didn't even know you had your own store until that morning. And to hear that his friend who supposedly hates you even knows not only the name of the store, but what you sell, hit something in him.

So, he was going to change that. Because for the most part, you were pretty interesting. He knew you were a Wiccan and as much as he doesn't really care to know what it was all about – considering he can just do any magic with a flick of a wand – he’d at least know you a little better.

Momentarily, as he was deep in thought, Theo’s annoying voice popped in his head. Hey, at least you know her in a way Malfoy won’t. He mentally cringed at it for a second before he thought Wait. I do. It was a start, not one that someone usually prefers, but it was better than nothing.

You sat beside him on the ride back home and had a smile on your lips while you rested on him. Draco was driving and Theo wanted to raise the volume of the music but his hand was slapped away. “She’s sleeping, idiot.” Draco scolded.

“Merlin, look at this,” Theo looked at Blaise as he pointed to Draco’s face. “Malfoy caring for a muggle? I’ve seen everything now.”

“M-muggle?” You rubbed your eyes and yawned. The three Slytherin’s had wide eyes, Blaise cursing Theo with his eyes. “I've heard,” you let out another yawn, “Draco say that before.”

Merlin, how many times have these actually talked? Blaise thought. “I-it’s just slang from London,” he tried to cover up. You nodded your head and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before going back to sleep.

Once everyone was home, Blaise walked you to your door. “I had fun today, did you?” Blaise gave his most convincing smile, “Yeah, I did.”

You said ‘Good night’ and almost closed the door when he stopped you. “Is it alright that I stay with you tonight?”

“I'm kind of tired, maybe tomorrow–”

“No, not for that,” Blaise chuckled at your insinuation. You looked slightly surprised. And it made sense considering that's almost all he came over for. Nonetheless, you let him into your home. Blaise stayed true to his words and just laid beside you in bed until the two went to sleep.

In his own bedroom, Draco smiled as he thought about the fun day he had. Maybe being friends with you wasn't so bad. He went to his kitchen to grab a drink when he noticed there was one person missing. “Where's Blaise?”

“I think he's staying at Y/N’s,” Theo stated. Inside, Draco felt an unusual pang in his chest. He let it go and went to bed. Hopelessly trying to get out of his head whatever you two were up to.

—

next chp

(っ◔◡◔)っ taglist: @beiahadid @malfoy-styles-wife @fivenightslaughter @juneballoon999 @leydileyla @fangirlanotherjust @originalsoulcollector @opiomancy @lipstickandloveletters @ninacotte @daedric-sorceress @frecklesandfirecrackers @hahee154hq @disartrous @oh-those-barricade-boys @lunalovecroft @bornforfangirling @c4th3r1ne

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy au #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x muggle!reader #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco x female reader #draco x muggle!reader #blaise x y/n #harry potter fic

82 notes · View notes

etherrealoblivion · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter Sixteen: The Seventh Book

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 2,803

TRIGGER WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE!!!!! BEWARE!!!!

A/N: thank you everyone for reading this fic i love you all. one chapter left to go. i am so sorry for what follows.

MASTERLIST

Your eyelids were so heavy it was almost impossible to open them. The chair you were in was cold and hard against your back, the discomfort prompting you to wake up a little faster.

Then your surroundings forced the memory of what had happened into your mind.

It was a dark metal room with a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Across the room on the wall were several closed metal hatches. Although you couldn’t make out much more. After all, your eyes were still partially closed and the dim light of the room made it even harder to see.

A small gasp next to you alerted the presence of someone else in the room.

Turning your head — with immense effort — you saw Spencer Reid slouched in the chair next to you, hands tied behind his back, slowly coming to.

“Spencer,” you said, voice quiet and strained. But he seemed to have heard judging by the way his eyes snapped wide open and he began to writhe in the chair.

Grunting harshly, he finally got his arms untied, jumping up and running toward the back of your chair and pulling off the rope, leaving your wrist burning slightly from the scratch.

Quickly analyzing the situation, Spencer firmly pressed against each of the four metal walls, ensuring that there was no way out. Then, when he was sure none of the walls would give, he started ramming his elbow against the metal slots in one of the walls.

“Spencer!” you had found your voice suddenly at the thought of him hurting himself. Strangely, you had just noticed that the two of you were only wearing your underwear. Even your bra had been put back on. Although he was wearing a watch you’d never seen before with a tight leather band that squeezed his wrist.

His gaze snapped to you, a determined look in his eye with a fire behind it that sent a spark through you.

“Where are we?”

It was a stupid question and you knew the answer, but you still had to ask. Spencer attempted to soften his expression but to no avail.

“I’m sorry.”

The words hurt on a whole new level. There was so much meaning behind them. They confirmed the fact that you had indeed been kidnapped and taken to some sort of torture chamber, they signified that he had failed to protect you, and they broke the pact you had to never apologize to one another.

There was a crackle and heavy breathing filled the room, the sound coming from a minuscule vent in one of the corners of the room.

Spencer stepped between you and the vent, reaching out a hand behind him to make sure you stayed behind him.

The breathing hesitated and after a moment, someone spoke.

“Hello, Y/N.”

The voice was so familiar. You knew you knew it but you didn’t know from where. The memory was just out of reach and it kept slipping through your fingers.

Spencer, however, had frozen, presumably recognizing the voice. Your hand moved to his shoulder of its own accord, finding the skin there to be freezing cold.

The voice from the vent chuckled.

“I understand that you and Spencer have become quite attached lately.”

You looked at him, unsure whether to respond or not. He glanced at you over his shoulder and nodded stiffly.

“Ye—ahem—yes, we have. Why?” To recognize the voice, you needed to keep him talking.

“Hmm. Let’s see how far you’re willing to go for each other.”

There was a whooshing noise and one of the four slots in the wall shot open, revealing a small hidden space.

“I’m sure if you can’t figure out what to do, Doctor Spencer Reid can help you.”

And then it clicked. And it all made sense.

How he’d found your address, “Whoever accesses your card, even for something as small as a stick of gum, has the opportunity to use that information to find your name, your address, your workplace—” “Ok. I get it. People I see frequently and my credit card info. Gotta warn you, there’s not much I buy with it other than books and coffee.”

How he’d known which hotel you were at, “Whatever. Gives me more time to prepare for a cute date with a hot barista. Or . . . the other way around.”

Even how he knew you were at the cabin, “I actually had a coworker who had a cabin in the woods and he never mentioned becoming one with nature.”

All because “ . . . the waiter here, Tom, works at my regular coffee shop. Barista by day, waiter by night.”

“Tom. . . .”

Spencer looked at you sorrowfully as the voice chuckled through the vent.

“Very good . . . Honestly, I’m disappointed it took you this long to figure it out. I mean, it was pretty obvious. And so easy to get so much information about you! But! But, that's beside the point. You have a task I expect you to begin. After all, time is running out.”

Spencer reached into the hole in the wall, withdrawing a stopwatch, an electric hair clipper, and a small Exacto knife.

The stopwatch had two minutes and thirteen seconds on it, counting down slowly.

“What are we supposed to do?” you yelled at the wall, holding up the timer as if he could see it. You don’t know, there might be a camera, you thought to yourself, wrapping an arm around your bare stomach.

There wasn’t a response though, just the sound of the stopwatch clicking quietly.

“Y/N . . .” Spencer spoke from behind you. “It’s the seventh book.”

Frantically trying to remember the order of the books in your nightstand, you realized what the clippers and knife meant.

The Handmaid’s Tale, The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Telltale Heart, The Great Gatsby, 1984, A Clockwork Orange, and . . .

The seventh book was a very old and very rare edition of The Gift of The Magi.

“So we have to choose . . .”

The watchband on Spencer’s wrist was too tight to slip the knife through without cutting through his skin. And your hair would take much longer than two minutes to cut with a knife and clippers.

Without a word, Spencer took the exact-o knife and plunged it into the skin around his wrist, wincing in pain as he cut through the band.

“Spencer, no!”

But the watch fell from his hand to the floor, dripping with blood, Spencer’s wrist sliced open neatly. The wound was superficial but it looked like it hurt. He collapsed to the floor, dropping the knife and you rushed to his side.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded weakly, putting pressure on the cut.

“Very interesting . . .” Tom’s voice echoed around the room and you felt your stomach fill with rage like never before, spinning around and throwing the clippers at the wall with all of your might.

“We’re not going to play your fucking mind game!”

“Y/N,” Spencer whispered from the floor. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

The answer to your question came in the form of an ear-splitting siren, the noise resonating around the room, forcing its way past your eardrums, giving you an abominable headache.

The noise suddenly stopped and Tom spoke again.

“It is your choice whether you play or not. But consider that a preview of the punishment for refusing to. And trust me, there’s worse punishments than that.”

The second hatch slid open.

Head darting between it and Spencer on the floor, holding his wrist, you opted to fetch the next items.

There was another stopwatch, this time with five minutes, two small slips of paper, and some kind of device transmitting footage of two people in a poorly lit room, strapped to chairs similar to how you had been moments ago.

“What the fuck is this?”

The light in the room came on, showing the people in the chairs to be a man and a woman. You didn’t recognize either of them, and, judging by his face, neither did Spencer.

“Oh no.”

You read the slips of paper.

Man and Woman, they said.

We have to choose one.

“We have to choose one.”

Spencer looked at you shaking his head, so overwhelmed by the fact that the two of you were in this situation.

You scrambled, unable to deal with the thought, “What if we—“

“—I’m sure the punishment will be worse if we don't choose one. Most likely, he’ll kill both of them. Statistically, men die younger than women and they can’t bear children. But women have a higher pain tolerance and—“

He was talking himself in circles, trying desperately to come up with a solution to an impossible problem.

“Spencer, this is something you can’t reason. We just have to pick one.”

You couldn’t believe he was only twenty-six. His eyes bore the weight of someone much older.

You forced a weak laugh that tasted terrible on your tongue, “Eenie Meenie Miney-Moe?”

He chuckled weakly. “No luck, I know you land on whichever one you didn’t start with.”

“Me too.”

“Time’s running out,” Tom reminded you.

Your face fell, all hints of a smile gone.

“The man.” You gaped at Spencer who had piped up just enough to make the decision.

There was a pause, then a dark figure walked into the room onscreen, brandishing a gun and aiming at the back of the man’s head.

The muffled sound of a gunshot rang out, making you and Spencer jump as the man went limp in the chair and the feed cut out.

Bile rose in your throat and you ran to a corner of the room to throw up.

“Very interesting,” Tom repeated, his voice sparking disgust deep in your stomach.

“Why are you doing this?” you begged, reaching out for Spencer who seemed to be doing a bit better judging by the fact he could now stand and his wrist was no longer gushing blood.

“I like watching the way you think.”

The now-familiar sound of the hatch opening brought you back to the situation at hand, trying desperately to get the image from the screen out of your mind.

Spencer reached into the hatch and pulled out two more slips of paper and another stopwatch.

The screen flicked back on, showing two more people in a dark room, another man and woman. The room was still dark so you couldn't make out much more.

You looked up at Spencer, confused, but his face had gone white as a sheet and he was staring at the pieces of paper.

“No.” Spencer ran to the vent, slamming on the wall. “No! Ahh!” shouting in pain when his wound made contact.

Tom didn’t say anything so you approached Spencer, snatching the pieces of paper to better understand why he was so angry.

The room on the screen lit up the moment you read the papers. This time it didn’t say man or woman. This time there were two names.

Steve and J.J.

Spencer’s blonde coworker and your closest friend were slumped over in the chairs on-screen, wriggling against their restraints. All breath left your body, your heart stopped in your chest.

“TOM! Please don’t do this.”

The desperation seeped into your voice pitifully.

“Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Y/N,” Spencer stepped between you and the vent again, holding your shoulders. You suddenly felt how wet your eyes were. Strange how you hadn’t even realized you were crying.

“I . . . I can’t.”

Being forced to decide who lives and who dies was difficult enough to break anyone’s spirit. But this . . . this shattered yours to the core.

“You don’t have to,” Spencer said, “I can do it.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Tom chided playfully, voice muffled through the speaker. “You’ve already chosen twice, Doctor. I think it’s Y/N’s turn, don’t you?”

“Look, I can make the decision. You don’t want to put her through too much, do you?” Spencer’s voice was soft, but the way he was gripping your hand suggested he felt otherwise. “You wouldn’t do that to her.”

“I suppose you’re right. Though, while I do care for her, it is her turn. But don’t fret! You can make the next decision together.”

Your eyes were locked on the screen, watching as Steve and J.J. came to, becoming rapidly aware of their situation and struggling against the bindings. Spencer gently squeezed your hand, showing you the time on the stopwatch. Fifty seconds left.

There was no right decision.

J.J. had a child, a husband, a family. Steve had no one. Steve had you.

There was no right decision. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a wrong one.

“Steve.” You hadn’t said it out loud, just mouthed the word letting the breath flow out of you.

Then, realizing he couldn’t hear you, you repeated yourself.

“Steve.” It was barely a whisper but it was the loudest sound in the world.

Actually, strike that, the loudest sounds were the footsteps entering the room and standing behind your friend, holding a gun to his head.

Tom’s voice came back over the intercom.

“I need you to say it.”

It took every ounce of strength not to fall to the ground and burst into tears. The only thing keeping you upright was fear. Pure terror. You couldn’t say it, but if you didn’t they’d both die.

“Kill Steve.”

You closed your eyes before the gunshot went off, knees giving out and collapsing to the ground, feeling Spencer fall with you, trying to keep you as upright as possible.

“Hey,” he grabbed your head, forcing your gaze to him, his dark brown eyes dark with rage. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Tom’s voice made your stomach contort.

The fourth and final hatch slid open.

“I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” your hands were trembling harder than your voice as you shook back and forth, clutching your legs to your chest.

“Okay, it’s okay. It’s almost over,” Spencer said, standing and reaching into the last slot.

He didn’t move for a while, back turned to you, looking down at something.

“Spencer?”

“Me, I choose me,” he said, turning towards the vent, revealing the item he was holding. A gun. His gun.

“No!”

“Very well,” Tom said, chuckling. “But that’s not quite how this works. One of you has to die, but the other has to do it.”

Spencer ran and sat next to you on the floor, forcing the gun into your hands, lightly placing your finger on the trigger.

“Spencer . . .”

“Listen to me, it’s okay. Okay? If we don’t do this, he’s gonna kill us both. I need you to understand that I am okay with this. I am choosing this, not you. This is for me to decide.”

He slowly brought the gun up to his head, resting just between his eyebrows.

That was too much and the sobs that had been building up in your chest escaped your lips, tears pouring down your cheeks and falling onto your legs. Your hands trembled harder, the gun shaking against his head.

“Y/N,” he smiled, eyes bright and twinkling. “It’s okay.” Then, he swallowed, looked away for a moment, then looked back at you with fire burning deep behind his eyes. What he said next changed your life.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You sobbed as he cocked the gun and steadied your finger on the trigger.

“I love you, Spencer.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. You didn’t even have to think before you did what you did next.

You removed the gun from his head, held it against your own, right on your temple, and stood, turning toward the vent.

“5 . . .”

“Wait!” Tom called out.

“4 . . .”

“Y/N, stop!” Spencer shouted at you.

“3 . . .”

“That’s not how this works!” Tom yelled furiously, voice cracking. “Stop! You have to shoot him!”

“2 . . .”

The wall under the vent slid open and a dark figure stumbled in, holding out a blunt object, approaching you threateningly, rearing back.

The instant you saw the whites of Tom’s eyes, you aimed the gun directly between his eyes and squeezed the trigger, attempting to keep your arm as still as possible. In a flash, you were brought back to the alley where you shot a gun for the first time. All you could think of were your and Spencer’s lips meeting for the first time.

You didn’t realize you’d closed your eyes until you opened them and was met with the image of Tom The Barista with a bloody hole in his head, falling backwards to the floor, crumpling like a rag doll, a blank expression on his face.

Taking one last look at Spencer to make sure he was okay, you felt your legs give out beneath you and you fell to the floor, losing consciousness.

Again, everything went dark.

last chapter tomorrow. i am so sorry. bring tissues.

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13 @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @eu-solidao @perverted-guardian-angel @boiled-onionrings @rainsong01 @lesbian-emilyprentiss @andiebeaword @itsmoony @cielo1984 @baby-i-am-fireproof @mendesminimuffin @fukyouthink @addie5264 @gretaamyk @sercyan @expressiodeppresio @matthewreid

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid gifs #spencer reid fic #fanfic #fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #angst #only angst #graphic depictions of violence #blood #potentially triggering

224 notes · View notes

cheeriecherry · 4 years ago

Text

Birds Of A Feather [2/7]

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Warnings: like, one swear

Part 2/7

It’s been a week since you started your new position at Hawks’ hero agency. It’s a nice workplace, very accommodating for the staff, and the sidekicks and interns you work with are friendly and sociable. But there’s still a little piece of you that’s bitter.

You appreciated the job, especially when you discovered what your monthly paycheck would be, but the whole place was just so damn...busy. If you’d known that you’d maintain your hectic lifestyle after moving to Japan, you never would’ve come in the first place.

On top of that, despite your presence being requested by the man himself, you’d yet to actually meet your new boss. Not a conversation, a text, a simple hello, or even a red feather. At this point, you were wondering if the guy even existed.

You decide to mull it over some more on your afternoon lunch hour. You find your usual seat in the staff lounge, and pull out a container of chicken curry.

“Hey Y/N! Hawks says he wants to see you in his office!”

You pause with a forkful of food halfway to your mouth, glancing over at the young sidekick who’d just bounced in. “Can it wait until after lunch?” you ask, hoping to at least finish your meal before dealing with whatever you were wanted for.

The sidekick looks sympathetic. “Sorry,” she says, “but I don’t think so. He asked me to tell you to bring your food…”

You sigh deeply, but thank her for passing the information on. Don’t shoot the messenger, and all that. You begrudgingly pack your things back up and bid farewell to the few people in the room, all of which are ominously quiet.

That didn’t bode well.

----

A few minutes later finds you outside Hawks’ office, balancing your lunch container in one hand while you knock on his doorframe with the other.

His door is wide open, and you can see him sitting at his desk, facing the window and the view of the city. He probably knew you were there before you knocked, but there was no harm in being polite… though he might appreciate the humour of you walking in like you owned the place.

“You wanted to see me, Boss?”

He spins around in his chair, a charming smile gracing his features. You wonder idly if he’d planned that little spiel, and if so, how long he’d been sitting like that for.

“That I did, chickadee! Pull up a chair, make yourself comfortable, eat with me.”

You do as you’re asked.

“Sorry for not seeing to you sooner. It’s been such a busy week, villains and disasters all over the place. I swear, I’ve been to every end of the country.”

You sit tidily on the chair, legs crossed and wings tucked up neatly behind you.

“I understand,” you tell him, “you’re number two, after all. You’re in high demand.”

Hawks smiles wider, but you get the feeling it’s lacking some genuity. You don’t call him out on it, though.

“That’s a relief,” he sighs, slouching back a little. “I looked into you a bit before I hired you, y’know? Gotta make sure you had a good track record, blah blah, PR crap, blah, anyways. The reports said you were a pretty easygoing person. I’m glad they were right!”

You pray he doesn’t notice the slight ruffle of your feathers. Easygoing? Is that what people thought of you? You supposed there were worse things to be known for, but you? Easygoing? Maybe you’d become an actress if the whole hero gig didn’t work out for you, if you’d fooled that many people.

Easygoing. Yeah right. Burnt out, exhausted, apathetic, those were all accurate descriptors. But fucking easygoing?! Hah.

“Hey, you alright, kid?”

You’re about to ask him what he means, to tell him you’re fine and completely unbothered, but your stomach has other plans. Right when you open your mouth to speak, a loud growl interrupts you, aggressively sounding in the quiet of the room.

His grin softens a bit, a touch more kindness apparent on his face. He’s concerned.

“I didn’t mean to take your lunch hour away,” he apologizes, “I had actually wanted to catch you earlier today, but you were on patrol. I figured it wouldn’t be very cool of me to approach you and get swarmed by fans. Not productive for conversation, that.”

You shrug. “I haven’t taken it personally.” In fact, you hadn’t taken it at all. He could have never spoken to you ever, and it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. You were here to do your job, and anything else was an unguaranteed bonus.

“Anyways,” he pulls out a paper bucket of what looks like KFC, and pops the lid off, “eat up. Don’t need my favourite employee dropping out of the sky from exhaustion.”

He digs into his own food, and you take yours out.

“If exhaustion could do me in, I would have fallen out of the sky a long time ago,” you mumble, immediately afterwards spooning food into your face.

Hawks bites off a small piece of chicken. “Whadya mean?” And you curse yourself for forgetting he’s sensitive to sound.

You chew your food pensively, making sure to swallow before you speak (unlike him…). “It’s like. Okay. Wing quirks are pretty rare where I’m from, yeah? In my old job, I was the only airborne hero for five hundred kilometers. I got called all over the place, back and forth, never in one place for very long, almost never at home in my own bed. I was sort of...uh…”

“Spread thing?” he supplies.

You nod. “Spread thin. It wasn’t healthy for me. Anywhere that makes you grow to hate your own quirk can’t possibly be good for you.”

“Now hold up, chickadee,” he interrupts, leaning forward in his seat to rest his elbows on the desk. His eyes are wide and surprised, like he’s unable to fathom your words. “How could you possibly hate your own quirk?”

You think for a moment. “Hate is maybe a strong word,” you admit, “but there’s definitely some contempt there. Flying used to be my favourite passtime, y’know? The views, the wind, the sun, the silence. And then one day I woke up and thought ‘god, I hope they don’t make me fly today’.”

Hawks picks a little at his lunch, but is far to engrossed in your tale to pay much attention to it.

“Yikes,” he says.

“Yeah.”

You’re both quiet for a moment before you start speaking again.

“Two weeks after that happened, I moved here. Figured a change might be nice, good for my head, or whatever.”

“And how’s that working out?”

“I still hate flying.”

The conversation ebbs and flows after that, with Hawks not supplying much personal insight on the matter, despite you just spilling your guts to him. You don’t mind, though, and he doesn’t strike you as the kind of person to open up very easily. You probably would have been more disgruntled if he’d offered you some kind of similar story.

The two of you talk a little about work, what your old agency was like, where you went to school, and the questions centered around your life, and none prying into his. You make note of that, and file it away for later.

By the end of the hour, you’re sufficiently full of chicken curry, and your boss looks like he’s fairing the same (you’re not sure how he managed to pack away an entire bucket for fried chicken by himself).

“Thanks for lunch, Boss,” you tell him with a smile, an unspoken ‘it was kind of weird’ in your tone. If he picks up on it, he doesn’t say anything.

He does, however, stop you at the door, tugging you back into the room by your collar with a single red feather.

“Say, chickadee,” his voice is coy, “how’s about we make the afternoon more fun?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Come patrolling with me,” he clarifies.

“Why?”

“Flying’s more fun when you’re not alone!” he says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You doubt him, thinking back to all the times you’d ever flown with someone else (re: none). You relent, deciding to entertain his plan.

“Fine. But don’t fall behind, okay? I take my patrols seriously.”

The strange smile returns to his face.

----

After packing up your dishes and throwing away your trash, you follow Hawks to the stairwell. He said it was best to take off from the roof, if you didn’t want to get bombarded by fans.

“Ah, but I’m sure your fans would love to see you!” you tease, marching carefully up the steps. “It wouldn’t take too long, surely?”

He glances over his shoulder at you, pausing so suddenly that you almost get a faceful of his feathers.

“Well sure, if they were just my fans. Most people have seen me before, though, flying around, fighting crime. But you? You’re new. Your fans in Japan haven’t gotten to meet you yet.”

You tilt your head. “I...don’t have fans, boss.”

“You’re kidding, right?” He swivels around on the step, wings brushing quietly against the cramped cement walls. His expression is one of exasperation, and a hint of disbelief. Once he sees your genuine confusion, however, he sighs. “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shake your head. “I’ve only been here like two weeks. How could I have any significant following?”

He looks at you with a fondness reserved for naive children, or puppies. It’s a little patronizing, in your opinion.

“International heroes are pretty big here, you know?” he explains, “and you, little chickadee, were voted number four on the overseas popularity poll this year. Your fanbase here is rivaled only by a handful of heroes, most of which are in Japan’s top ten.”

You’re shocked, to say the least, and Hawks takes your silence as cue to continue walking.

You dodge his wings again, and resume following him.

“How could I be popular and not know it?” you ask. “Surely someone would have approached me by now-”

“Chickadee, when was the last time you were on the ground-”

“This morning-”

“-in the daytime?”

“Oh.”

You think back a little. You’ve patrolled in the skies since you started working at the agency, and your shifts started before sunrise. Plus, you usually flew home, well after sunset. It was just easier than trying to fit into a car and deal with traffic.

“I guess...not since the day I arrived.”

“Exactly! No one knew you were here, then. But now?” He pushes hard against the heavy metal door to the roof, taking a deep breath when it opens and a breeze blows through. “Now, all of Japan knows we work together!”

You saunter out into the sunlight, basking for a few seconds in the warmth. But the thought of your fans quickly overtakes your mind again, and the relaxation is lost.

“Are you sure it’s not fame by affiliation,” you wonder, “because seriously, I didn’t have fans back home. I’ve never been stopped for an autograph, or asked for a photo. I’m cool with that. I just don’t want people to like me because I’m near you sometimes.”

Hawks steps up on the lip of the roof, wings spread wide and overlooking the city.

He stays like that for a few seconds, and you note the deep tiredness in his posture, behind his eyes. You’ve seen it in your mirror too many times.

He’s just as exhausted as you are.

“Thus is the way of the world,” he mumbles, and you’re not sure you’re meant to hear it.

But then he perks up, as quickly as a light switch. He turns on his heel to face you, mischief and playfulness glinting in his smile. “I’ll race you to the bank tower? If I win, you gotta go on patrol with me tomorrow, too.”

You shrug, and take off into the sky. It’s not much of a fight, though. He has agility and familiarity on his side, and he’s waiting for you by the time you finally arrive at your destination.

You don’t mind.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #reader insert #winged reader au

114 notes · View notes

poptod · 4 years ago

Text

October 1st (Elliot Alderson x Reader)

Description: He waits until the last moment and it’s too late.

Notes: i wrote a love letter to my friend but im never gonna send it so im profiting off my misery. gender neutral as usual

Word Count: 1.9k

Sad, sick people have a tendency of gravitating towards each other, whether or not they're aware of the illness of the other person. You know this quite well – in your rather sick childhood, where your mind was plagued with thoughts of self hatred, most of the friends you made were just about as sad as you. Looking back, it is a rather horrifying thought considering you were only twelve and so ready to die. Your mother said you were exaggerating, and that makes sense. Things were dramatized back then. But there's a flicker of truth in there, a small part within the soul that truly believed they should be dead. There's no sicker thought than that.

This trait, that part of yourself, carried through into adulthood. Unfortunate, really – that means it isn't just teenage drama, it isn't just your peers or your family. It's you. You look at yourself in the mirror and realize with tired, drooping eyes that it was always you. There's a quote – something along the lines of, "some people grow sad very young, and I know this, for I am one."

Elliot is sort of like that, too. Well, the two of you get on fine – in both life and within your friendship – and you don't really need to talk about it. You're both well aware of the others' problems, but it doesn't need to be mentioned. All you do is sit in cafe's together so neither of you are approached by creepy people and smoke together at his apartment. It doesn't need to be more than that.

Despite that barrier in your head, he's still your best friend. Maybe because he's one of your only friends, the other being an internet friend who you visit every now and then. Oh well. You lead a pretty sedentary lifestyle – you don't need a lot of friends. Just one to hang around.

Still, he does get around sometimes. He gets up out of nowhere, you ask where he's off to, and he says out. Most of the time he doesn't let you come, but this time he has and he's just wandering around. Looking at people and rationalizing their presence, watching the birds on benches, staring at shopfronts. For a moment you think to ask why he'd take such excursions in such cold weather, but with a glance to his peaced out face you know he doesn't have an answer.

You suppose that's just fine – there's something about fall that has you enjoying time outdoors. The piles of golden and red leaves pushed up against the sides of the streets, the coffee signs in front of every cafe, each with their own drawings of steaming coffee, and of course the scents in the air. It's not a particularly nice part of the city, but it has a fair share of restaurants and most smell of apple cider and cinnamon. The taste of pumpkin is also there; probably because you're sitting next to a Starbucks.

People pass by you donned in fuzzy jackets and long scarves. You look a bit like them; you're not a fan of the cold, so you have mittens, a hat, boots, and a scarf. Elliot on the other hand is much the same, as usual, and you don't expect him to ever stray from that routine. You like his routine. It's familiar.

"I'm leaving soon," you finally blurt out, a topic barely in your conscious mind but ravaging your subconscious. It's both good and bad news, considering the trip is for getting a doctorate, but it's clear he doesn't feel the same way. His eyes widen and he looks to you almost incredulously.

"Where?" He asks.

"Berlin. They've got this program for foreign students. I'll finally be able to get my doctorate in linguistics," you say, nodding to yourself. "I, um... I don't know if I'll be back."

"Why not?" He asks in a softer, rougher voice.

"It's an expensive move, you know? And there aren't that many jobs for linguists here.. at least, there's more in Europe," you half mumble, staring at your fidgeting fingers.

He gets up and leaves. Without another word except an astounded stare out into space, he stands and leaves you on the bench. You almost go after him, but he's got that look about him, and you know he's a little lost in thought. It'll be fine – you won't leave for a little while (not until October, actually), which gives you some real time with Elliot, if that's what he wants. As hard as it is for people to read him, you have a knack for it. That's probably why he spends any time at all with you.

You're going to miss him quite a lot. Lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling in your sleep clothes, the clock well past midnight, you wonder if he'll miss you too. He hasn't talked to you since you told him, which you did a good week or so ago now. Guilt settles deep in your chest – he's a man of routine and you're seriously breaking it. Fortunately, it's not really your problem. You have your own life and it doesn't revolve around what makes him comfortable.

You still feel bad about it, though.

About two weeks before you're set to leave he finally texts you, telling you to come visit him, and though he doesn't say it you know he means one last time. You get it right before you're about to get in the bath, and instantly you reach for the drain, unplugging it to let it drain while you redress yourself. Something nice – not your sweatpants, no matter how warm they are in the late September chill.

Outside rain falls in great sheets, battering down on the already dead leaves and the many, many busy people. Most everyone you pass by is dressed in black – black coats, black pants, black umbrellas. It's like they're mourning a death, though the only death you can think of is that of summer. You don't have an umbrella in your bag, but there's enough people on the streets with umbrellas and enough overhangs that you manage to stay mostly-dry, till the crowd thins out around Elliot's apartment and you get drenched. Droplets of water run down your fully-soaked hair, falling cold on your eyelashes and turning your nose a blushing pink.

Excitement pounds through your heart at the prospect of seeing your friend again. People at your workplace are nice, but no one is quite as intricate or interesting like he is. Every person is special, as are you, but you find yourself looking for the same traits in all your friends. A sort of quiet person with far too much beneath the surface. That's the only way you know how to describe what exactly Elliot is – well, he's kind. Soft-spoken, usually. Lost in his thoughts. Distant. Compassionate, and surprisingly, warm. You don't hug him much but he's warm, and for some reason you never expect it.

He lights the joint, taking a few puffs to ensure it's working before handing it to you, leaning over the small couch so you can reach. Smoke clouds itself in your lungs, forming pockets of dry, happy thoughts in your head. It all comes out with your exhale, like the freeze of hot breath in winter and the fog of dry ice.

"I love you," you say. Blurting is becoming a bad habit for you, but that's okay. You won't see him for a long time, and you need to get it out, no matter how surprised Elliot looks. He always looks a little surprised. "You know that, right?"

He laughs – he actually laughs. A smile spreads across his usually dull cheeks, and a blush crosses him, pink around his grin and pronounced in his ears and the tip of his rounded nose. You can't help it so you smile with him, absorbing the entirety of his fluster. He's always so closed off. Maybe you help him out of that hole, but it's mostly wishful thinking that drives your thought process towards that.

A cloud of smoke releases itself from Elliot's mouth. He doesn't say anything in relation to your announcement, but you don't particularly expect him to. He's a little odd when it comes to affection. You don't mind it in the least, too caught up in memorizing his little movements and his breathy sighs to bother with the tough things.

So that's it. You spend one more afternoon-into-evening with him, and you don't see him again, not at the airport, not over text or Skype. There was a chance of that – you knew that, but it still disappoints and saddens you to watch the ground disappear, the last memory of your Elliot from several days ago. It feels as though it's already fading despite the fact that you remember every detail of your time with him. How could you forget?

Fidgeting with your bag on the plane, you close your eyes and wonder what things will be like when you get back, if you ever do. Your bag is a little like his jacket – a comfort, with fringes that are easy to fidget with, as much as it might annoy the person sitting next to you. Anxiously you dig your hand into your bag, looking for your anxiety meds, only for your fingers to brush against paper.

You don't have paper in your bag.

Pinching it between your fingers, you pull the paper out, revealing an envelope with your name on it. With shaking hands you tear open the glue, unfolding a note scrawled onto leaf paper. There aren't any lines for guiding, but the words are perfectly spaced.

(Y/N),

I'm not sure if I'll ever send this to you. Maybe not – everything is so unsure right now. My constants in this hectic state of the world are few and most are not good. My job, my scars, my anxiety, they never go away but neither do you. It may seem inconsequential to you – you're likable and you have other friends, but I don't. Not really. I have you, though, and it often feels like that's enough.

I always wanted a forever person; someone there throughout all life for better or worse. A bit like tonight – it ended with a bar fight, but somehow I enjoyed it. I looked to you and you were grinning and bashing a guy's head in, and somehow that made me smile. It's always better with you. I don't talk about that enough.

You're the good in the world. I find it hard to believe, much less articulate, how good you are. How kind. Understanding. Creative, open, pure in the best way. You make me want to become a better person, and isn't that what humans strive for? A connection with someone who makes you believe the world is capable of good, someone that makes you believe you'll be alright – so long as you stick by their side.

I don't write these kinds of things. You know that – I don't like bringing my deeper emotions to light. But you're safe and I trust you; I just hope you understand how special you are to me. You deserve so much good and I wish I could give that to you. I can't give you what I want to give you, but I will always be your friend, no matter what.

Elliot

He wrote this a while ago. That bar fight was a year or so ago – is that how long he's been keeping this letter back? Is this why he asked you to come over? ... Is this his attempt to get you to stay?

The plane's already over the ocean. You can't even see the shore anymore.

You realize just a little too late that he's the good in the world.

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr. robot #rami malek #rami malek character #mr robot #elliot alderson x male reader #elliot alderson x female reader

90 notes · View notes

mrs-nate-humphrey · 4 years ago

Note

how would rank nate's girlfriends (in terms of their relationships with nate and them as people)? lmao

hmm. this is hard. what’s easy is saying i loved natessa best, and hated naterine most. more under the cut!

i think i’ve mentioned enough times that most people know i think nate & vanessa were the best - they both supported each other equally, their relationship was very 50/50, they both respected & valued each other, etc. their relationship was so real and so balanced, i really loved watching that play out and think it made no sense, the way they caused the dissolution of it? especially since after breaking up with vanessa he suddenly seems really into commitment - see how he is with bree buckley!! where was that energy when you were dating someone who was actually cool, natie!

i don’t know where to put serenate, because i love serena as a character, and i think nate was very committed to that relationship from day 1, but i don’t think serena ever took him as seriously as he deserved to be taken / as HE took her, & i don’t see that particular relationship to be fulfilling in a long-term way for similar reasons that i don’t ship danessa romantically. their break up felt organic to me. that said, serena WAS his best friend and she did care about him and want him to be happy, which is more than you can say for most of nate’s girlfriends.

blair & nate may not have had any sort of romantic spark when we saw them on the show (& honestly, i think nate was initially not a very good bf to blair)- but blair did her best to be there for him, and the implication of childhood friends is that she was there, paying attention for him & being there for him for a really long time. i think blair/nate had a really strong platonic connection that the show never went into, and i think by virtue of that they still rank relatively high from a nate pov at least.

jenny/nate is also complicated to place, partially because i’m always going to be partial to lesbian!jenny & probably won’t write her as anything else. that said, of late, i’ve been seeing people who love her as much as me, if not more, who see her as someone who likes men, and the last thing i want to do is start a fandom war over ‘is this female character with unspecified sexuality lesbian or bi?’ because those NEVER end well. anyway i’ve become more tolerant to interpretations of jenny that aren’t her being lesbian, and i HAVE read a decent chunk of really good n/j fic. i think they had a closeness on the show that neither of them had with anyone else, where they could talk about their trauma with each other, which makes them special to me. that said, i don’t think their canon dynamic was necessarily the healthiest - jenny often used nate as a means to like, obtain social power, and nate became more passive than ever and just let jenny do whatever she wanted? it’s interesting to me because i feel, theoretically, like nate & jenny could be really healthy together but the show didn’t do that.

i have a really weird soft spot for jenate shippers though, ever since i got those hateful jennycourse anons. i just hope y’all are having a good time in fandom, and not being dragged down by losers who send anon hate. (unconnected fun fact: sending me ship hate only makes me ship something more! and feel the urge to validate people who ship it.)

now we have a ton of guest stars & relatively unmemorable girlfriends.

i liked lola and raina!!! raina & nate > lola & nate, for me, tbh. raina & nate had such a childlike enthusiasm and during that day that they do things they’ve never done before, they were both SO happy and it was so cute. eating ice-cream together, talking about starting an ice-cream company, raina kicking nate’s ass at just dance... i wish we’d gotten more raina. i think i actually like raina x nate more than serenate, come to think of it. we didn’t have enough of her, though. raina would’ve been such a GOOD series regular.

i liked lola & nate!!! lola reminds me of kelsi from hsm for some reason i cannot articulate, and her relationship with nate was VERY chill. low-pressure, drama free, etc, from what i remember. twas cute.

now we are into the less nice ones!

bree :( nate was so into this relationship and there were times when he seemed like he would genuinely be happy with her, but i disliked bree as a character so much that i just could NOT get behind his happiness. it baffles me how men settle for bree buckley after vanessa abrams.

juliet, next. i never liked juliet from the beginning, and i say this as a flex ;) idk she was just really pushy, and her whole “I Can Help You Improve Your Life Even Though You Have No Idea Who I Am” thing felt like a major red flag. i felt vindictive glee about my judgement being right on that one, lmao.

sage goes here, because we only have catherine & diana next. but to be really honest, i think the problem with the sage/nate relationship was nate. he should not have been dating her once he realised she was in high school. teenagers have crushes on people in their 20s!! it’s normal!!! it’s the responsibility of the adults to Not engage and to turn them down if they try to initiate something!!

diana is the second worst to me - the fact that she’s working for nate’s grandfather, the hashtag workplace harassment of it all... it’s really devastating.

i’ve implied before on this blog that catherine (& naterine) was the worst thing - genuinely traumatic, and it’s implied that after a point, she’s manipulating him & all the sex is coerced, which is undeniably the most terrible. like... the implications are of caon rape, so it really does not get worse than this.

i have not counted jordan steele or ivy dickens (she was never really his gf, she just kissed him + i can’t take her really seriously, given that she was cheating on dan’s dad with serena’s dad and apparently this was completely unironic and non-satirical) because the wikia says that they never officially dated & unlike jenate, those 2 aren’t even Main Characters.

#anon #nate archibald #so it bears saying that this is ALLL my opinion #anyway people who follow me #if y'all disagree or don't like this order that's totally fine #to the best of my knowledge a lot of serenate shippers follow me #& i think y'all are very cool #update: removed the anti serenate tag #because i don't REALLY think this is anti serenate #they rank pretty high!#oh damn the #rape mention #tag got removed. so im putting it back

9 notes · View notes

angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

Text

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 6: LAID BARE

Word Count: 4970 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Rating: M Content Warnings: childhood poverty, discussion of theft/thievery, discussion of death, discussion of childhood illness Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: Revelations || Masterlist

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your eyes traced the flicker of headlights through the narrow half-window as you tried to gather your thoughts into some sort of sense. You wanted to tell him everything. But what did that even mean anymore?

“So what is it you want to talk about?” Diego asked finally, cutting through the waiting silence.

“Actually,” you looked down at your fingers where they rested on the tabletop, tracing anxious shapes against the laminate. “I know a lot more about you, by virtue of your very public childhood, than you know about me. Which I think, is part of the problem here. So the better question is, where do you want to start?”

“Alright,” he was silent for a moment, jaw twitching as if he was working the words over in his mouth before he said them. “Why do you get so defensive when I say you could do more with your powers, and your skills?”

“Because it’s judgmental, it relies on untrue assumptions, and I don’t like having other people’s will imposed on me,” you explained, face twisting wryly.

“Tell me the truth then.”

“What?”

“If my assumptions aren’t true, set the record straight.”

“You aren’t going to like what I have to say.”

“Now who’s the one making assumptions?”

You sighed. “It’s a long story, especially if I start at the beginning. So you might want to make yourself comfortable.”

He shifted in the hard plastic chair across from you, leaning back with his arms folded across his chest, waiting expectantly.

“Your ‘father’ tried to buy me too, when we were babies,” you couldn’t help throwing air quotes around the word and he smiled at the gesture. “But my parents were stable. They both had jobs; they already had one child and were thinking about trying for another anyway. So they said no. And then my dad died, in a workplace accident, because his boss cut corners to save time and money, and things got hard. And the bastard never got punished for it, or even had the decency to pay for the funeral.”

He looked like he was going to say something, some comment of pity or sympathy and you held up a hand to stop him, knowing that if he did, you would fall apart and never finish telling him what he needed to know, what you needed him to know.

“Your dad showed up again, offered her literal millions to let him have me. At least twice that I know of, but there could have been more. But she was as stubborn as they come. I was her daughter and he wasn’t getting me over her dead body. But a florist’s salary really isn’t enough to raise two kids on. Eventually, I realized that my abilities were things no one else could do, and figured out that I could use them to get things. So when money was skint, Daniel and I could still eat properly; rice and beans can only get a kid so far you know. Or we could have clothes that fit and didn’t have holes without bothering her.”

You shrugged, looking away from the growing ache on his face to stare at some spot on the wall. It had just been the facts of your reality.

“And then I found that bigger risks meant bigger rewards. I could give her money or things, nice things like she deserved. She would cry and get so mad at me, but she always took them and life seemed to get better.”

“Y/N….” he reached out across the table to take one of your hands, which you hadn’t noticed was getting more and more fidgety as you spoke.

“I grew up. I realized it wasn’t just us. I figured out how to take care of myself, got a job that let me keep a roof over my head and food in the cupboard. Daniel had his own shit figured out, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone else. But all those other people needed someone to look out for them. And if the people I happen to take things from are the kind that exploit their workers or cheat their taxes instead of paying their fair share, who…cut corners and skimp on safety, who’s it hurting?”

You finally turned your eyes back to him, a challenge sparking in them to tell you that you were wrong.

“So it’s what? Karma with you as it’s righteous deliverer?” He asked.

You pursed your lips. He still wasn’t getting it.

“Even with what I take, those people have more than they need. And now, kids get proper care; families don’t have to decide between going hungry and getting the lights turned off.” You shook your head. “I don’t know how to put it any simpler than that.”

He frowned. “I don’t...get it. I’m sorry, I’m trying to understand but…”

“Okay, how about an example then. When I stole from that museum, you know the one…”

He smirked at the memory.

“There was this kid. Rare terminal something, something. I don’t remember the details of it. Just that I was able to anonymously pay for the experimental treatment that he needed and he got to live to see twelve. His foster parents and the social worker didn’t have to worry about going bankrupt or applying to the state and praying they’d get funds. And all it cost was one less shiny rock, that some exploited worker probably died to fish out of the ground, wasting space on display.”

“You know,” he said off-handedly as if it wasn’t an obvious attempt to deflect, “the kinds of people that can afford to buy those things aren’t any better than the people you’re stealing from. In fact, they’re probably worse if they’re willing to buy from a fence.”

You rolled your eyes. “So? I’ll just rob them blind to fund a school or whatever later.”

“There’s got to be a better way,” he sighed. “One that isn’t criminal.”

“You find it for me then, Diego,” you snapped. “I’m doing the best I can to help as many people as possible with what I’ve got. And sure maybe there’s a little bit of a revenge angle but who cares? Every one of those assholes deserves it.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, certain that you were losing him, that even after you had ripped your chest open and exposed your bleeding heart for the taking, he was going to ask for you to choose between him and your morals, your passions, things that made up the very fiber of your being.

He stood up, circling the table to kneel in front of you again. His hands came up to cup your face and he brushed away the moisture that leaked down your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“Okay,” he said softly, eyes boring into yours.

“Okay? What does that mean, ‘okay’?”

“I still don’t like it,” he started and you growled in frustration before he stared you down. “But...I understand. And I’ll try to stop fighting you on it, judging you for it.”

“Do you actually?” you asked.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he pulled back, not moving away completely, but enough that his hands were no longer on you and you felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

“I don’t know. It’s just this feeling I have. Like I can say whatever I want and tell you my life story in every explicit detail, but…I’m scared that you’re just saying those things to placate me. And that doubt is going to eat me alive.”

“What do you want me to do then, Y/N?”

“Work with me?” you suggested.

“I’m trying,” he countered, frustration leaching into his tone now.

“No. I mean….Work one job with me, start to finish. Let me show you.”

“You want me to help you steal something?”

“Steal it. Sell it. Put it to good use. Together, as a team, the whole way through.”

“I…” he swallowed before nodding. “Alright.”

Plowing onward, not even registering his answer, you rambled, explaining that you weren’t expecting him to give up being a vigilante or go rogue and that if at any point he wanted out you’d let him, that you would even let him turn you over to the cops, as long as it wasn’t Eudora, if that was what he wanted, you just couldn’t take the doubt anymore. And then your mind caught up to reality and came to a screeching halt.

“Wait, really?” you asked incredulously.

You had been expecting him not only to say no, but to get angry at the suggestion, bracing yourself for the inevitable complete rejection of it, maybe even of you, and trying to counter it preemptively.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “If you come with me for a night in return. Try things my way too. I…I want there to be an us, and if this is what it takes for there to even be a chance of that, I’m willing to do it.”

You stared, stunned.

“Sounds like a fair trade,” you murmured eventually. “I had no idea you felt so strongly about…this…” you gestured between the two of you, indicating what you meant.

“Of course I do, I l—“ he cut himself off, looking away with a clenched jaw, nervous tension practically vibrating his whole body.

“One other thing?” you said, biting your lip.

“What?”

“We’re both terrible at communication, and trust,” you observed. “I don’t want it to be like that anymore.”

He caressed your cheek once more, smiling softly. “I’ll try to be better if you will.”

You leaned in. “Deal.”

He closed the last gap of centimeters between you, pressing his lips to yours. You slowly sat back up, guiding him into a position hovering over you in the chair as his mouth chased where yours led, refusing to be parted from you. His tongue trailed hesitantly over your bottom lip, and you parted eagerly for him, losing yourself for a blissful moment in the kiss.

“What time is it?” you mumbled reluctantly between kisses.

“Why does it matter?” he countered, trying to shift you into a position more comfortable for you both.

“I have work. And you have streets to patrol. Although I know that’s far less exciting without your ravishing nemesis about,” you teased, breaking the kiss completely now.

“Mm...ravishing…” he muttered, eyes closed and face dazed. “I’d like that.”

You laughed. “You weren’t listening at all were you?”

He shook himself, blushing slightly as he opened his eyes to look at you.

“I appreciate your careful nursing, and this talk was...good, necessary, important. I don’t know. But I really do have to go.”

He sighed, sulking. “I know. Fine. I...I’ll see you later?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” you smirked. “Maybe we can revisit the whole, ravishing idea.”

Several days later, Diego came over to your apartment. You had suggested it under the guise of, at least partially true, a need to start planning for your heist together. But really, you just wanted to see him again, to spend some time with him now that there was, properly, something between you.

Your stomach twisted nervously in anticipation, realizing that this was another big step, one quickly after the other, letting him into your home. It had always been your safe place to hide, your sanctum, and you were disrupting that with a new presence.

But, you reminded yourself, he wasn’t the first (though the total number was incredibly small), and he had already let you into his, even so far as to let you stay there. And you trusted him. More than anyone, save maybe your brother. So it wouldn’t be so bad.

You were just putting the finishing touches on the pot of cheesy mashed potatoes you had made when the intercom buzzed, indicating someone was at the building’s outer door and wanted to be let in. You hastily crossed the room to press the unlock button and the talk button at the same time.

“It’s open,” you called through the speaker.

There was no response but you heard the odd echo of the door opening and shutting and clicked off the box. A few moments later, someone knocked on your door. Despite knowing there was only one person it could be, you stood on your toes to look through the little peephole before sliding the chain aside and letting Diego in.

“Do you always just unlock your door for strangers?” he asked.

“Hmmm, no. Only the tall, dark and handsome ones.”

You threaded your arms around his neck to greet him with a quick kiss, shaking your head and laughing when he responded with a hand on your backside.

“Something smells amazing,” he said as you pulled away and returned to the stove to finish the rest of dinner.

“Well, I figured since you were coming over, and our little...project was probably going to take a while, I should make food.” You shrugged, placing two steaming plates on your coffee table and gesturing for him to come sit beside you on the couch. “It’s not Michelin star or anything…”

He shoveled up a bite of the garlic-roasted vegetables and groaned in satisfaction.

“It’s perfect,” he countered around the mouthful.

“You eat raw eggs, so I think the bar’s pretty low,” you countered jokingly, "but thank you.”

After you had eaten and cleaned up from dinner, you decided it was time to get down to business. You led him over to one corner of the broad, open space that served as your ‘office’ of sorts, drawing the thick curtains shut as you passed, just in case any of the neighbors were out smoking on the fire escape tonight.

“So, you said, planting your hands on the work table dramatically and looking across to him. “Any initial thoughts?”

His eyes grew wide, like a panicked deer. He opened his mouth and then closed it again several times, but no words came out.

“Relax,” you said, smiling reassuringly, eyes sparkling. “It’s not like I expected you to do any homework. It was just a question. I have a few ideas, but we’re supposed to be partners, so I didn’t want to launch into them without giving you a shot first.”

‘Partners.’ He thought he liked the sound of that, but he still found himself wishing it was doing what he was used to, instead of this. It felt wrong, like he was going against everything he’d been taught. But then, he supposed he had been taught by a man so rigid and set in his ways that he would never have even considered that there might be other options. And the last thing he wanted to do was be like Reginald Hargreeves. Besides, it was a one for one deal, and there was still a chance to change your mind.

He smiled at you. “You lead, I’ll follow. For this one.”

“I like the sound of that,” you muttered, smiling back, before settling back into a more serious mode.

“Some oil tycoon’s private collection is being temporarily hosted and displayed at the art museum. It’s a pretty soft target at night, easy to get in and out. Shockingly minimal security in general, and paintings are easy to move,” you offered.

Diego nodded vaguely, wanting to hear everything you set out before agreeing to anything.

“Or, there’s another place I’ve been staking out for a while. A warehouse. Owned by D.S. Umbrella Manufacturing Co. Nothing to do with actual umbrellas, or manufacturing from what I can tell.”

Diego flinched, but you didn’t notice, having turned around to pull out a file of information you had been gathering.

“It’s all shipping and receiving. Mostly receiving. Some stuff I think is probably stolen antiques; I think I saw a couple guys opening crates of straight cash at one point, and there’s definitely stuff labeled with shit like ‘caution: explosive’ which usually means weapons or some kind of chemicals and either way is bad news. Those don’t stay in the warehouse long, and I don’t tend to mess with that shit anyway…” you trailed off, noticing Diego’s strange expression. “What? Why are you staring?”

“That…that’s my father’s company.”

“Wait what? Really?” you couldn’t help the shock on your face.

You knew that Hargreeves was a very rich man but somehow it had never occurred to you that he might actually own anything, other than the massive Academy. And you supposed in theory the seven babies he had bought. You bit the inside of your cheek to distract yourself, cutting off that train of thought before it went to dark places.

“Do you know what specifically he’s got there?” you asked hopefully.

“No. I...sorry I don’t.”

“Nah, that’s alright. And you’re sure it’s his? Not just a similar name or coincidence?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s definitely Dad’s company.”

“All the better then,” you smiled wolfishly, all teeth. “Vengeance and helping people. If you want? I mean, I’m not going to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with. We could always hit the museum. Or start listing some other options...”

He hesitated a moment. Then he nodded resolutely. “Let’s do it.”

You grinned. Maybe this would turn out even better than you’d hoped.

The two of you spent the next several hours working out the details of your plan, pouring over warehouse blueprints (that he didn’t ask where you’d gotten them from) and road maps, talking entry and exit strategies, rendezvous points, likely potential pitfalls, including the possibility that Hargreeves would send in his brother, Number One to try and stop you if he got wind of the break-in. Diego assured you that he was prepared to fight Luther if it came to it, and you frowned, heart clenching at his cold acquiescence to the idea.

Exhausted, heads drooping and necks and shoulders aching, you finally decided to call it quits for the night. There was still more to go over, but you had time, and tonight you weren’t going to get anywhere useful with the fog that was settling into your minds.

“I guess I should go,” he murmured as you both turned toward the door.

“Do you want to?” your face felt hot with a blush and you looked away from him as you asked.

“What else would I do?” he stepped in front of you, turning your head to look at him again.

You knew that he knew what you were offering, but he wanted to hear you say it anyway, to make sure the invitation was explicitly there. God, just when you thought he couldn’t get more perfect, he went and did a thing like that.

You bit your lip, the words feeling heavy in your throat, every nerve suddenly hyper-aware.

“You could stay?” you offered, tilting your head slightly to one side.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“I mean, I spent a week freeloading off you at your place. The least I can do is offer tonight, especially with how late it’s gotten. It’s dangerous out in the city alone at night you know.” You chuckled, trying to break the tension that crackled between you.

“Y/N…”

“It’s a really nice couch to sleep on,” you continued nervously. “I’ve fallen asleep on it before, pretty often actually when I come home and I’m just too tired. Or if I’m watching a movie or something.”

“Is that what you want?” his voice was soft and he was so close that his breath ghosted over your face.

“Is what?”

“For me to stay, and sleep on your couch?” He made sure you were making complete eye-contact with him, voice serious. “Be honest, and don’t just say something out of feeling like you’re obligated.”

“It’s not an obligation, Diego,” you assured him, hand cupping his face in counterpoint to the one he still had resting on your face. “I want you to stay.”

“On the couch?”

You shook your head. “Not unless you want to sleep on the couch.”

He opened his mouth to ask again if you were sure, to try and get you to say instead of dance around the invitation you were making. You rolled your eyes, kissing him fiercely.

“Christ Diego,” you groaned against his lips. “I am trying to say I want you, as much of you as you’re willing to let me have.”

That seemed to finally be good enough for him, as he kissed you back with just as much ferocity as you had used. Your lips parted eagerly before he'd even had the chance to act, and your tongues danced together. The hand you had on his cheek slid back to grasp his short-cropped hair, raking your nails across his scalp in a way that made him shiver. Your other gripped tightly to his shoulder to hold yourself steady. He continued to cup your face, his thumb running slowly back and forth over your cheekbone in tender circles, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you close to him.

Carefully, without breaking contact between you, you led him in a sort of dance, crossing the apartment, circling the edge of the dividing screens that formed your bed“room”, stepping over laundry piles, and finally tumbling backward onto the already rumpled sheets.

Pulling back to give you both a moment to breathe, Diego shifted, taking off his boots and socks. He bit his lip, staring down at you, your hair splayed around you like a halo, lips reddened from his kisses, skin practically glowing in the dim light (or was that just you?).

“What?” you asked teasingly. “Have I got something on my face?”

“You’re just…” he found himself at a loss for words, every one he could come up with seeming insufficient.

“Beautiful,” he finally breathed, brushing a finger reverently across your cheek once more, continuing on to trace up your temple before threading back, into your hair.

“Diego,” you sighed, reaching again to draw him close, needy and wanting.

He leaned down, tugging lightly on your hair, to expose your neck, placing teasing kisses along the column of your throat. You pressed your lips together to stifle a moan as his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin of your pulse point. You felt him smirk against your skin and had only a few seconds before he redoubled his efforts, biting down harder on the same spot and causing you to cry out. He glided his tongue over the mark he made and his free hand trailed over your stomach, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, shockingly cold against your heated skin. You gasped at the contact, melting into his touch and moving like a marionette for him as he released your hair and lifted your arms above your head to pull the offending garment off, tossing it aside. You thought you heard the clatter of something being knocked over by it, but you couldn’t be bothered to care as his lips reconnected with your own.

The next kiss was languid and tender, his arms pulling you close, yours curling around his shoulders, fingers dancing mindless patterns over his bicep. You tugged unceremoniously at his own shirt which he was quick to shuck off. A shiver ran through you at the feel of his skin on yours.

His lips continued their journey downward and you arched into him as they found the swell of your breast. You couldn’t help the whine that slipped out of you, hand dropping from where you clung to him to clutch the sheets beside you as he sucked an obvious mark there, just above the line of your bra.

Your chest heaved as you struggled to regain your breath or senses when he suddenly withdrew. Your face flushed hotly as you caught his eye and he flashed you a wink, swiftly kicking off his pants. He crawled back up the mattress to you and you pulled him into another kiss, your tongues tangling together almost immediately, as if you were made for it.

As his hand slipped down to your waistband, deftly undoing the button there, you couldn’t help trembling under his touch, gasping when he slipped inside to run teasing fingers over the soft cotton of your panties.

Suddenly, the reality of what was happening crashed over you like an icy wave and you felt like you were suffocating. It was too much. Everything was too much.

Planting your hands firmly, you pushed his shoulders to put some space between you.

“Diego, wait,” you said softly.

Immediately he froze. Seconds ticked by, somehow agonizingly slowly and impossibly fast all at once, before he moved again, drawing his hand away and shifting his weight off of you completely. He locked eyes with yours, fear and misery staining his face as you both sat up. You reached for him, and he flinched away. You let your hand drop.

“I-I’mmmm,” his breath hitched painfully and he closed his eyes. “I’mm s-sorry.”

“Diego,” you sighed. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Why would you think…”

Your brow creased in confusion and distress that he was so upset.

“I...w-ww-went too far o-or hurt you or…”

You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that slipped out.

“No you didn’t. You have been nothing but good to me, and you’ve done nothing that I didn’t absolutely want you to do. I’m just...not sure I’m ready to take things any further. Not tonight at least. Let’s just take it slow, okay?”

He nodded, finally opening his eyes, looking down at you again and letting you brush a light caress against his face. There was still some hesitation, like he didn’t quite believe that you weren’t hurt or upset, so you curled your fingers against the corner of his jaw, pulling him to meet you. Your lips moved slowly against his, watching carefully for any sign that he wanted to withdraw.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, if anything,” you said reluctantly.

“What?” his eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What for?”

“Leading you on?” you said, stating what you thought was obvious.

He pressed his forehead to yours tenderly. “Sure, if you had done that.”

“I did. I mean what else would you call inviting you to stay the night like this and then...not following through…” you bit your lip, trying to look away from his earnest gaze.

“Y/N,” he said seriously. “Setting a boundary, or changing your mind, is not the same thing as leading me on.”

“But--”

He sighed heavily, the sound cutting you short.

“I’d be lying if I said there’s not a little disappointment. But you’re more important to me than sex. And I don’t want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, that you don’t want just as much.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, relief and love mingling with embarrassment and guilt, no matter what he said.

“I’d have even been fine if you really had, or do, ask me to sleep on the couch, Y/N.” He brushed away a stray tear that rolled down toward your chin. “As long as I still have you, in my life.”

“You only have to move to the couch if you want to,” you said, trying to fight down the small smile that threatened to break out on your face. “I’d like it if you stayed. We could maybe keep kissing? Or just, sleep together? Actual sleep…”

He chuckled. “Sleep sounds pretty nice. It is late. And I can’t remember the last time I got a full night.”

“Well in that case, make yourself comfortable,” you laughed, awkwardly extracting an arm to gesture at the rest of the bed.

Diego returned the laugh and flopped over to the side, stretching out on his back as he settled in for sleep. Briefly he marveled at the softness of the way the mattress sank around him. It was like sleeping on a cloud compared to his lumpy old thing.

His eyes followed you as you moved around the space, shimmying out of your jeans and trading your bra for an overstretched and faded t-shirt, stamped with some university logo. He watched one hand reach behind you to quickly undo the clasp, the two sides practically springing away from each other when you did. You slid the garment off and for a brief moment you were naked, or nearly so - the soft smooth expanse of your skin even from behind making his pulse race with desire again - before you pulled the soft fabric down over your head, the hem trailing across the tops of your thighs, and hid yourself from view again.

You quickly flicked off the lights throughout the little studio apartment.

Any lingering thought, any regret that all he'd gotten was that brief peek, was immediately wiped from his mind as you padded back over to the bed and crawled into it with him. Curling up in almost a ball, you tucked yourself into the hollow of his side, head brushing against his arm as you nestled further down into the bedding, trying to get as comfortable as possible. You breathed in deeply, the scent of him - sharp and spicy and mingled with leather and the cleaning oil he used on his knives, so oft exposed that they had become a natural part of his smell - filling your lungs and spirit with comfort.

“Goodnight Diego,” you whispered, breath tickling his skin.

He brought his arm down, drawing you closer against him.

“Goodnight.”

You brushed your lips across his cheek in a fleeting kiss that he thought he might have imagined before settling back in your original position. He smiled, the feeling of your warmth lulling him into the best sleep he’d had in ages.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@mysterydisposition I think you said that you wanted to be tagged in new chapters?

#ok this is kind of a heavy chapter but it's all important developments #and setting up for a lot more things happening #backstory exposition #Light Fingers #Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #pre-canon #I was very stressed about this chapter but I'm posting it anyway #because I don't think it's going to change if I just keep sitting on it

41 notes · View notes