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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years ago

Text

City Boy

Syverson x Fem!Reader

vignette: Syverson learns to like New York City. But Y/N's got other plans.

words: 4,300+

masterlist

“This is absolutely ridiculous, Andy! We routed all of this creative to them months ago! And now they decide they want to completely redo it two and a half weeks before their album is released?”

Y/N was in a meeting at her New York office. Since their entire company had the option of being fully remote, she wasn’t required to be there. But she often went when she wanted to see some of her coworkers or just get out of her tiny apartment.

“I know, Y/N. I know,” her boss sighed. “I told them what this would cost them. And the label simply does not care.”

“God, this band is the fuckin’ worst,” Y/N grumbled.

She was lucky enough to work at a company and in an industry that was informal. Which meant brutal honesty and swearing were acceptable – and often encouraged.

“They think they’re the next One Direction. And we both know that is an absolute joke.”

Y/N disliked working for artists whose music she didn’t like. But them also being a difficult client on top of that was the worst combination.

“Money is not a question for this label. I’m sorry, Y/N. But we gotta do it.”

“Right. I know,” she answered bitterly.

“It’s Friday. Go home early. Take this weekend to relax. Because we both know the next couple of weeks are not going to be fun.”

It wasn’t her boss’s fault. But Y/N could still be mad about it.

The meeting was over and Y/N went back to the desk she was using for that day.

She checked her phone for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

There were some texts from group chats and a couple friends. But the name she wanted to see was nowhere to be found in her notifications.

What was Sy doing? She thought.

He’d sent her his usual good morning text. But other than that, he’d been silent.

As Y/N packed up her stuff to go home, she put her phone between her ear and shoulder, hoping Sy would pick up.

But it immediately went to voicemail, meaning his phone was off.

Sy disliked cellphones, and social media, and just generally hated their generation's belief that everyone needed to document every aspect of their lives while also being constantly in contact with one another.

But once he got into a long-distance relationship with a woman who was on the other side of the country, he knew he couldn’t be leaving his phone inside the house for half the day.

Now it was on him at all times. And he got better about texting. He didn’t have social media, but he did send Y/N photos throughout the day. He got more into FaceTiming Y/N when he had time, instead of calling her. Seeing her face made him happy, so that one wasn’t a hard habit to get into.

When he sent her photos throughout the day, they were almost never of himself. He’d send Y/N a photo of Dolly and tell her he thought the horse was sad because he missed her.

Or Sy would send a video of Aika and ask, “You miss your mama?” The German Shepherd would look around the house frantically as if Y/N was going to walk out at any second. And then when Y/N was nowhere to be found, Aika would whine and bark at Sy.

Sometimes he would send Y/N a photo of the dinner he made. Or the cup of black coffee he was drinking on the porch by himself, early in the morning, before he started his day.

In return, Y/N would send her pictures of her takeout. Or the fancy cocktail she was drinking at a bar.

She sent photos of herself, but mostly because Sy seemed to really like it. Nothing saucy. Sometimes just a picture of her outfit or her drinking her morning coffee with a funny expression that made her look like a zombie.

However, Y/N would tease him that he should return the favor. Y/N would even go as far as to enlist Layla to sneakily take videos and photos of Sy for her, if he happened to be hanging out with the couple. And Layla was up for anything that could possibly annoy the man. She didn’t even try not to get caught.

But now this was fourth or fifth call that Sy hadn’t picked up.

And Y/N was starting to get worried.

Sy was usually good about letting her know what was going on in his life. She’d like to think that if something bad had happened, he would at least send her a quick text or something.

As Y/N took the subway home, she zoned out, getting more and more distraught from her bad day. Her concern for Sy only made the bad day even worse.

Y/N climbed the four flights up to her apartment, and a delicious smell had leaked into the hallways. She started thinking about what kind of takeout she would treat herself too. Hopefully, she still had some wine left or she honestly might have a breakdown.

When Y/N unlocked her door and swung it open, she never expected to walk into her apartment to find her giant, burly man of a boyfriend in her sad excuse for a kitchen, cooking up a storm.

Sy turned around with a shy smirk.

Y/N was frozen in place.

The only thing moving was her quivering lips and her eyes that were filling with tears.

“Oh, hell,” Sy slightly growled and put down his cooking utensil to rush over to his girlfriend.

As soon as he had her in his arms, the flood gates open and Y/N was openly sobbing into Sy’s chest.

“I-I-I had such a bad d-day,” she cried. “A-And all I wanted to do was talk to you. A-A-And you weren’t picking up. And t-t-then I started t-t-thinking something happened t-to y-you.”

Sy rubbed her back and let her cry it out. “I’m sorry for worryin’ you, darlin’. I was flyin' here. Wanted to surprise ya.”

Y/N just nodded in understanding.

After a few moments, Sy muttered, “Was it good surprise at least?”

She pulled away and gave him a watery smile. “Yes. The best.”

“I thought I'd cook ya somethin’ since you mostly eat takeout when yer here,” he gestured to her kitchen behind him.

The smell she'd caught in the hallway wasn't coming from her neighbors, it had been Syverson.

Y/N just hugged him again, her thank you was muffled by his broad chest.

Sy rubbed her back and said, “Why don’t you change into somethin’ comfortable and you can tell me about yer shit day?”

–––

“How long were you planning this for?”

The two of them were sitting on Y/N’s small couch now, she had a glass of wine in her hand and Sy had a bottle of beer.

Sy rubbed his beard as he answered, “‘Bout a month or so.”

Y/N just smiled at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said gruffly, before taking a swig of beer.

She giggled, “Because you like to hide how sweet you are?”

Sy just shook his head and tried to pretend he wasn’t listening.

“How long you here for?” Y/N hated acknowledging his departure already, but she just needed to know how much time they had together.

He gave her a sympathetic look as he said, “Just the weekend.”

“Probably for the best,” Y/N sighed. “Next week is going to be insane. I wouldn’t be much fun to hang around anyway.”

“Now that simply ain’t true,” Sy corrected.

He reached over and carefully took the wine glass out of her hand and placed it on the coffee table, before he pulled her onto his lap like he always did.

“Thing I hate most ‘bout this long distance shit is not havin’ you ‘round,” he told her gently. “Even if yer just workin’ near me, that’s all I need. And if yer gon’ have a shit time next week, I would rather be here than have you doin’ it all on yer own.”

Y/N had no choice but to kiss him after he said stuff like that.

Once she pulled away, she asked him, “So, what do you want to do this weekend?”

It was a dangerous question. Sy wasn’t one to hide his distaste for the city life, especially New York. But once they started dating, he knew he had to start trying to be more open-minded when he visited her. He was so thankful that they were finally together, that she was willing to do this long distance. And the least he could do is try to understand why Y/N lived here and try to make the most of it.

So, Sy just answered with, “Whatever you want, darlin’.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Now, both of us know that us complete bullshit.”

He chuckled at her sass.

Suddenly, Y/N’s eyes brightened. “I have an idea!”

He pulled her closer to him on his lap. “Oh, yeah?”

She nodded, “There’s a metal bar in Brooklyn I think you might tolerate.”

“Tolerate?” He repeated with a brow raised.

She nodded innocently.

“Fine,” he answered. “But right now, I ain’t interested in sharing my girlfriend with the public.”

––––––––––––––

Sy was surprised by the bar Y/N dragged him to after a long-ass subway ride. He tried to imagine her coming here without him, and it amused him.

The demographic was mostly men. And it was definitely a genuine metal bar – not one that was just copying the aesthetic of metal for shallow people, like so many things in NYC did.

The music was loud, but not too loud that two people couldn’t sit closely and have a conversation. But it was loud enough to prevent other people from eavesdropping.

“Two shots of tequila – with lime please. And one of your margarita specials and a Heineken,” Y/N rattled of their order without consulting Sy.

The bartender seemed to appreciate her efficiency, and nodded.

“You’re trouble,” Sy muttered into his girlfriend’s ear.

She giggled. “No, I’m fun!”

When the bartender returned with their shots and drinks, Sy quickly handed him his card before Y/N could, earning him a pout from her.

“Keep her open,” he told the bartender politely.

Y/N handed Sy the shot and clinked his before throwing hers back.

He didn’t even so much as wince as it went down his throat, unlike Y/N.

“Fuck that was not smooth,” Y/N moaned.

Sy chuckled. “You did it to yourself.”

She stuck out her tongue and grabbed her margarita, leading them to a two-seater booth in a dark corner.

Sy followed, beer in hand.

“I like this spot because it’s right next to the jukebox,” Y/n told him as she slid across the damaged leather.

He looked over to see that the bar did in fact have a vintage jukebox, with only metal songs as an option to play.

Now that they were settled, Y/N started asking Sy a million questions: how the farm was, how his friends were doing, if Aiden was still disgustingly in love with Layla.

Last night they hadn’t….talked very much.

Even though spoke every day. They hadn’t been able to the few days before Sy arrived. Which Y/N now realized was probably because he had been super busy planning his surprise trip.

Y/N seemed to be getting more and more lost in her head as the night went on. And it didn’t go unnoticed by Sy.

“You alright?” Syverson asked her as he leaned across the small booth to tilt her chin up so she was forced to look at him as he questioned her.

Y/N nodded quickly. “I’ve been thinking…”

Sy’s body tensed, instantly preparing for something bad. It was just his training and his instincts. He couldn’t help it.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout what?” He managed to push.

Y/N stared into his eyes for a moment, before finally saying, “I think I should move to Texas.”

Now that was not what Sy had been expecting.

But once he processed it, her confession made more sense to him.

Y/N had been complaining more and more about New York the past few months.

A lot of her friends were getting married and moving to the suburbs or back to the towns they grew up in. Y/N was getting fed up with paying rent for an apartment that she didn’t own. She started to feel completely over the laundry and grocery shopping hustle that was so exhausting in New York. Her income didn’t reflect the cost of living – and it became even more blatantly obvious after living in Texas for a year.

But most importantly, the city had started to lose its glow once she fell in love with a man that didn’t belong there.

And every time Y/N left after an extended stay in Texas, Sy felt like it was getting harder and harder for her.

Y/N loved New York City. But she was starting to think her love affair with it was making her less and less happy. And there was always that guilt, like leaving NYC meant you were quitting. And Y/N was no quitter.

But what was she even trying to prove by staying? Especially if it no longer brought her the same excitement, adventure, and fun that it had when she first moved there.

Sy wasn’t to blame. She had already been feeling the beginning of it when Layla started trying to convince her to move to Texas for a year. After all, Y/N wouldn’t have agreed to such a ridiculous plan if she hadn’t already started feeling a disconnect with New York.

Y/N hated Texas as a whole. But she loved Syverson, and his home, and all the new friends that she had made there. She’d found a pocket that made her forget everything she didn’t like about the south or the state. Y/N had managed to create a bubble that brought her joy and comfort.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” She finally asked Syverson after he remained absolutely stoic and offered no response.

“Yeah. I’m thinkin’.”

His brow was furrowed.

He wasn’t exactly frowning, but he did have a concentrated look on his face.

That was a big difference between them. Y/N’s racing thoughts often exploded out of her. But Sy had control over his own, making sure to go through them multiple times before sharing them outside himself.

A harmful and intrusive idea suddenly popped into Y/N’s mind, one that she couldn’t stop: “Do…D-Do you not want me to?”

Sy’s gaze shot to hers.

“Don’t you start with that,” he warned.

But it didn’t sound like he was talking to Y/n. Instead, it was like he was reprimanding her brain that refused to let her live in peace.

Sy leaned forward. The booth was small, so it brought their faces mere inches apart.

“Let me make myself clear, Y/N.” He used his military tone, causing Y/N to swallow and then go still. “I want nothing more than to see you every day, to wake up in the same bed every mornin’. But I ain’t ever gonna pressure you to move.”

Y/N waited a few seconds to make sure he was done before speaking.

“But you aren’t…and you haven’t,” she clarified. “This is my decision. And I’ve been thinking about it more and more. So, I just…I don’t know…wanted to discuss it with you. Isn’t that what couples do? Talk about hard shit together?”

He gave her a small smirk.

It was moments like these which reminded Syverson that Y/N hadn’t been treated right in the past, that being in a relationship was still a learning experience for her.

The two of them had been dating for over a year now. And, thankfully, those moments were happening less and less with her.

But when they did, it still hit a nerve with Sy, bringing out his natural protectiveness over Y/N. That’s why he chose his words so carefully and why he took his time answering her.

“They sure do,” Sy confirmed. “And I wanna talk about it with you. But I just wanna make sure you ain’t just tellin’ me what you think I wanna hear.” He took in a deep breath. “And I been able to get my head outta my ass long enough to see there are things in this city that I can’t ever offer you.”

It was true. During their long-distance relationship, Sy had been more open about getting to know Y/N’s city. And slowly but surely, he started to understand why she put up with all the bullshit that he never could.

New York would never quite grab him like it had with his girlfriend, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate it in other ways.

Y/N quickly shook her head. “My lease isn’t up for 6 months. I just figured…if I know when I’m leaving, I can make the most of the rest of my time here.”

Sy sighed, but nodded. He was still struggling with making sure she knew this had to be her decision and he didn’t want to put any pressure on her – even if it was subconscious.

“It’ll be hard trying to find a place in Texas while living here, but I’m sure Layla will help…”

That made Sy sit up straight. “What?”

In most situations, he found one word questions like that pretty useless and obnoxious.

But he wasn’t following now, and it just slipped out.

Y/N frowned. “Finding a place in Texas. It’ll be hard to do long distance.”

He tilted his head. “Yer shittin’ me, right?”

She took a long sip of her margarita and simply shook her head no.

“Y/N, if ya pick up yer entire life and move to Texas for me, ya really think I’m gon’ let you move into an apartment?”

She withdrew a little, sitting back. “I didn’t want to assume anything! It’s your house, Ethan. Not mine.”

Sy sighed again. Hell, how could he get this into her head?

“Y/N, when it comes to us, you can always assume I want you with me.” He shook his head. “One thing’s for damn sure: since that house got renovated, it became just as much yours as it is mine.”

Her eyes glazed over with tears as she smiled at him.

Sy knew his point had come across, but he still added, “Hear me, darlin’?”

Y/N quickly nodded, still smiling as she brushed the single tear that had escaped and made it halfway down her cheek.

Sy couldn’t help himself any longer and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her lips.

He wasn’t one for PDA, but there was something about New York that made him feel invisible. No one cared what they were doing. In this city, you were constantly surrounded by people and it made automatically you less interesting.

In Texas, someone was always watching. And everyone knew someone who knew you, which meant they thought they knew you, too. It wasn’t six degrees of separation, it was most likely one.

And so, it was only a matter of time before poor Sy got a phone call from his mom or aunt teasing him with, “Heard you were kissin’ up a damn scene with that girl of yours.”

“You really sure ‘bout this?” Sy asked when they pulled away.

His hand still held her cheek, keeping her close.

Y/N put her hand on top of his. “You’re not forcing me to do anything, Ethan. You understand that, right? You never did. And I’ve appreciated that. But now you know that this is completely my decision.”

Sy sighed and finally sat back.

Now he was going over logistics. He’d fly over, rent a moving truck. She barely had any furniture in her tiny apartment. If she really wanted to keep her bed, they could put it into one of the guest bedrooms. Half the attic and basement was empty, so if she needed to store things, there was more than enough space. Hell, he could fit her apartment into the house six times over.

But as his thoughts were racing with plans, what he actually said to Y/N was, “Well, you got six months to change yer mind. And if you do, I ain’t gon' blame you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and poked his bicep. “Can you just be happy and excited, and say you can’t wait for me to be your roommate?”

Sy smirked and quickly leaned forward to kiss her again. It was more passionate this time and longer.

And despite them being in New York, they’d caught the attention of nearby bargoers with it.

“I’m happy and excited, and can’t wait for you to be your roommate,” Sy mocked with a cocky smirk.

Y/N giggled, but the smile quickly faded. “You know…there’s things you offer, too. Things that New York can’t give me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He sounded unconvinced. “What’s that?”

“A home,” Y/N told him, her voice confident and sincere. “Literally and figuratively.” She smiled. “A forever home,” she clarified for good measure.

––––––––

During the next six months, Syverson expected to get a call from Y/N in tears, telling him that she changed her mind and she couldn’t possibly leave New York for Texas.

But the moment never came.

He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. He would’ve just insisted that they kept doing the long distance, no matter how painful it could get.

Now he stood on the street below Y/N’s apartment.

Between the two of them, it only took an hour to pack all of Y/N’s things. And it all fit in a 15’ truck.

Y/N was upstairs, making sure nothing was forgotten and doing some last minute cleaning. Sy was patiently leaning against the truck, guarding her belongings.

But his attention was caught when he heard the sound of a car engine failing to start.

Across the street, a woman was swearing at her car’s engine.

Syverson didn’t even think about it before he walked over to her.

He made sure keep his distance as he called out, “Havin’ some trouble?” He had to stop himself from saying "ma'am."

The woman didn’t jump, but eyed him suspiciously.

But Sy didn’t take it personally. “I’m just waiting for my girlfriend. Mind if I take a look?”

For some reason, he figured if he told her he had a girlfriend in the vicinity, she would trust him a bit more.

“Ummm. Sure,” the woman eventually answered and stepped away, but kept a watchful eye on him.

She muttered off what had happened before he came along. Sy nodded in understanding and quickly assessed the situation.

It only took him about 20 minutes to figure out the problem and fix it.

Y/N’s timing was perfect, bouncing down her stoop just as Sy closed the hood of the woman’s car. It only took her a few seconds to figure out the situation she had just walked into.

She smiled and practically skipped across the street to join her boyfriend.

“Can I pay you for all your help?” The woman asked him. The suspicious tension from before had completely disappeared.

Sy shook his head instantly. “Just doin’ the right thing.”

The woman seemed very taken aback from his kindness. “You from around here?”

The answer was obvious. The first thing strangers always picked up about Sy was his thick, southern accent. She was just being polite about it.

He shook his head again. “Texas.”

The woman seemed to have an ‘aha’ moment and nodded slowly. “Makes sense. No city boy would be such a good samaritan.”

Then she shifted her attention to Y/N and the two of them seemed to be having a silent conversation that no man would be able to follow and understand.

“He’s a good one. Make sure you keep him around,” she told Y/N with a knowing smile.

Y/N beamed. “Oh, I’m well aware. Don’t you worry.”

Sy asked, “Need help with anything else?”

“No, no, no. I’ve wasted your time long enough. Thank you again.” And then she got into her car a drove off without any problems.

“You just saved that woman a lot of money,” Y/N told him.

Sy just shrugged. He wasn’t looking for praise. Like he’d said to the woman: it was just the right thing to do.

Y/N sighed and asked, “Ready to go?”

“Are you?” He challenged.

They both knew that was the real question.

Y/N turned and looked up at the apartment building.

Sy felt a pang of guilt in his gut. Despite her reassuring him that this was all her decision, he couldn’t help but feel like he was ripping her away from so many things.

She had made it clear that he was giving her something that New York never did. But would it be enough to keep her happy? Would it stop her from eventually resenting him?

He didn’t have the answers. All he had was hope that this wouldn’t tear their relationship apart. And right now, that was good enough.

Y/N took in a shaky breath. “I guess so.”

Sy hooked his arm over her shoulder and pulled her to his side as they walked to the moving truck.

“Ready for this drive?” Y/N laughed.

It was 27-hour trip in theory and over 1,700 miles. But they decided to make it a road trip, stopping in various states and sleeping at hotels.

After all, now the two of them had all the time in the world.

Sy stopped walking so he could look into her eyes. “I’ve been ready for awhile.”

–––––––––

a/n: this is what i imagined her apartment looking like.

Let me know if you liked it! please please please. it will make me so happy. write be a book report.

#syverson vignettes #captain syverson #syverson #syverson x reader #captain syverson x reader #sand castle henry cavill #captain syverson henry cavill #henry cavill fic #syverson fic #captain syverson fic #henry cavill

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ask-emily-em-emmy · 3 months ago

Note

“Mm, I like that one, Em. She has probably a quarter ounce of style, but the rest of her isn’t half bad. She’s not getting those pockets though, it’ll ruin the entire look… it’d be like two pool floats hanging off the back. Just get a handful like a normal person.” Anderson took a seat and pulled his chair closer excitedly. “So you snuck down into hell to go get freaky with a fallen? Tell me more!”

“Andy, I’m about to revoke my pacifism if you don’t quit it!” *she points a finger in his face and he bites at it. She yanks it back and he laughs* “No, I wasn’t sneaking to hell to ‘get freaky’ as you so politely put it. I was just, going to enjoy spending time with her. Well, first I just went down to talk because she was pissing Sera off left and right and I just wanted to talk to her about it.”

“Mmm. Hard task, pissing off the hard-ass of heaven, I’m sure,” Anderson rolled his eyes.

“Andy, she was shaking that first time she came back from hell after finding out. She made me explain in great detail everything that had happened and then forbade me from ever going to hell again. It was a mess.”

*Ass stepped out in a red single button dinner jacket with a black peak lapel. The pants matched the color and were high waisted with a built in belt to hold them in place*

“Andy I don’t care if you hate it, we’re keeping this one.” *Emily hopped out of her chair and stepped around Ass. The fit was nice, now that she knew more of what to look for*

*As she steps around the back she notices it is a very nice fit*

“Hey! Stop eye-fucking her in my shop! This is a place of refuge for me!” Anderson threw his pencil at her, which Ass easily knocked to the side before it could reach her. “We need to hem the pants and maybe about half an inch off the sleeves, but this one does look nice on her. I’d recommend a different color with the same fit for Shamira. It’ll be like when those twin parents put them in different colors to tell the difference as they grow up.”

“I can tell the difference between them without color coding them!” *Emily glared at him* “Besides, their wings will already be color coded and Ass doesn’t have a halo.”

“Well regardless, the wings will look like mustard next to the ketchup red you picked. Pick a different color to go with it or be okay with Shamira over here looking like the Fourth of July.” His arms were crossed as he looked at Emily with a flat look.

*she rolled her eyes* “I don’t know what that means, but fine. Maybe…” *she looked at his suit* “purple?”

“I can’t believe you just said the first color you saw.” He stood up and walked over to a desk with a chaotic amount of fabrics stacked onto it. The only thing in the shop that didn’t look neat and organized really. He pulled three different squares out and brought them over. “Okay, I assume they’ll wear this at the same time, maybe a little dinner party or cocktail hour. You’re gonna want something that doesn’t clash with each other, but also doesn’t clash with themselves. If Ass is just an exorcist with gray instead of black that’s easy, gray rarely clashes. Gold and red can be nice together but this is too bright for that, it’s just not the right color. I can do one of two things, redo the whole thing for both of them in a color like this,” he holds up a darker red shade, something closer to the color of the hotel’s interior, “or I can make a second one with a different color. Your best options will either be emerald green or a brighter purple.”

“Both red. And can we get gold somewhere on it as well? A very subtle hint.” *She tries to sound sophisticated but she’s not sure if she hits the mark*

“I can do that. Can you find me a pencil? I don’t know where mine went.” She summons his pencil back and hands it to him. He throws it at her head and then picks it up off the ground with a laugh as she and Ass glare at him. “Ah, too good Emmy, I’m just too good! Now go try something else on, let Shamira go first this time, I almost feel bad for skipping out on her!”

“Okay let me sum this up quick while they figure out the next fit, Ass came to me and brought me a potted plant-”

“Cute, but I’m sure you killed it.”

“Shut up Andy, I gave her a bandaid because she’s always getting in fights-”

“Because she’s an exorcist in hell.”

“Shut up Andy, she brought me to go ride horses-”

“Is that all you rode?”

“Shut up Andy, she got shot and stabbed and I put her in my bathtub-”

“Wait, what?” He put his hands out in front of her and stopped her. “She got stabbed? And shot? And your solution was to just put her in a bath?”

“Holy water heals, it was the fastest way to heal her wounds.” *She glared as he nodded along with pursed lips*

“Was she… like was she naked?”

“ANDY! SHUT UP!”

He laughed as she covered her face. “Okay, finish your story six piece. I won’t interrupt unless it’s important.”

“She stayed the night, we slept together-” *she held her hand over his open mouth* “-not like that! And then in the morning she kissed me, she left a few hickies on me-”

“HMMKIES?” He asked through the hand on his mouth.

“Yes! Hickies! Then we did… other stuff on the couch and it was so good and she was so sweet with me and-”

He pushed her hand away, “clothes on or off?”

“On, but-”

“Nope, not judging, just trying to be sure I’m understanding correctly.” He took her hand and placed it back on his mouth so she could continue.

“Then I snuck down to hell again for breakfast the next day, she gave me a phone, she invited me to a movie date, we watched Beauty and the Beast-”

“Oooooh that’s why she’s the beast! Edgy, but whatever.”

“Sh- you know what, I’ll let you have that one.” *her hand stayed firmly pressed against his mouth and she could feel his wild grin* “Then we did… non-clothes things…”

“Y’all got freaky-freaky for the first time in hell?” His head tilted forward and he held her hand in his.

“At the Hazbin Hotel, yes.”

“Your first time was a hotel hookup in hell?!” He got his face closer to hers and he whispered like someone would hear him in the empty shop.

“Don’t say it like that! We made love Andy!” *She glared at him, meeting his incredulous state head on*

“Okay, whatever, but girl, how did we get to having two of them in there? When did that happen?” He pointed his thumb at the door of the dressing room.

“Well as soon as I left hell, Sera showed up and snatched up Ass, tossed Shamira into her body and I had to break her out. You probably saw the promenade fiasco, but before that I was just trying to jog Ass’s memories. Then I threw myself into hell and-”

“Wait, the portal on the promenade went to hell?”

“Yes! Now shut up!” *she takes a deep breath* “Ass saved me, took off the muzzle, told me I was an asshole and she loved me, we went home, I found out Shamira likes me, we decided to try things out and honestly she’s really sweet and polite and it’s really nice. We’ve got a ways to go but I think she’s a nice addition to what we’ve got going.”

Anderson smiled down at her sweetly, he was happy for the seraphim, she deserved it. “Hmm. How’s the sex?”

“Oh, we haven’t uh-”

*The door opened and Shamira came out in a double breasted suit in periwinkle with a pair of high waisted white slim fit pants. The built in pocket square was also white to match. The jacket sat higher on her waist than was traditional, but it cut an impressive figure and made her hips pop*

Emily and Andy looked at each other and in tandem spoke. “Keep.”

A: *she sits on the bed and slides closer to Emily, gently guiding her to lay down- and chuckling at the immediate correct guess*

This seems... sexual.

It's intimate, not sexual. There's a difference.

What's the difference?

A: *rather than reply, she puts a hand on Emily's upper arm, rubbing her thumb in a wide arc, and smiles when the seraph guesses correctly again* "You're good at this."

Okay, now you try.

I don't know...

Listen, you were encased in armor so you'd never touch another person. That little hand hold is the only physical, skin-to-skin contact you've initiated in your entire existence because I don't count fingertip brushes against a forehead. So, try now. Get used to it.

Shamira steps forward and takes control, faltering for a moment before running the backs of her knuckles along Emily's cheek.

((@askthefivefallen))

“Shamira?” *She grins when Shamira confirms her guess, her wings ruffling with pride*

*Not being able to see enhances her other senses and Emily uses both the feel and the location of each touch to figure out who’s got their hands on her*

*A finger firmly drags up her side, making her squirm* “Ass!” *finger tips lightly brush over her forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake* “Shamira!” *A light, almost tentative brush on her lower stomach and she hesitates* “Ass?” *A kiss is pressed to her lips as a reward and she chases it as Ass pulls away, a whine in the back of her throat when she gets out of range*

*She lays back again. Two fingers press firmly against her neck, right against her pulse point and she takes a deep breath and turns her head away to give better access to whoever had control*

*She was sure that whoever it was could feel how her heart was thundering in her chest. She thought about answering but she doesn’t know the answer and honestly this is a strangely nice position to be in, held down in a way she could escape if she wanted. Her pulse probably giving away her emotions*

*She answers, even though she doesn’t really want to*

“Ass?”

#ask the fallen #ask emily #ass (but not that kind)#servant shamira #lutualverse #suits and such

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jadequeen88 · 4 years ago

Text

Smart Girls Make Fast Learners

NSFW 18+ ONLY. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

My contribution to the BNHarem’s monthly collab. The theme was SEx work. ⛓This piece is a first real deep dive into darker themes and was actually really, really exciting to write. 🖤 A massive thanks to my dear friend @libiraki for beta reading this.

TW: yandere behavior, toxic relationship, degradation, non-con, dub-con, degradation/praise kinks, mind break, oral (M and F receiving), over stim, loss of virginity, mentions of physical violence.

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone this type of relationship. This is a work of fiction and if this happens IRL please get out of the relationship!

There is a very specific type of dread that occurs when you discover that the person you built your world around has been lying to you. Tamaki Amajiki was experiencing this brand of betrayal for the first time in his twenty-one years on a rainy Tuesday in October in the dim lighting of your dorm room. His grip tightened around the open laptop as he stared at glimpses of flesh in the thumbnails of the many, many videos posted to the site. Previous live streams with thousands of views. He gulped down the bile in his throat as he scrolled through the videos. His shock and disgust morphed into a pure rage as he counted up the live streams that you’d had since first kissing him. 12. There had been twelve. Three times a week for the past four weeks.

Those big doe eyes that looked into his eyes as you tentatively licked the tip of his cock for the first time… mere hours later they were rolling in the back of your head as you got off for strangers on the internet. He couldn’t take it. You were his first… everything… he knew that you hadn’t been innocent in your past. The way your tongue expertly wound around his when you first kissed him amongst your plush pillows and goose-down comforter reminded him of the fact. The low violet LED lighting of your bedroom made him feel like the two of you were in your own ethereal world. He could forgive you for not waiting for him as he’d waited for you.

For the past four years, he kept to the shadows. He was there when the football player from freshman year cheated on you with one of your terrible friends (and when it happened the second, third, fourth time). He was there to binge your favorite shows with you (“*insert current guy you were fucking* just doesn’t get it, he’s not into it. I’m so glad I’ve got you to watch it with!”) He bit back the heartache that would wash over him when you’d pet him and coo over him… you didn’t see him as a man. He wanted to bend you over and prove he could fuck your brains out. He KNOWS he’d be perfect for you. But he never rejected the attention. He smiled and accepted whatever crumbs fell from your table. Whether it be helping you study or letting you complain about your shitty friends or your shitty jock boyfriends or your shitty parents… He gave and gave and gave… until that one day, 35 days ago to be exact, a shift in the tide occurred.

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“So why don’t you have a girlfriend, Tama-kun?”

“Wh-wha?”

Tamaki dropped the pencil he’d been using and before he could bend to get it himself, your hand was on his thigh and he was putty in your grasp. You giggled and cooed over him like you always did, but this time you did it while assaulting his mouth and neck with your skilled tongue. This time, for the first time, you made Tamaki feel like a man. Like YOUR man.

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Over the next few weeks, Tamaki had become quite skilled in pleasing a woman. It only took a little guidance to have him sucking at your clit with just the right amount of pressure. He learned on his own how to couple that with his long, delicate fingers twisting and pumping in and out of your slick hole. You’d cling to his silky hair, pulling him closer as a constant stream of praise tumbled from your lips:

“No one has ever made me feel this good.”

“Your fingers are perfect Tama-kun”.

“I love your mouth on me so much, baby.”

The first time you came on his face, Tamaki knew there was a god because he’d found heaven between your thighs.

But that was gone now… ripped away with one mouse click on the night he was going to finally give you his virginity. He had held on to it like it was a treasure. A treasure he’d present to you one day wrapped up in life-long devotion and worship... But Tamaki wasn’t in heaven anymore. He wasn’t going to worship you tonight. For the first time since laying eyes on you, Tamaki wanted to hurt you.

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You turned the shower off and dried yourself. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. You felt like this was going to be the first time giving your body to someone. Tonight was a redo. You were wiping the slate clean. Your first time would no longer be underneath the football captain in the passenger seat of his truck, left feeling sore and unsatisfied. It was going to be with the guy you should have noticed long ago. It would be soft and slow… passionate and filled with sweet words and caresses… limbs tangled in soft sheets that smell like lavender and vanilla.

You applied your lotion and moisturized your face. The red lace adorning your body was arranged perfectly, accentuating the soft swell of your hips and chest. With one last glance in the mirror and adjustment of your bra, you opened the door to the cool air of your dorm room…

...And saw Tamaki looking murderous.

His eyes slowly left the screen to meet your gaze. His tear-stained face had never looked this harsh. His normally sweet eyes were narrowed and red from crying. The sweet lips you’d licked and sucked with such tenderness were hard and cold as they pulled upward in a grimace.

The only thing he said before rising from the bed and setting aside your laptop was your camgirl username. Then he was on you before you could draw a breath to explain.

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Tamaki always thought he liked you best on top of him showering him with kisses and threading your fingers through his hair, but he had to admit… having your arms tied to a bed frame with the silky sash of your bathrobe cutting into your skin was doing things to him. When you sniffled, face stained with tears and snot, his dick twitched in his boxers. The whines you were choking back behind the silky red panties stuffed down your throat sent chills up his spine. You had to learn the hard way not to spit them out after a harsh slap echoed against your skin when you fought back the first time.

Tamaki stood back to survey the mess of skin, spit, and tears for a moment. You were a blank canvas for him to mark up with his rage and lust. You tried to hide away your bare pussy by clenching your thighs together. It only spurred him on.

“Do you have any clue what you’ve done?” he hovered over you, sleek muscles rippling over your own soft body, “I waited, and waited, and WAITED,” he bit down on the side of your exposed neck and you screamed behind the silky gag, trying your best not to expel it from your mouth and receive more punishment.

“I want to give you everything, Y/N,” he licks over the bite, almost apologetically, “I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want it to happen like this… FUCK, why?! Why did you ruin this?” his long fingers dug into your cheeks as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze. You couldn’t help whimpering and sniffling back more clear runny snot. You were so humiliated at how disheveled and disgusting you must look. His head ducked into the soft spot between your neck and shoulder and you felt him sob.

Despite the abuse he’d inflicted upon you in the last ten minutes, you nuzzled your cheek into the top of his head in an attempt to comfort him. And he let you… he hated himself for it and he hated you for making this all so hard for him.

“No… no, no, no,” he rose from the bed to set up your ring-light and laptop, ice running through your veins at the sight. Your mind couldn’t accept what was about to happen.

“I’m... I’m not letting you get away with this,” he shook his head and pulled at his hair as he finished setting everything up, “If you’re insisting on being a slut, you’ll be MY slut. And everyone will know…” he jerked your ankle to force you flat on your back.

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Maybe if he’d let the gag out of your mouth, you’d be able to tell him this was just a job to you. That it was clinical… that he was the only one who had ever been able to get you off, that his face was the only one you’d come on… that you needed the money since your parents had disowned you…

But you only laid there, accepting whatever he was going to dish out. You knew he was hurt. You weren’t stupid. You overlooked him while knowing how he felt about you. It took years of horrible one-night stands and countless frat parties pretending that whatever guy you’d picked that night was interesting for you to come to your senses. You hated yourself for being so blind for so long… You adored Tamaki, truly. And you hated yourself for all the times you’d hurt him… so you swallowed your fear and tried to prepare yourself for whatever came next.

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Any soft parts of Tamaki that you’d grown to love were gone, hardened by heartache and desperation. After angling the laptop to get the perfect shot, he started the live stream countdown. Subscribers started trickling in, commenting on how this was a pleasant surprise since it wasn’t one of your regularly scheduled streams. You shut your eyes to pretend this wasn’t real.

Without fanfare or warning, Tamaki ripped apart your thighs, exposing your bare slit. A raw shrill was pulled from your lungs, your back arching from the sting of an abrupt slap. Neurons fired off in your brain… were you in pain? Was it pleasure?

“Since my girlfriend likes to keep secrets from me, I can’t trust what comes out of her whore mouth,” he emphasized his point by stuffing his fingers past your lips, pushing the soaked silk further into your throat, “So she’s going to keep this gag right here until I can fuck the truth out of her,” he trailed his fingers along your reddened folds. Were you getting wet? Horror and shame blossomed in your chest. The fact that you were growing aroused wasn’t lost on Tamaki. His foreign, sadistic grin was back… aimed directly into your soul.

“So that’s what you like, huh?” His nails bit into your thighs leaving tiny crescents behind, “I’ve been too nice? Too soft?” He pushed your thighs impossibly wide, the stretch causing you to moan. He hovered over your core, onyx orbs blown wide with a mix of hate and lust. Tamaki looked like the devil himself and you wondered just how fucked up you were for wanting his punishment.

He opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue, never severing the desperate gaze you both shared, his intertwined with hunger, yours with fear. You’d never noticed how long and thick his tongue was and couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel caressing every ridge and crevice of your inner walls. He flattened the warm, wet muscle and pressed it along your slit. As he slowly slid it closer and closer to your burning clit, you whimpered and bucked your hips chasing the pleasure you knew he was capable of giving… but this was not your sweet boy and he wasn’t doing any of this for your pleasure.

He slung his arm over your lower stomach and growled into your drenched lips. You were pinned down, helpless against his torturous tongue. Fresh tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered how he’d let you pet him and buck into his face, how sweetly he’d ease you into a gentle release. Not this time… it was all teeth and sharp sucks, his tongue forcing you open violently. You were being shoved over a cliff and despite the horror and violence of what was happening to you. You were approaching an orgasmic state at record speed. Tamaki caught on and doubled down. The arm that wasn’t pinning you into the mattress pulled your leg down straight, your knee in a death grip. The new angle made the sensations even more intense. His face pressed harder into your core and you noticed that at some point, he’d started weeping, small sobs vibrating against your skin. The overwhelming mix of emotions and the vigor in which he was eating you shoved you over the edge.

He kept going along at the same speed with the same determination through your orgasm until it became painful. You pushed past it as best you could, allowing him to sob into your over-sensitive skin until he had his fill. As the pain started intermingling with pleasure, your legs shook and the gag couldn’t hold your screams back any longer. You released against his tongue once more, both of you sobbing. He laid against your thigh for what felt like an eternity before he lifted himself to lay on top of you, his hip bones digging into your soft thighs. You could feel the bulge through the thin material of his boxer briefs. Your hips rose to meet it, a pleading gesture filled with the desire to comfort and please him. Your eagerness encourages his mercy, there’s a meek cry that leaves your lips when the damp silk slips from between your teeth.

“Please baby… I’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you…” your voice was as weak as a kitten’s cry and Tamaki couldn’t deny it made his heart (his dick) clench.

“Say it…” his lips were close enough to kiss, but you resisted… fearful of what he’d do if you did.

“Say what, Tama?” your eyes were wide with concern and confusion. You were desperate to please him.

He turned your face to the camera that you’d forgotten was there and the gravity of the situation crashed around you again. New tears leaked from your stinging eyes as Tamaki whispered into your ear.

“Say that you’re a lying whore…”

“I..I’m a lying whore…”

The last syllable broke as your abused throat grew accustomed to speaking again. He rewarded you with a soft kiss to your cheek and your eyes closed at the tender gesture. The familiar pain in your chest welled to the surface causing even more tears to escape.

“And tell everyone that you’re my own personal slut”

You repeated the phrase to the audience behind the screen and he hummed with approval, trailing one finger along your wet cheek.

“Good girl…” the praise sent shivers through your wrecked body.

“And tell them from now on, your boyfriend will be the only one making you come… that they only get to see you be HIS slut.”

You noticed the chat going absolutely haywire at your announcement. Before Tamaki shut your laptop, you realized you’d made three times as much as you’d ever made before and a twisted sense of accomplishment filled your cloudy mind.

“Please,” your voice came out in a croak, “Please untie me. I wanna make it up to you,” his clothed bulge was burning into your core and you could tell he was close to breaking.

“Please let me make you feel good. I’m so, so sorry,” the clench of your thighs around his waist made him whimper.

He reluctantly pulled away to sit on the foot of the bed. The way he curled in on himself hugging his knees made him appear so small, so fragile… a complete change from the man who’d just manhandled you into restraints.

“You’re a liar…” you almost didn’t hear the whisper, his face buried into his knees.

“Please!” you were losing feeling in your hands and all you wanted was to be free to comfort him.

His eyes met yours and it was your Tamaki again... Your sweet boy… the snarling, green beast that threatened to devour you was sleeping now after it reached its fill of violence. He crawled over your body and released your restraint. Before you even regained feeling in your hands, you wrapped your arms around him. You littered his collarbone with sweet kisses and apologetic sobs. He began to melt into your affectionate gestures and you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him impossibly close. Wet lips met and your tongues fought against each other for dominance. Hips began to roll against each other, increasing pressure until you both gasped.

The violence was gone, but this was still not a gentle coupling like you’d been planning. Tamaki pulled away and freed his straining cock from his boxers. The skin-to-skin contact made your eyes roll back into your skull. You felt his long fingers grasp your throat, squeezing to remind you just how powerful they were. You shuddered in response, arching upward into his touch, chasing that high his dominance was giving you.

With one swift motion, Tamaki speared you onto his cock. With the minimal prep he’d given you, the stretch was agonizing. This was by far the largest cock you’d ever taken and it stole your breath from your aching lungs. You moaned earning a visceral reaction from the boy on top of you.

Tamaki stayed as still as he could. He refused to come so soon… not when he’d waited so long for this. He tightened his grip on your throat and tentatively rocked his hips into yours. It didn’t take long for it to progress into the most frantic love-making you’d ever experienced.

There was no other way to describe it, he was hate fucking you… biting and sucking your chest until blood bloomed under your skin… hammering into your sore, sticky cunt with total abandon… he was using you like a toy, taking out all his frustrations on your body.

It was ecstasy.

When his hips stuttered as he met his release, the spasms of his tip against your gummy walls sent you into a painful orgasm. You were spent and it seemed like he was too. Your fingers twitched over the crown of his head, wanting to run your fingers through his hair but too scared to initiate any contact with him. As if he could read your mind, he grabbed your hand and placed it on his head. You sighed and began carding through the tangles, gently undoing them. You felt a stream of tears running down your chest as you worked your fingers through his strands. Lifting his face gently, you met his teary gaze with your own.

“Don’t…” he drew in a shuddering breath, “ever lie to me like that again…” the monster behind his eyes stirred quietly, a malicious glint in his eye, before shifting back into your gentle boyfriend.

“Never, I swear to you, baby…” he lets you lift his chin gently to meet your lips. His eyes close and he sighs into your kiss. His muscles relax and when his eyes open again, his warm, adoring expression falls over your face. The hand that wanted to choke the life out of your eyes minutes ago now caresses your jaw tenderly,

“I trust you…” his lips turn up into a grin that’s just a little too wide, “Because you’re a smart girl, aren’t you?” his top lip brushed against your still trembling bottom lip…

“Y-yes…”

You were fucked. This whole situation was fucked up and you weren’t blind to the fact. But as Tamaki nuzzled into your neck placing soft kisses and whispering praises into your skin, you let yourself bask in the gentleness of the moment…

Because you were a smart girl and smart girls learn their lessons quickly...

#bnha #bnha smut #yandere tamaki #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki x y/n #tamaki amajiki #tw:dubcon #tw: noncon #tw: injury #tw: toxic relationship #tw: dark themes

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mionemymind · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 3: The Harsh Treatment

Fake Memories

Series Summary: After Y/n is caught cheating on Wanda with Carol, Y/n would do just about anything to get Wanda back into her life. But was it even Y/n’s fault that she cheated? Or was it the new enemy set on revenge?

Chapter Summary: What will happen to Y/n as the team pushes her past her limits?

A/n: I lied, I decided to be nice and post it now. Honestly, the amount of support that I’m receiving from this fanfic has literally made me smile so much. I really love all of you who read and/or comment. You mean the world to me. Let me know what you think. :) (Not my GIF)

Warnings: Starvation, harmful thoughts, curse words, self-doubt, mentions of blood, injuries, angst

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist

Y/n abruptly woke up at the feeling of pressurized gas coursing through her body. She quickly sat up, unable to see anything in the white fog. The cold feeling only lasted a couple seconds before F.R.I.D.A.Y stated, “Fire has been contained.” Y/n hugged herself for warmth as she waited for the fog to disappear. This was the 13th time this month that she was woken up with pressurized gas. At first, it was foam but someone in maintenance had changed the system after the 5th time she woke up.

Y/n looked at her surroundings and sighed at the damages to her sheets. There were burn marks along with small amounts of frostbite from the gas. “At this rate, I won’t have money for food.” With a grim face, Y/n got up from her bed and proceeded with taking everything off her bed, a routine she unfortunately started to learn.

Y/n didn’t know when things got worse. If she had to guess, maybe it was after the whole fiasco with Wanda. The team had been on edge ever since then. “They probably thought I hurt her,” Y/n thought at the time, but it was far from the truth. She had wanted to explain herself to the team but dismissed those thoughts with, “What’s the point in trying? I’ll always be guilty to them.”

As for Wanda, the still heartbroken girl didn’t dare to speak to the team about that night. Even she didn’t quite know what happened. Since that night, she only lied to herself stating that maybe Y/n had done something. It would probably remove the guilt she had when she thought of the blood running down Y/n’s face. But even the lie couldn’t repress the truth from her thoughts.

After she collected her bedding, she threw it away in the trash can along with the other damaged beddings. Y/n grabbed her wallet off her night stand and opened it. She couldn’t feel it, but her heart dropped at the sight of the lack of money she had. Only a $20 dollar bill as well as a couple ones were left. She closed her eyes and tried her best to keep herself calm, to try and act like the world wasn’t closing in on her. It was a couple minutes later when she opened her eyes and looked at her wallet again. “This was supposed to last me for the rest of the month.” Y/n rubbed her forehead, feeling the overwhelming stress from her lack of funds.

One might ask, “Aren’t you an Avenger? Shouldn’t you make a shit ton of money.” And at one point, Y/n would say yes, she did. But it all came back to that night. A week after, she had overheard a conversation that went…

“I just don’t understand why you’re doing this to her.” Y/n was about to go around the corner, but decided to wait at the sound of Steve’s voice. “It’s simple Rodgers - unless I have to remind you why we needed to redo the glass in the conference room.” Steve sighed at Tony’s simple minded actions. Y/n could practically feel him crossing his arms in a disapproving manner.

“Well she did work fair and hard for her money Tony - this just feels wrong.” Y/n heard a couple clicks before Tony replied with, “This is for Wanda. Anything to get Y/n out of here by her own means is worth it. If you have a problem with this, you must not care as much for Wanda as I thought.” Steve sighed again seeing as he was morally put in an awkward position. It was either care for Y/n or care for Wanda. “That’s what I thought.” Tony left with a smug look on his face as he clicked more on the screen in front of him.

It didn’t take long for Y/n to see the effects of Tony’s decision. Her pay day was the following day and the overwhelming sense of panic and anxiety rose up within her as she only had $400 to survive until the next pay day, which was a month later. Since then, her food portions have been small to say the least. Y/n learned that she only had enough money for the month to eat at least once a day and even that was cutting it. The dramatic changes to her diet had slowly affected her powers but it recently had an exponential increase.

This was her fourth month of hardly eating when her powers started to flare at night. It has gotten to the point that Y/n couldn’t control them in her sleep leading to F.R.I.D.A.Y having to deal with her fireside. But her powers weren’t the only thing that has changed. If anyone were to actually look, they would see that Y/n had gotten skinnier. Her literal glow was getting duller and duller the more time passed.

However, Y/n refused to feel sorry for herself. The sentence “I deserve this” was burned into her head. The brain tricks she puts herself through even allowed her to convince that Tony's decision was right. That Wanda didn’t need to tell the truth to the team. That Steve didn’t need to defend her. And that the team certainly was allowed to make her feel like nothing. Because to Y/n, if she didn’t deserve this, then why would you possibly treat a person like this? Just why?

Of course, Wanda didn’t notice these changes at all. The girl was trying her best to avoid Y/n as much as possible. She always had exit strategies in place in case she were to be in the same vicinity as Y/n. However, Wanda also didn’t notice that lack of Y/n’s presence. Much to her dismay, Y/n’s efforts were the reason they didn’t see each other much.

What Wanda did notice though was the slow and gradual decline of snacks in her cubby. It left her to question whether Natasha was done doing these small favors for her. But her reports were still getting done.

The red head didn’t have much room to think though as she got slammed down on the mat from the other red head. “Take a ten - you’re distracted and we can’t keep going like this.” Wanda grumbled at another failed attempt to flip Natasha over. Hand to hand combat was one of the few subjects that Wanda hated the most. With the help of Natasha, Wanda got up and walked over to the waters on the other side of the room. She was gulping down the remaining when Natasha’s words caught her off guard. “What happened?”

Wanda cocked an eyebrow while still drinking her bottle, needing more elaboration. Natasha faced Wanda while hundreds of thoughts racked her mind. Luckily for her, Wanda had trained her on how to make them quiet enough that Wanda wouldn’t be able to hear. When Natasha found the right words, she said, “I am not doubting you. I am doubting her…” Wanda closed the bottle and looked around the room to avoid Natasha’s eyes. This had been the first time that anyone from the team had remotely even asked her about that night. To be frank, she hadn’t expected Natasha to be the one to break the ice. Usually it was Steve that would act like the team’s counselor. Guess things change.

Wanda sighed and recollected her memory for the night that continued to haunt her. “One minute, I left to get a drink from the bar. - she said that she needed to go to the bathroom. The next minute, I come back to see her all over blondie.” Wanda’s grip on the bottle tightened at the words she was going to say next. “I thought it was a mistake - that she could have been too drunk that night - b-but her thoughts were so - loud.” Wanda slammed her fist at the table in front of her, tears already falling down her cheeks. “A-a-and I saw everything-”

The broken hearted girl didn’t have much energy left in her to continue. She dropped to her knees and sobbed into her hands. Natasha kneeled beside Wanda. She pulled the poor girl into her arms, trying her best to physically comfort her. But nothing could really make Wanda feel better. What could you say to a girl that saw every moment where her girlfriend has cheated on her? Nothing - you say nothing.

“It’s quite pathetic actually,” Tony said as he spun the rod, causing his player to score in foosball. He was currently versing Steve as the two decided to quietly speak about Y/n’s actions for the past couple weeks. Going on the defense again, Steve shot back but Tony was quick to block. “She’s probably just trying to get her money back.” Steve huffed from the sudden slap shot as well as Tony’s rude words.

For the past couple weeks, Y/n had gone from trying to win Wanda back to trying to win the whole team back. The first thing they noticed was all the completed mission reports and the continuation of it. Clint was the first to jokingly comment, “Bruce must really love mission reports.” But the genius bore a confused look before replying with, “It wasn’t me. Even I haven’t had anything to do in my stack for a couple days.” Bruce had a displeasured look on his face. Clint just assumed it was either he wanted to do his stack of reports or the comment was actually true...or maybe both.

When it was time for the meeting, Clint had asked everyone in the room, minus Y/n, on who was completing the mission reports for everyone. “Well, I’m doing Wanda’s and mine,” Natasha claimed as she sat in her usual spot. No one was able to detect her lie, but then again, Natasha was always good at lying.

Clint was quick to figure out that the only person remaining must have been the person responsible. With a straight forward voice, he explained to the team that Y/n had been completing everyones, besides Wanda’s and Natasha’s, reports. Still, Natasha sat there, copying the confused looks on everyone’s faces. She didn’t care to tell them the truth, it wasn’t worth it. However, the meeting proceeded with little comment on Y/n’s actions. She wasn’t worth the mention.

“What if she actually is trying to say sorry to us?” Steve couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for Y/n, but Tony’s words made the guilt go all away. “Oh - so miss Hydra over here actually wants to apologize - hilarious Steve.” With that, Tony quickly spun the rod and scored the final point, making him win the game. What the two failed to realize was the fact that Y/n had overheard their conversation. She no longer felt hungry for the day and had retreated back to her room, feeling overwhelmingly numb from the confession she heard.

It was a new and different day for Wanda. She had managed to want to try and sit in the common room with her team seeing as sitting in her room no longer gave her the same satisfaction anymore. Scrolling through the tv, she was about to pull up Bewitched when the following words appeared on the screen:

Bewitched is longer provided on Netflix. Please see related tv shows.

“What do you mean it’s no longer available?” Wanda frustratedly questioned. And here she was trying to have a good day. “Sorry kid, I guess Netflix took it off their streaming service,” Clint said as he leaned over the couch. “No why would they do that?!” Wanda said with an exasperated look. Clint simply shrugged, Netflix did have an awful reputation for getting favorites removed or canceled. “No clue, but you could try other shows.” Wanda crossed her arms and huffed at his suggestion. “I was really feeling Bewitched today.” Ruffling her hair, Clint left after saying, “Try to feel for something else.”

However, Wanda had failed to feel anything but angry for the remaining of the day. It wasn’t until she sat in her room for the night, aimlessly finding shows in her room when she noticed Bewitched on her home screen. She quickly clicked on it noticing that all eight seasons are there for her own viewing. Her mood immensely increased for the night as she fell asleep in the middle of season two.

Outside of her room, Y/n had been cleaning up the compound for the night. It was getting harder and harder to clean the kitchen when everything in her wanted to just take a couple of snacks for herself. Her hunger was constantly on her mind as well as the stupid flashes that have sporadically appeared more and more everyday. But she wanted more than anything to prove to the team that she is a good person. Stealing, no matter how minor, was probably the last thing she needed to be labeled as.

When she completed for the night, she returned to her room but paused outside of her door when she heard the Bewitched theme song loudly play in Wanda’s room. A small smile appeared on her face as she walked back into her room and slept on the floor tonight.

“Did it ever occur to you that I love you - like a lot?” The couple were laying in Carol’s room decorated with punk rock posters and pictures of their team. Small plants were placed around the room while Malcolm in the Middle was used as background noise.

“Nah. I haven’t heard you say it in approximately - 10 minutes?” Carol laughed as Y/n glanced at her watch. They laid on their sides as they faced each other, their faces being only inches away. “Well I do.” Carol cupped Y/n’s cheek as she soon grew mesmerized.

There are words to always describe feelings with someone but they all felt overused or incomplete. Because everything felt like this daydream colored borders with warm tones and retro filters as she glanced at Y/n. She felt like she was watching a show that she would never get tired of. Even if the show was in color or black and white, new or old, slow or fast, she would watch just to see her. Just her.

“You do what?” Carol flicked Y/n’s forehead at her response. “Kidding - kidding.” Y/n said as she rubbed her forehead. Carol rolled her eyes and kissed Y/n’s head as she cuddled into her arms, legs tangled within the sheets. “I do love you.” Y/n kissed her hair as she combed it with her hand. “I know,” she whispered, hoping Carol would pick up on the secret reference. Because to Y/n, yeah, she’s worth a whole galaxy.

It was the middle of the night when Steve woke up from a nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Rather than staying in bed to force himself to sleep, he got up and headed to the kitchen for a late night snack.

Heading into the pantry, Steve pursed his lips noticing that Y/n’s cubby had been empty for weeks it seems like. The guilt that was slowly forming inside him kept building and building. Although he knew he could try to do something about it, the loyalty he had to his family - to Wanda. That was something he didn’t want to break.

The relationship with Wanda and Steve was something similar to a father and daughter relationship. Steve had always wanted a kid of his own and Wanda had lost her father. The irony of it all just happened to work for the two. Even though Wanda nor Steve would admit it out loud, they viewed each other as the roles that needed to be filled in their lives. They needed each other regardless of titles.

But then there was Y/n. The troubled girl that made Steve absolutely nervous with how quick her and Wanda seemed to like each other. It absolutely didn’t help Steve’s case when the whole team found out about Y/n’s past. His anxiety had practically skyrocketed. It eventually led to a one on one talk with Wanda about how sometimes we need to protect ourselves before letting people in.

But Y/n was still there. Breaking down Wanda’s walls. So just like any Dad would, Steve watched over. Making sure his girl was always happy and safe. So while Natasha may have refilled Wanda’ cubby and did her reports, Steve had carried Wanda to bed during nights she couldn’t sleep. He made her tea for times that she didn’t want to talk, which was often. He tucked her in at night and cuddled with her when she needed a shoulder to cry on. He was just there.

But so was she. She was there whenever Wanda cried at night. She was there when Wanda would sometimes forget to eat after busying herself all day. She was there to take care of Wanda. She was there when Steve wasn’t. And that meant everything to Steve. So why couldn’t Steve be there for Y/n?

There were a lot of unanswered questions roaming around Steve’s head. Rather than pondering more about them, he walked around the tower, eating a pack of cookies for himself. Just as he was turning the corner, he glanced towards the conference room to see Wanda asleep in front of her reports. However, the more alarming part was the girl that happened to be right in front of Wanda. Steve quickly grew on high alert and observed Y/n’s actions. However, after a couple minutes of harmless actions, Steve forced his shoulders to relax. “She’s just doing reports - calm down,” Steve thought.

But he couldn’t calm down. The guilt had maneuvered it’s way back up to his throat as he actually noticed the pale state of the once bright girl. For someone that had literal fire abilities, she lacked the glow of any raging fire. Feeling nothing but guilt all over, Steve felt compelled to say something - anything. But he froze. He didn’t know what to say.

However, the opportunity soon was lost as Y/n finished everyone’s stack of reports. Steve hid around the corner as Y/n passed him. Hearing a door close was when Steve stepped out of hiding. He glanced towards the direction of Y/n’s room, feeling every need to go to her. But his footsteps led him to Wanda. He picked her up and carried her to her room. Wanda will always be first in Steve’s heart. And nothing could change that.

“We have to stop this treatment Tony.” Steve waltzed into Tony’s lab the very next day. For once, he couldn’t sleep for the remainder of the night. Y/n was all over his mind. The guilt was practically eating him alive.

Tony rolled his eyes at Steve’s dramatic fashion for entrances. “Oh - good morning Tony - how are you - I’m actually pretty good.” Steve rolled his eyes as he stood in front of Tony, a hologram in between the two.

“Cut the crap Tony - I’m being serious.” Steve crossed his arms. This needed to end. “And you think I’m not Rodgers?” Tony was quick to respond, already growing irritated by the conversation.

“This isn’t right - none of this right.” Steve wiped the hologram to finally get a clear view of Tony as he grew frustrated by the second. Tony simply swiped it back, not wanting to deal with the issue. “Well maybe if she just quit - we wouldn’t need to worry about anything. It’s not my fault Fury hired Ms. Hydra - and if he finds out I fired her, he would not allow it at all.”

“But can’t you see that your stupid plan isn’t working? All we’re doing is abusing the girl.” Steve wiped the hologram again but Tony simply walked to a different station and continued his work. Angry with his response, Steve walked around the table and stood beside Tony.

“This needs to end Tony,” Steve said through his gritted teeth. The man was clenching his jaw so hard, it almost looked as if he was going to break his teeth. However, Tony quickly glared at Steve at the mention of his threat.

“Don’t you fucking dare. Can’t you actually see that I’m trying to protect Wanda.” Steve tilted his head at the awful reasoning for his actions. “How is this protecting Wanda? Why are you even trying to protect her?”

Tony slammed his fist into the table, feeling his anger rising by the second. “We - no - I need to protect her Steve!”

“Why Tony? Why?”

“Because I’m the goddamn reason her parents and her country is dead. I’m the reason that everything she ever loved is gone. I’m the reason for her sadness. She, of all people, deserves happiness. And I sure as hell won’t let anyone else hurt her anymore - no more Steve.” Tony didn’t give Steve a chance as he walked out the facility needing a day drink more than ever.

It was lunch time and all Wanda could think about was the need to cook paprikash. She didn’t know when the last time she had actually cooked. And seeing as the majority of the team was on missions, she could actually cook without interruptions or lingering eyes.

Walking into the kitchen, Wanda tied her hair up and started to take out the necessary ingredients for the meal. It was when she was talking the spices out when Vision had appeared out of nowhere, nearly scaring the girl. “Vision!”

Sensing a slight rise in her heart rate and anger, Vision had quickly apologized. “Sorry Wanda.” Wanda shook her head and quickly resumed prepping. “I will try to work on making my presence known. If I may ask, what is it that you’re doing?”

“I’m making paprikash.” Vision’s mind grew curious at the word and quickly searched his database for it. “I see. A traditional Sokovian food.” Wanda didn’t realize it, but she had felt a little annoyed at the synthezoid’s presence. It wasn’t anything he did, but Wanda desperately wanted alone time for herself.

Before she could ask, Vision had said, “Good morning Y/n.” Wanda’s quickly grew wide as she avoided glancing in Y/n’s direction. She hadn’t stayed in the tense position though as Vision announced, “Oh - it seems she had left before saying hi back.”

Feeling ever more frustrated with people’s presence, Wanda was about to ask him to leave but noticed the confusion written all over his face and didn’t hesitate to ask, “What is it Vision?” Vision pursed his lips and contemplated his words. It was visibly obvious to see that he was trying to wrack up what to say. “I think...it’s just…” He sighed knowing that this was going to be a sensitive subject to the witch but knowing everything she's been through, lying was not the best option. “It’s just that Y/n-” Wanda quickly cut Vision off in desperation to know what Y/n had done to Vision. If the girl were to even lay a finger on him, she was sure to deal with it herself. “What did she do? Did she hurt you? I swear-” Seeing her eyes turn red, Vision immediately explained himself. “-No no no. It’s not that, the complete opposite actually.” Wanda’s eyes slowly turned back to normal. When Vision saw that her heart rate was close to normal, he continued. “It’s just that...Y/n’s vitals have been decreasing in a fluctuating matter. Some days it would be a small decrease, but some days it would be a big decrease. Overall, her health has been poor.” Vision looked back at where Y/n once stood. If he hadn’t quickly analyzed her, he wouldn’t have noticed that today’s vitals was record worst. “Although she does have physical injuries, she seems to continue to radiate pain throughout her body even when those injuries have healed. It starts through her head and it spreads like a radio wave through her nervous system. I’ve done my calculations and the leading cause could be migraines...” Vision soon was in deep thought, trying to recalculate just to make sure what he was about to say was correct. “...but it doesn’t make sense.”

Wanda tilted her head. Processing this information was hard seeing as at her darkest moments, she wanted nothing but Y/n to be hurt. She deserved it for all the pain she caused her to go through. But hearing it now? That was a different story. It was like an internal conflict was going through her. Should she even care about Y/n’s health? “What doesn’t make sense?” Vision looked hard into Wanda’s eyes as he said, “Migraines shouldn’t cause her heart to stop multiple times.”

Wanda stared at Vision, processing the information that the love of her life is practically dying. “A-are you sure?” Vision slowly nodded. “However, after some calculations, I do believe she will be okay. She only needs a good source of food for her healing regeneration to fully heal this.” Wanda relaxed at Vision’s words. Although she has been through immense pain through these past couple months, having Y/n gone from her life like that would hurt more than anything.

Before Vision could continue his explanation, F.R.I.D.A.Y stated, “Emergency alert. All available Avengers please head to the quinjet per the request of Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers.” Quickly, the two headed to the plane as the important part of Vision’s explanation was missed. Little did Wanda know, Y/n would not heal any time soon.

The trio arrived on the quinjet and wasted no time trying to figure out the mission that was ahead of them. There was a serious feel in the atmosphere sensing that this had to be bad. There was no way that it couldn’t have been. Because if it wasn’t, they certainly wouldn’t have invited Y/n to this mission.

Lately, the girl has been assigned to only solo missions. Y/n couldn’t quite remember the last time that she was on a mission with any team member nevermind the fact with the whole team.

“Backup is needed immediately after touch down. Vision and Wanda, meet up with Steve and Sam at the Northeast corridor. Y/n, you are assigned to the entrance,” Tony stated through the intercom.

The feeling in Y/n’s stomach worsened. Not only was she hungry and sleep deprived, she didn’t also have a partner with her. It also didn’t help the fact that the flashes have gotten worse. Y/n couldn’t help but pray for a miracle. After all, they were dealing with the very people Y/n hated - Hydra.

Y/n couldn’t quite tell when things on the mission got to shit. Maybe it was the fact that as soon as they touched down and went to their assigned positions, Y/n received a massive swarm of Hydra agents. It didn’t help that her health regeneration was not at its peak or these agents actually were decently trained. Or was it during the third wave, that was currently happening, where Y/n tested the limits of her body.

Seeing the onslaught of agents coming her way, Y/n decided it was time to test out her new ability. She rapidly swung her right arm, building momentum as the fire within her right side blazed. As soon as the enemies were close, she released a fire tornado in their path. It had managed to take out at least half of the wave, but more and more kept coming.

Pressing her comms, Y/n said, “Can someone send back up my way?! There’s too many for me to handle.” Y/n kicked back the agent that was about to stab her in the back, but was too distracted to the point a different agent was able to cut her leg. “Fuck.”

Y/n quickly released an ice wall that at first glance, appeared to be the same height as the Great Wall of China. She hoped the barrier would give her enough time for her backup to appear. Focusing all her energy on her fireside, Y/n aimed at any agent near her, using her arm as a flamethrower.

However, worry immediately grew when no one had responded to her call within a couple minutes. Before she could request again, Nat had spoken bitterly in the comms, “On my way.” Sighing in relief, Y/n continued to fight off the agents the best she could.

But no matter how hard she tried to buy herself time, it seemed that Natasha was taking forever to come. It had gotten to the point that multiple lashes already appeared. Her healing regeneration couldn’t keep up at all. Not only that, but her body was either giving up from exhaustion or blood loss. It was only during the last couple agents when Natasha had shown up and quickly killed the remainder.

Y/n glanced at the assassin and noticed the lack of any injuries on her and it was as if she barely broke a sweat. “What happened? I almost got killed.”

Natasha glared at Y/n as she responded with, “I helped Bucky and Rhodey on the way, they needed it.” Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat knowing the redhead in front of her had practically lied. If backup was needed, it was always voiced through comms.

Even if Y/n had wanted to confront Natasha about it, she couldn’t. Natasha had already left to head to the quinjet. Y/n simply limped a couple feet from her. When Y/n arrived, it seemed that everyone else was already prepared for take off. Feeling ever more guilty, Y/n simply sat at the closet seat to the entrance that was away from the team. But something inside her broke even more noticing the lack of any questions or concerns from the team in regards to her injuries.

Not even bothering to buckle up, Y/n sulked in her thoughts when she realized, “Why doesn’t anyone care about me?”

Tag List: @halobaby @arelyitsherec8 @blackxwidowsxwife @cristin-rjd @madamevirgo @trikruismybitch @paradiselost916 @mmmmokdok @morbid-gaymer @dailyavengering @itsnottilly @helloalycia @randomshyperson @tomy5girls @daenerys713 @ensorcellme @lezzzbehonesthere @imagine-reblog @sighsam

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #fake memories

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allnewalldifferentwildspider · 4 years ago

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Zuko & Katara's Relationship Dynamic

This is like the third or fourth time I've tried to write up this post so please bare with me.

Oh wow. That video. Hopefully everyone has seen it now. Not only did it articulate arguments I've been making for years, but it also brought up ideas I had never thought of or noticed before. Watching that and watching the second half of Book 3 again (because it's my favorite) made me want to redo my zutara dynamic post.

I'm going to be using the tiny bits and pieces the show gave us to see how Zuko and Katara's relationship looks and how it would look if they gave us more because...Bryke really fucking hated zutara. I mean, I guess they did.

Katara is compassionate; Zuko is empathetic

A lot of anti-zutara arguments have said that Zuko and Katara could never be together because they would constantly fight and hate each other and it end sooner than later. Not only does this actually describe maiko, but that argument would need to ignore the characters' actual character.

One of Katara's biggest character traits is how compassionate she is. She has a drive to help others and ease their pain. Whether it's getting Aang out of the iceberg or healing a Fire Nation fishing village, Katara will go out of her way to help someone in need.

Katara: No. I will never ever turn my back on people who need me.

Zuko is very emotional and passionate person. As much as he tried to hide it to appease his father, Zuko does want to open up and connect with people. Unfortunately, aside from his uncle, most of the other people he knows are like Zhao and Azula. Not the most understanding of crowds. But because of this he can pick up what people are really thinking and feeling. Think of it as a defense mechanism he developed growing up around people like Azula.

Get these two kinds of people together and you get the crystal catacombs scene. Katara lashes out at Zuko until she breaks down. When she does Zuko opens up with empathy since they have something in common. This creates the beginning of an understanding between the two. Zuko uses that to finally open up to someone who isn't his uncle and Katara listens and reaches out to help. Contrast to the first episode of Book 3 when Zuko tries to voice his thoughts and concerns to Mai and she...doesn't really care.

Something similar happens during The Southern Raiders. Zuko figures out that Katara is taking out her anger of being separated from her father by The Fire Nation onto him and even connecting her mother's death to him.

It's not the first time Zuko has done this either. He easily figured out that Sokka was planning on going to The Boiling Rock. He does it again during Sozin's Comet when he tells Katara that Aang needs to figure out what to do about Ozai by himself.

There's a noticeable pattern of behavior by the time Sozin's Comet arrives. Zuko voices his concerns about meeting his uncle again and Katara is right there to help him through it.

Zuko's empathy combined with Katara's compassion creates almost a cycle of understanding and emotional vulnerability that the two can't really get with anyone else. One notices the other having concerns or problems and goes to give comfort by words or by actions.

Zuko still has a temper but so does Katara

Even after Zuko's fever dream character change thing, even after The Day of Black Sun, he still has it in him to yell at anyone who commits even the slightest transgressions against him:

Aang: That one felt kinda hot. Zuko: Don't patronize me. You know what it's supposed to look like. Aang: Sorry, sifu hotman. Zuko: And stop calling me that!

Sokka: So all we have to do is make Zuko angry. Easy enough. *pokes him with his sword* *annoying laugh* Zuko: All right! Cut it out!

Maybe it's the firebender in him or maybe he really is just like that. Basically if you annoy him, he'll let you know. What people sometimes overlook is that while it takes Katara a bit longer, she also gets worked up when people upset her.

Toph: What's the matter? Can't handle some dirt, Madame Fussy Britches? Katara: Oh, sorry, did I splash you, mud slug?

And remember, it was Katara getting angry at Sokka that even broke the iceberg that revealed Aang.

Katara: Ugh, I'm embarrassed to be related to you! Ever since Mom died I've been doing all the work around camp while you've been off playing soldier! Sokka: Uh... Katara? Katara: I even wash all the clothes! Have you ever smelled your dirty socks? Let me tell you, NOT PLEASANT! Sokka: Katara! Settle down! Katara: No, that's it. I'm done helping you. From now on, you're on your own!

The point is that it is both Zuko and Katara that are very passionate and emotional people. One of them isn't emotionally dominating the other because they both wear their emotions on their sleeves.

This also comes in to play when they set goals for themselves. When Zuko sets a goal, he puts everything into it. Katara is the same way. The difference is that Zuko's drive sometimes gives him a one-track mind while Katara is more flexible. Like for example Zuko being so focused on finding Aang before Sozin's Comet that he ignores Toph's story about her childhood versus Katara wanting to go to the North Pole but taking time to stop and help whoever they come across.

This passion also fuels their values and how strongly they stand by their beliefs. I already put The Painted Lady quote up above but Zuko's morality is what is making him so angry at himself during The Beach. He knows what he did was wrong, but he couldn't face it yet.

Sometimes their emotions get the better of them, but it's only because they are passionate about what they're doing.

Their natural teamwork is amazing

I can't provide a lot of clues in this bit because it's more of a visual thing. Just consider how flawlessly their plans worked during their attack on The Southern Raiders. Especially when you consider that it was a stealth mission so they barely even said anything to each other during and it still went incredibly well.

You could see it again during their mock battle with The Melon Lord. Sokka must have noticed because he paired them together to deliver some "liquidy-hot offence." And they pulled it off, again, without having to say anything.

They've only been a team for a few weeks(?), days(?) but they act as if they've been doing it for years.

They trust each other's judgment

Piggybacking of the previous point, Zuko and Katara have only been a team for a while but there seems to be a level of understanding in terms of judgement. They both know that whatever the other chooses is going to be a well-thought out decision. Maybe it's because they see each other as the mature members of the group even though Sokka is the same age as Zuko? I don't know.

Aang disappears right before they embark on their fight against the Fire Lord, and out of nowhere, Katara puts Zuko in charge.

Zuko: Get out of the bison's mouth, Sokka. We have a real problem here. Aang is nowhere to be found and the comet is only two days away. Katara: What should we do Zuko? Zuko: I don't know. Why are you all looking at me? Katara: Well, you are kind of the expert on tracking Aang.

and that wasn't the first time in that episode that she went along with one of Zuko's decisions

Katara: Aang, don't walk away from this. *She begins to walk towards him as a hand touches her shoulder to stop her from doing so.* Zuko: Let him go. He needs time to sort it out by himself.

As a lot of people have pointed out during the entirety of The Southern Raiders, Zuko never gives a suggestion on what he thinks Katara should do. Aside from making it a stealth mission, he follows her lead the entire way.

Katara teases Zuko (and he lets her)

The fun one. This one has two parts: pre and post The Southern Raiders.

Before The Southern Raiders, Katara was tolerating Zuko. She was still angry with him about the betrayal at Ba Sing Se. Getting little jabs at him was the only thing that was really helping her from loosing her cool around him.

Katara: I'm sorry. I'm just laughing at the irony. You know... how it would have been nice for us if you lost your firebending a long time ago? Zuko: Well it's not lost. It's just weaker for some reason. Katara: Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are. Toph: Ouch.

He just finished yelling at Aang and Sokka but all he does is glare at Katara. She does it again, but to be fair, he kind of set himself up for it.

Zuko: It's a sacred form that happens to be thousands of years old! Katara: Oh yeah? What's your little form called? Zuko: ...The Dancing Dragon.

Then comes post The Southern Raiders and...yeah, she's still picking on him and he still lets her. Granted it's a lot more playful this time around.

Zuko: They make me totally stiff and humorless. Katara: Actually, I think that actor's pretty spot on. Zuko: How could you say that? Actor Uncle: Let's forget about the Avatar and get massages. Actor Zuko: How could you say that?! (Cut back to Katara wearing a satisfied grin on her face and she looks to an expressionless Zuko as he slouches in his seat.)

I love pointing it out every time. She teases him and he does nothing about it.

Katara: Er, no. I was looking for cooking pots in the attic and I found this. Look at baby Zuko! Isn't he cute? Oh lighten up, I was just teasing.

And she admits it!

So what can we take away from this? From what little time they were given together (thanks, Bryke) it seems that Zuko and Katara really understand each other on an intimate emotional level. They can sense when the other is distressed and offer comfort. They're both passionate in and out of combat, for better or for worse. They're comfortable with each other as if they've known each other for years even though it's such a short time. Katara also likes to add a little bit of playfulness in there with Zuko letting her have her fun, again, showing how comfortable they are with each other.

I do think their relationship could have gone to romantic sooner than later if you would have given it a bit more time. Like first half of a hypothetical Book 4.

To me, at least.

#zutara #zuko #katara #anti kataang #anti bryke

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sepublic · 3 years ago

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TOH deserves better

Y’know what?

Now that I’ve… Had time to really focus and think and process about the news for The Owl House and its shortened Season 3, now that I’ve really dealt with other things in my life, I’m…

I’m angry. I’m genuinely MAD…

The Owl House has always been a comfort show for me! It’s a show I’ve loved, its characters and worldbuilding and mystery is fascinating to me and it’s inspired me! When Season 1 ended... I was excited. I was prepared. I braced myself for the story that Dana Terrace and the writers intended to tell us. I knew we had at LEAST two more full seasons to go, based on Dana’s comment about a third season.

Season 2 would’ve been a safe season in a sense. A season where we’re in the middle of the action, where we can get onto things that have been planned and set up; But at the same time, it’s not the final season! It’s not the end. There would’ve been an entire, full season, twenty or something episodes after that. I could’ve sat back and enjoyed Season 2 in all its entirety, as another phase of the story set in the middle, and when it was all said and done, I could speculate and hope and wish and think about this final third season; Assuming we wouldn’t even get a fourth!

But no… NO, Season 3 is literally just. THREE episodes, each twice the normal length, so like six episodes; But still, it’s obvious with how it’s formatted into a trio that Season 3 will be less a season, and more the final battle and climax of the show, the culmination of everything else! Which means for all intents and purposes… Season 2 IS the final season of the show. That everything we want to see, we hope to see; It can only happen in Season 2, because Season 3 is the final battle in a sense.

Warning: A LOT of text and upset ramblings below!!!

And that deeply angers me. I’ve done the calculations and there are fourteen episodes we’re missing out on, due to Season 3 being cut down. Fourteen episodes to do any wide variety of things; To focus on side characters, to flesh out lore and plot. To extend and focus on character arcs, to introduce and establish things; Fourteen episodes to introduce, develop, and finish various arcs and smaller plots! There’s SO much to do in fourteen episodes, especially in regards to relationships, and even representation as we talk about Luz and Amity and everyone else!

And out of NOWHERE, out of the blue- We don’t get that! Dana Terrace herself admitted on Twitter that she left in December to focus on the news. I’m not entirely sure on how production works, but I imagine she and the crew were working on Season 2A when they got this news… Which means they’re going to have to COMPLETELY rehaul and rehash their plans for Season 2B as a result. They’re going to have to hastily pull together and rush the arcs they had planned out, so it can lead up to Season 3.

They expected fourteen episodes of development; And now they have to resolve that within the remaining ten or so episodes of Season 2, which is already jam-packed with the original plans. At this point, any criticisms for the show’s writing or pacing that might come later down the line… I can’t take it seriously in good faith. Not when I know how Disney just screwed over Dana and the crew so suddenly, so abruptly, so HUGELY. Season 2 was supposed to be the mid-point, and you KNOW there are a bunch of arcs and little plot points that will never see the light of day, or be rushed, to accommodate the change!

And it really angers me. Season 3 would’ve been made after a lot of fandom response- So all you fans of the Detention Kids, who would’ve liked to see more of them? Season 3 would’ve been the time for Dana and the crew to throw the fandom a bone… EXCEPT, because it’s only three/six episodes, there’s no way the Detention Kids will get focus now. Not when there’s the actual climax of the show left. There’s no room to have fun, to focus on side characters or expand even more on pre-established ones. Fourteen episodes’ worth of kind, small little moments that stand out- Gone, down the drain, never to see the light of day to begin with!

I just… Feel so BAD for Dana and the crew; Dana fought so hard for this story! Her roommate said that nobody wanted to see a story about an old witch and her young apprentice, and you know what, Dana FOUGHT for that story and got it for us! She had to deal with censors for Lumity, but she fought for that! Dana and the crew were EXCITED to tell us, they no doubt had so much planned and in store, you can tell from the tone of the Reddit AMA and the Charity Livestream, all of which were done months before Disney told Dana and the crew about Season 3 being downsized.

And like… Dana herself said that she’s still down to do future Owl House content. If Disney asks her to –with pushback from fans- then yeah, she could do more! We might get an epilogue or sequel series… But that doesn’t change how the pacing of the show will be disrupted. How a lot of arcs will have to be prematurely rushed through and finished, instead of having the loving time taken to develop and appreciate them.

Characters will be rushed through, we had FOURTEEN episodes taken from us! Characters like Belos or Kikimora, or Odalia and Alador, the antagonists- They’re not guaranteed to survive or make it past the end of Season 3, so even if we got more content post-S3, it wouldn’t really be able to remedy for their drastically-shortened screen time, unless through flashbacks or resurrection or whatever. Characters, arcs, development, all are being shafted here.

And this ANGERS me! Like I said, The Owl House is my comfort show. I finished Season 1 with the full understanding that we weren’t even halfway through yet; We still had SO much more to do, so much more to see, amidst all of the wonders that Season 1 had provided! But now I feel cheated. I feel cheated, because sike! Actually you WERE halfway through, and that changes everything about the tone, the pacing, the setting of the show. Suddenly I’m already looking forward to and anticipating the end, because the end is DIRECTLY after Season 2; And I can’t enjoy it as much, because now I have that anxiety and dread as Season 2 ends that… THIS is the final, full, regular season.

It was just supposed to be another season for me to enjoy, to further flesh out the show- And out of nowhere, I have to approach this with a sudden sense of finality, I’m forced to really appreciate it even further, because this is it! This is all we have left, when until then, I thought we had so much more! And it’s angering. It’s abrupt. Season 2 was in many ways supposed to be carefree and hands-off…

But now, I have to approach it in an existential sense. With the full understanding that the show is essentially ENDING by this point, with each new episode, we’re on a timer now. We’ve lost the luxury of Season 1, that Season 2 would’ve had, if it was the midpoint in the series. And now I can’t enjoy things as much because just as quickly as I got these new arcs and characters and developments, I have to watch them be quickly wrapped up.

I barely even got them, I was looking forward to more of it, there should’ve been more, and then bam! It’s already done, just kidding! Like it was handed to me, and then abruptly torn out of my hands barely a few seconds later, after I’d anticipated an entire day alone with it.

I hate this. I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m disappointed. I had so much wonder and joy that this was only the beginning, but now it’s actually the ending! I had so much to look forward to, so much promised- And this show was doing well! It was SUCCESSFUL, Lumity brought a HUGE influx of popularity, and you know what? The show deserves that!

Not just for being good in general, but also- This is SUCH a huge step forward in representation, especially given how this is DISNEY of all channels… With Luz being a bisexual, ADHD, character of color! Amity fully being a lesbian ON-SCREEN, no censors, nothing held back, her crush treated and fully indulged the way a straight person’s would’ve been!

The Owl House deserves so much for just that alone. So much attention, and it got attention, it was arguably at a peak because now so much fans are tuning in… And Disney, those paradoxical cowards, they decide to end it early!? I’m angry. I’m frustrated, I’m sad, I was told to expect more, to just enjoy myself in the moment, but now I have to readjust my sense and perception of everything in anticipation of a sudden end.

And I’m sure that’s what Dana and the crew have to do as well, they were so excited, no doubt planting things in Season 2A to be resolved later in Season 3… But nope, now they have to rush it through and finish it in Season 2B, along with everything else they had planned! And they might have to cut out stuff from Season 2B, to make room for the ending of those pre-established arcs!

It’s frustrating and clumsy and sudden, and it just… ANGERS ME! It makes me genuinely mad and frustrated, like I want to punch a wall… And I hate it! And a part of me hopes and wishes that if the fans really DO give enough of a backlash and demand, maybe Disney will change its mind.

If we say enough, ASAP, then maybe Disney will delay Season 2B so that Season 3 can be extended back to its proper length, allowing Dana and the crew to redo Season 2B as they originally intended. I’d be fine with waiting additional time, as much as the crew needs, to redo Season 2B with the understanding that they have that full third season back!

I’d GLADLY, happily, let the crew take their time to redo Season 2B to its original glory and plans, to better set up a full Season 3! I’d let them take their time, I wouldn’t complain at all, I’d still watch! So Disney, go ahead, change your plans abruptly AGAIN, it’s not like you have no qualms screwing over this show or other content creators with this kind of back-and-forth, look at Matt Braly having to contend with True Colors being delayed and almost censored, only for the whole thing to be useless because the original episode was leaked anyway! He had to rush out the Season 3 intro, I’m betting this RIGHT now!

But even if it was delayed, even if it was released early… It doesn’t change the actual show itself. It doesn’t change the actual story, just how it was presented- But the story itself, it remains intact. The Owl House doesn’t even get that. Brevity can be the soul of wit, but if you’re suddenly told out of nowhere to chop it down, it’s not gonna be the soul of anything.

It’s just… SO UNFAIR, and it makes me genuinely pissed off. Like, I could handle True Colors being delayed by the end of the day, because the show is otherwise the exact same- But TOH being so drastically reduced, abruptly shortened, I think that’s honestly objectively worse… So I braced myself for and adapted to one bad thing, and then got another thing even MORE terrible! Much more terrible, in fact- Amazing.

I’m just… Tired and frustrated. Like it feels like I had this happy thing in my life and it was taken away from me, I can’t even have that, I can’t have the hope and anticipation for more, that’s it! It’s already done and gone! I knew I’d have to prepare for that eventually, but in a manner that felt fleshed-out and well-rounded, like I’d really had my time to enjoy and appreciate… But just kidding! It’s like a punch in the face, and it makes me honestly depressed and sad, and I kind of don’t know what to do besides… Ask for more, and hope?

A part of me feels like the investment, the enjoyment, was lowkey all for nothing, meaningless and worthless, now that so much was cut down- And obviously it IS worth it, it always is! But in the moment of despair, I’m asking… Is that it? It was all for nothing, then… All that effort. All of that speculation and enjoyment and anticipation.

All you had look forward to, all of that emotion you put in- So much of it is going to be left unresolved because how the show was so enormously cut down. And now it makes me hesitant to invest in other shows, I’m afraid, in case they get cut down like this, in case my attention is punished and deprived for engaging with the material like that to begin with.

As a viewer and someone who loves and enjoys media, I feel like there’s a trust that’s being breached, I can’t really rely or depend on things I enjoy to last or stay there, so why bother getting invested? Why put in the effort for fandom and content if it’s going to be gone like THAT, if all plans are thrown out the window, and all attention and feedback is meaningless!

What’s the point of showing that you love this, of expressing yourself, if you’re going to get even LESS than what you’d cautiously hoped for? Why hope at all? There’s this bitterness left inside of me, that you shouldn’t have bothered enjoying or getting invested, or pouring yourself into this, because in the end you weren’t going to get anything close to that.

Which, fan content is ALWAYS valid! But it’s usually done to expand on stuff that’s already there… But if there was nothing there because it got pulled last second, then why bother? Why enjoy if it’s so brief? Why invest if the conclusion is so sudden and out of nowhere? Why care at all? And I know that shouldn’t change how I feel…

But with Infinity Train and Amphibia, I guess I really can’t count on anything, not even the mutual solidarity of numbers, to change a thing. So why hope for and ask for more and better? Why even enjoy what I have, knowing it’ll be cut off by itself in the future because the planned arcs were forcibly dropped? I can’t enjoy an episode as part of a larger story now, just a shorter one, and now there’s this pressure.

Pressure, that’s it- A pressure on the show. A pressure on the writers and audience. To suddenly cram in and make the most of this time. Pressure on every Season 2 episode to go above and beyond to make up for the almost complete and utter lack of Season 3; Season 2 will practically have to carry the weight of TWO seasons on its back, two condensed into one! And it just… There’s so much pressure. No time to breathe or enjoy myself or relax, because now it’s all suddenly ending and fleeting in front of my eyes when I hadn’t done that, and now I go back and yell “Come back!”

I wish I’d enjoyed it more knowing it was already ending, but it’s too late. I wish I could’ve done something, but what could I have done? And I really did try to appreciate and cherish this to my ability, but I did so expecting more, as I should’ve- And now it feels I didn’t do enough. I feel cheated. Like the rug was pulled under me, that my effort was rendered naught and never enough no matter how hard I tried, the game is rigged.

I’m frantic. I’m paranoid. I’m already having to say goodbye and brace myself for the end, when I expected at least another full year to unapologetically not have to worry about that, to just be in my zone and be myself and ENJOY… To not have to worry existentially like that. I can’t have that peace, I can’t have that longing, lasting fun.

I knew it’d come to an end, but now I can’t have the time to properly enjoy and relax and appreciate it, to truly live it out meaningfully and deliberately… I’m going to have to laser-focus now and put aside other things, because this thing is NOW and won’t last, unlike the rest; And in a way, that kind of rush and pressure, it just ends up paradoxically making the whole thing LESS fun, even!

So in my attempts to appreciate and enjoy it more, I enjoy it less. It’s like a punch in the face in direct retaliation for getting invested and attached, for actually being connected to the story. I’m being punished for enjoying, for letting myself feel, so why ever bother with that, ever again? Why should I get attached? I’m just punished for that, so I won’t bother. I won’t put myself out there so even if it DOES see itself through, I won’t have been there for it from justified paranoia, and then I’ll miss out when it IS there. Like I can’t win, no matter what- So why participate?

It doesn’t matter, it’s all useless. “It makes me happy”, well, maybe that’s no longer even a reason to do and make and enjoy things anymore, huh! And now I’m just… Bitterly putting it aside. Feeling like I should’ve known better, that at least I’m being more ‘mature’. I feel like Luz in the first episode, throwing her book away, her prized hyperfixation that invigorated and brought so much meaning to her… I feel like Luz, just almost apathetically, in resignation, throwing it into the trash while someone smiles and tells me it’s okay and good and I SHOULD have done that, actually!

It’s making me tired and exhausted. I didn’t want to have to suddenly feel and deliberate over all of this, all at once, right now- But I feel I’d regret it even more if I DIDN’T do that, and then it ended, and the time and moment, the opportunity, it passed! It’s a frantic dread and paranoia that means I can’t appreciate and enjoy properly, because every little thing I so desperately claw at and prize and treasure, but also I keep telling myself not to get my hopes up, and…

It lowkey makes me want to curl up and cry? And sob, because now that insecurity, that voice in the back of my head, it was RIGHT, I really should’ve listened to it to begin with, and not ever bothered! Don’t risk the trust in connecting with someone else’s story that’s still in process, only ever engage with stuff fully finished.

I can never enjoy that anticipation and hope now, of being along the ride for the journey, of just getting to look out the window and wonder; Not knowing the ending, but looking forward to it! And I can’t do that anymore, not when I’m afraid of the trip suddenly grinding to a screeching halt out of nowhere!

But yeah, I’m just… I…

…I’m sad. I’m angry, and now I’m sad. Depressed, outright, directly because of this, when otherwise I wouldn’t have been- And that’s painful and frustrating and makes me feel like I’m being tossed around a whirlwind, with no hope. No say or agency, just a constant bad hand I have to brace myself for. So all I can do is curl up and lie down and hope for the worst to be over, and never dare to be so ungrateful or greedy to ask or hope for more, for good things, just for the bad things to lessen or stop.

In the end, it didn’t even matter, so I should just throw it all away, never try again; And everything I did beforehand, up until then, I’ll look back at it all, those fond and innocent memories, and I’ll look back with an eternal bitterness that will forever corrupt and scar those recollections. So even the past, which allegedly can never change, is ruined for me! The past never gets better, it only gets worse, so WHY… Why believe and hope, and love and live???

I’m just a stupid fool for being so invested in this cartoon, in fiction, why don’t I just GROW UP and focus on REAL things that matter, huh?!? I really do feel like Luz genuinely thinking and resigning herself to the Reality Check camp, having that childlike passion and joy just whittled down and strangled, feeling it die out; Knowing it will, so just getting it over with and killing it now, before I have to mourn later.

I shouldn’t ever put forth the trust in engaging with others’ stories, just my own because I at least have control there, I should just be alone and by myself with only my stories, and never get to connect with or experience companionship with others’ stories, ever again. Just build up my walls and hide and be alone and isolated as I’ve always been- It seems even with fiction or media, I’m STILL by myself! There’s an intimacy in reading and emotionally engaging with others’ stories, where other writers put a piece of themselves into that… Hoping others will read and respond and reciprocate, and feel the same!

Well, maybe I shouldn’t put myself out there, either, in fears of being punished and cut off and whittled down like that! Why express myself, why be, why live? Why be invested into the soul of others, manifested in their own content, if it’ll never come to fruition, if my own soul will only hurt for connecting?! This is worse than a fave or a comfort character dying, because at least the integrity of the story itself remains and is worth it.

There’s always the chance of a return or a revival or a flashback to appreciate, but THIS… This is real life. And it’s THE ending in the most abrupt and literal and tangible sense, of the media itself; An ending more powerful and harsh than any resolution to an arc. Because now NOTHING will ever be expected to come out from this, ever again- No new content, nothing else to enjoy. Media is like a fantasy, an escapism from real life, but even when I fully expected and accepted and saw the boundary and end between fantasy and reality… I still get punished with reality regardless! I can’t escape that real life because it WILL go out of its way to directly cut in and interfere, and ruin, what I love.

So why escape? Why invested? Why love? Why should I ever feel comfort??? It’s all stupid. I’m stupid. Life is finite and it’s merely what’s directly in front of you, don’t dare to dream or imagine, or think or hope, just focus on what’s in front and get by and try to live… Or at least ‘survive’. Or ‘not die’, I guess.

And now I resent real life even more for ruining this for me, when beforehand I could still like and appreciate it, even if I still needed some time away every now and then. So paradoxically, trying to get me to focus on real life, has made me detest it moreso! It’s that whole thing of don’t bother trying because you’ll just get punished for it, just passively wait and receive, don’t LIVE. Don’t stake initiative or agency.

At least if a character dies, the universe and immersion is still intact, if not moreso because then you feel and become even MORE connected and get that emotional catharsis, everything up until then and after takes on a whole new meaning and appreciation; But if it ends in real life, the immersion is gone. The fantasy is permanently shattered, and now it’s all worthless in hindsight because you’re reminded that it was never real to begin with.

And what little you DID get, is now ruined; And you’re not going to get anything else new, either! You can’t even KEEP things anymore… You’re just a bitter fool who’s going to get old and wither, look back, and become even MORE bitter and miserable. All of the emotion you felt, it’s been rendered worthless and meaningless, that connection once made… And I hate to see things ruined like that, so maybe don’t have things to begin with!

I’m bitterly, enviously jealous of others who still manage to enjoy, because why are you still invested?! Why still keep trying, don’t you realize how pointless it is!? And now I’m just ruining that for them, I’m ruining THEM, in my own mind and heart and place in life. How can you still keep going!? So even that stuff they make, that fandom content that exists on its own more or less in a sense, even THAT is marred and ruined for me… And I feel like I’m internally ruining that for others, that makes me feel guilty as I loathe myself for being so awful, so why believe that I can be better? Why try to be better then?!

I’m envious, because you guys still manage to cope and handle this in a realistic way, in a safe and mature manner. And anything others make, it’s just a cruel, cold reminder, a mockery even, of what I’ve lost, of my dashed and ruined hopes. And then I can’t bear to look at or even enjoy THAT, especially stuff made post-announcement, because you guys managed to keep making it anyway. And me, I didn’t, so what does that say about miserable old me? But then don’t make this about MYSELF…

Seriously though, if you’re going to still enjoy and create, please do so! Don’t let this bitter fool stop you. Don’t let me hurt you. Just keep going out there and be yourself, me, I’ll… I’ll figure something out I guess? But yeah, that’s MY problem, not yours, those of you who keep creating anyway, you’re everything I admire and more! You’re all heroes in a sense, and I encourage and fully support you- If my ramblings make you hesitate or discourage you, then just throw them aside and disregard that! I’d never want to intrude or interrupt someone’s own expression, not when I mourn my own, that’s for sure!

And y’know what? Other people who keep creating… You remind me that there IS hope. That there maybe is a point in going on and being invested, especially indie creators, because y’all have control and agency and take over what you make, and don’t have to depend or rely on, or fear, some gross corporation butting in and pulling the strings, threatening to revoke and take it all away! Thank you, I’m grateful, truly I am, I’m eternally indebted in a way I can never fully repay. Maybe I can try to make up for this by continuing to make my own things… So now this depressed, cynical rant, suddenly it takes a more hopeful turn as I write it, because of others!

And now I’m thinking to myself… It IS worth it to connect. For those little moments of inspiration and joy and hope that others can instill. Thanks, you guys. Out of nowhere, you suddenly made it better for me, and kind of helped me overcome this depressive slump; And here I was, just thinking and resigning myself to the end! I guess it never really IS the end… And what I said about feeling like Luz, throwing away her beloved book and joy of her life? Well, she DID go back to grab that book, and in doing so, found love, found family, and happiness she couldn’t have anticipated beyond her wildest dreams!

…Even so, wishful thinking aside, this has all been a whirlwind to me;

I’m tired.

#the owl house #the owl house season 2 #toh #dana terrace #disney #disneytva #rant #vent #rant tw #vent tw #ramblings

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svtskneecaps · 4 years ago

Text

crew and cast

(gender neutral) reader x jihoon

genre: fluff + some?? angst? listen i tried lmao; words: 2.8k

well howdy @toxicsocial tis i, your tct secret santa. so uh, i can’t actually make people cry in a timely manner and i didn’t figure most people would be down to read like 9k of buildup, so!! the angst is minimal!!! but i tried really hard and i hope you like it i love you so much also i forgot to title it again until right now so don’t look at it too hard

You loved your high school’s theatre crew. From freshman year they’d been a staple in your life. It was refreshingly stable to be able to walk into the tech room anytime and reliably know what would be going on. Except, there was one thing about theatre you couldn’t stand: Lee Jihoon. You’d avoided him since freshman year, but unfortunately for you, you’d taken over the position of Run Crew Head and Prop Master, and he was the Student Director. You were forced to sit through every production meeting with him.

Which, fine. You’d do anything for the show to run well. But that didn’t change the fact that he made you want to commit a crime.

Or three.

“Great news guys!” you yelled, sweeping into the tech room. “The crutches still aren’t right and Jihoon wants us to repaint the brickwork on the platforms to be less ‘garish’ and the typewriter is from the 1940s when it should be from the 1890s and I’m going to set something on fire!”

Chan slammed his head against the nearest cabinet. “This is the third time he’s rejected the brickwork, oh my god.”

“Fourth time he’s hated the crutches too, and I’ve told him that the only period accurate typewriter in the basement is literally one wrong keystroke from breaking onstage but I guess he’s willing to take that risk for a typewriter that’s going to be in one scene.” You massaged your forehead. “I’m gonna stay late Wednesday so we can have our shit together by Hell Week.”

“I’ll have to join.” Chan peeled his head off the cabinet, cracking his knuckles. “You think Mingyu’s got time to spare? I might get him to help; there’s way too much platform for me to do in time.”

“Dunno, he’s pretty busy.” Vernon scooped a loose screw out of a sawdust pile and swept the whole thing into the dustpan. “Makeup’s been working hard to get the ‘ragged urchin’ look right.”

“I’ll con Soonyoung into it then, I don’t think they’re rehearsing the dance numbers tomorrow so he might be free.”

“I wish you luck with that, dude.” You scooped the crutch off the floor. “I gotta go beg costumes to let me into the basement storage and see if there’s another goddamn piece of fabric I can use for the crutches.”

“You have fun.”

You ended up getting lucky; Minghao already needed to go down there so you wouldn’t have to fight for cell signal to make sure you were allowed to deface the cloth scraps you’d found.

“You seem stressed,” he noted as he unlocked the basement door.

You snorted. “Stressed is an understatement.”

“Jihoon again?”

“If he tells me to redo the damn crutches again I’m going to nail him to the wall.”

Minghao lead the way down the stairs. “I really thought you had it that time.”

“Nothing is good enough for that guy.”

He shrugged. “He just wants the show to go well.”

“Yeah, well, so do I. He doesn’t have to get up everybody’s ass sticking his opinions where they don’t belong. He’s never been crew, why does he get to make us repaint the entire damn set anyway?”

“He’s the director.”

“Everyone else thought the bricks looked fine!”

Minghao looked at you sideways. “What’s your deal with Jihoon?”

“Like I said, poking his nose where it doesn’t--”

“No, you had beef before he got appointed Student Director.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. He’s always kind of been a pain even when he was ensemble.” You drove your finger into your temple. “And he broke a crucial prop that wasn’t his the night before the show opened and didn’t tell me.”

“You did props?”

“Buddy I was Prop Master. I literally didn’t find out until the Stage Manager tried to run that scene before school.” You glared absently at the shelves of typewriters to one side of the walkway. “I literally had to skip my last three classes and dinner to get a replacement and he never even apologized for it.”

Minghao whistled. “That’s unforgivable.”

“Tell me about it.” You waded through the costume racks to get to the bins of scraps in the back.

“And you’ve never considered forgiving and forgetting? I mean, it’s been two years.”

You sighed, leaning the crutch against a shelf. “I mean. . .”

He snickered. “Come on, it’s just you and me and the ghosts down here, you can say it.”

“I mean. . . he just makes me so mad!” You yanked the lid off a tote with a snap that echoed across the basement. “Like, every time I start thinking maybe he’s not so bad he pulls some other shit on me and I slam right back into hating his goddamn guts.”

“You’re on the same team,” Minghao called down the row. “You’re just trying to make the show better.”

“Making the show better shouldn’t involve painting the entire set three times.”

“I’m just saying, it’d put at least three years back on your lifespan.”

“Yeah yeah.”

You managed to update the crutches by the end of the day, and repainted the entire set on Wednesday--although you had to sacrifice your lunch and free periods and several hours after school to get it all done. Thursday left you with a finished set and another production meeting.

He didn’t like the bricks.

You saw red.

In the hallway, you pulled him aside.

“What don’t you like about the bricks?”

He frowned. “They detract attention from the actors.”

You wanted to seize him by the shoulders and shake him like a maraca. “It’s gray! It is the darkest most nondescript color we have in the buckets and you’re telling me it detracts attention from the actors? You haven’t even seen them rehearse with it!”

“It’s gonna be too much,” he argued. “It’s the same color as half the costumes--”

“I have seen every single costume in the show, it’s not even close to the same pigment!”

“Even still--”

“Listen,” you snapped, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, “if you want the set redone in time for Hell Week then I expect to see you in the goddamn tech room tomorrow after school wearing something you don’t mind getting paint on because I’m not going to make Chan and Vernon repaint the entire damn set by themselves for the fifth time and I have to figure out how to keep that 1890s typewriter from falling apart, do I make myself clear?”

He looked almost disgusted at the prospect, but he nodded stiffly. “Crystal.”

You turned on your heel just as stiffly, striding away before you lost all composure.

To your complete surprise, Jihoon actually showed up the next day, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a shirt so faded that whatever decal had been on the front had long washed away.

“So he arrives!” Chan yelled from his perch on the desk, where he’d been watching you wrestle with the typewriter.

Jihoon looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he squared his shoulders. “Where do you need me?”

“We gotta move all the set pieces in before we start,” Chan said. “Then I’ll probably have you start on the legs. We gotta wait for Vernon before we can move the tall stuff. One sec, I’ll--” he bolted into the hallway.

Jihoon stared after him, then looked to you. “Where is he going?”

“To tell Vernon we’re actually doing the repaint.” You shrugged. “Honestly I’m surprised you showed up.”

“I said I would.”

“Actually you just said you understood the ultimatum; we had no idea if you’d show or not.”

“Oh.”

You shrugged. “Good to have you anyway.”

Chan returned with Vernon before the silence could get too awkward, and you helped them move all the platforms back into the tech room. From there, Vernon set up his speaker and the real work began.

Jihoon helped choose the color of the bricks (and Chan threatened to really break his leg if he changed his mind about it later), and they got to laying down the base coat. You went back to glaring at the typewriter and reading through every antiques article you could find online.

After trying seven different methods to no avail, you shoved your chair away from the desk. “Typewriters are hellspawn created by the Devil himself to punish unfortunate Prop Masters.”

Vernon snickered. “That good, huh?”

“I’m going to put a screwdriver through the keyboard,” you said mildly.

“Okay maybe don’t do that.” Chan paused to pull a clean paintbrush out of his pocket and throw it at you. “You know where the overalls are; come take a break.”

“Why do you just have that?” Jihoon asked.

“A painter is always prepared.”

Jihoon glanced at you. You shrugged. “I don’t question it.”

Between the four of you, you managed to finish all but one platform by the time Chan and Vernon had to go. Being older, you had infinite time, so you cracked your knuckles and sat back at the typewriter. Jihoon lingered in the doorway.

“You need any help?”

You looked up. “Nah, I think I got it. Thank you, though.”

He shifted. “Listen, I know we didn’t really get off on the right foot but, I’m sorry. I know I never really apologized for the prop, and I’m sorry for how long it took, too.”

You sighed. “It’s fine. It’s kind of unfair of me to hold it against you this long anyway, so, I’m sorry too.” It wasn’t the only reason he made you so angry, but that chip on your shoulder made a lot of other offenses you would have normally overlooked seem larger.

“Can we maybe start over?” he asked. “Freshman year all over again?”

You actually found yourself nodding. “As long as you don’t make us repaint the set ever again.”

He laughed, running a paint-stained hand through his hair. “No, I won’t. I can’t do that to your crew again.”

“Good. Cause we weren’t kidding about breaking your legs.”

“I will keep that in mind.” He hiked up his backpack. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

“Happy Hell Week.”

Hell Week was hell (and the sky is blue).

Three of the actors lost their voices four days before Opening Night. One of the glasses for the restaurant scene shattered during the dance number--even though it was supposed to be offstage already--and the third lead got very close to twisting her ankle after landing a jump wrong. The actors could never manage to find their light, there were technical glitches with the backstage mics, and you were so on edge that if you heard the word standby you’d jump so bad you’d bruise your knee on the table.

The typewriter gave you more anxiety than it was worth. The actress using it had strict instructions not to actually touch the keys, because the only thing holding it together was gaff tape. You’d put Jun and Wonwoo in charge of bringing the desk it sat on onstage, because you trusted them to have it under control and keep it from tipping, because if it tipped at an angle any more than about 30 degrees, the keys would get out of alignment and that required time and experience to fix, of which you had neither.

Needless to say, you were two steps away from tearing your hair out.

At least you weren’t fighting with Jihoon, though. You’d even gone out to grab takeout with him for dinner, once, and yelling about all the problems in the car was really cathartic and you came back refreshed and relaxed, for once (only for every muscle in your back to clench at once because an actor bumped the prop table in their hurry to get in costume and one of the glasses fell over).

But it was Opening Night, and you were wound tighter than a spring waiting for everything to go wrong.

And it did.

Jihoon was in the hallway behind the stage, giving Joshua a few final notes about his big solo, and he didn’t check his surroundings closely enough. In his wild gesturing to demonstrate the level of enthusiasm, his arm clipped the typewriter.

And it fell.

He stared at it. Joshua stared at it. You could not tear your eyes from it.

The keys had tilted out of alignment. The bar holding the paper was skewed. The decorative paneling to one side had cracked down the middle. You didn’t have time to fix it before it went on. Maybe you couldn’t fix it at all.

“I am so sorry--” Jihoon started, but you stopped him with a hand, balling the other into a fist.

“Don’t,” you forced through your teeth, because you didn’t want to start yelling at him; it was an honest mistake and it was your fault for not resettling it on the desk after the last run. You were just seething with rage, at yourself, at the typewriter--you didn’t want to project it.

“Ten minutes to go!” someone yelled down the hall. You forced yourself to exhale, gingerly picking it up, flinching with every shift of the keys.

“Is there anything I can--”

“Get to the booth. Tell Seungcheol what happened, just-- be in your place. Jun!” you yelled into the tech room. His head jerked up. “I need you to take over headset for me, can you do that?”

His mouth fell open seeing the typewriter and he nodded, wordlessly, leaping to his feet and hurrying backstage.

Jihoon still stood there, looking between the typewriter and you with an anguished expression. “You’re sure you don’t--”

“I got it,” you said again, clipped. “I can handle it. I can-- just get to the booth, Jihoon!”

You hadn’t yelled. You knew enough not to yell when the audience was already in their seats. But your words had the same effect, because he flinched, and he nodded, and he turned the other way and ran.

Your rage was turning inward as fast as it was dulling, but you had a show to put on, so you placed the broken typewriter carefully on a counter in the tech room and sprinted for the basement.

You managed to get the 1970s typewriter back upstairs and on the desk before it went on, and the show went on without a hitch. The actors hit their marks, all the props found their way back to the prop table, and the pit orchestra didn’t have to loop a section for a missed cue even once.

You waited until everyone was gone before you let yourself cry.

“I really am sorry.”

You looked up.

Jihoon stood in the doorway, twisting his hands.

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s partially my fault for not making sure it was centered right.” You rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands, hoping to disguise the redness. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Do you want help?”

“I don’t know if it can even be fixed,” you said, staring blankly at the remains of the typewriter in front of you. “It might-- it might be beyond my help.”

For a long moment, you stared at it, mind spiralling.

You pushed yourself up. “They’ll want to lock up.” You slung your backpack over your shoulders. “I’ll just come in before the show and work on it. Maybe get Jun to grab me some McDonald’s or something and eat during the intermission.”

Jihoon’s brow furrowed. “That’s not healthy.”

“I’ve done it before.” You waved him off. “The show must go on, you know?” You slung your backpack over your shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The day came by in flashes as you researched the typewriter with a renewed vigor. You could probably use hot glue and some kind of putty to hide the crack in the paneling, you could probably put the keys back or at the very least tape them to look like they were back, from a distance. The bar at the top would be much harder but you hadn’t really inspected it the night before so maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as you thought it was?

You didn’t feel particularly hopeful when you stopped by the tech room to pick up the typewriter.

Until you saw the typewriter.

“What the fuck.” It was fixed. The keys aligned, the crack sealed, the bar sitting on top just as it was supposed to be. It looked exactly like it had when you’d first set it on that desk.

Jihoon came around the corner, dried putty staining his hands. “Hey,” he said, seeming tired but absolutely beaming at you.

“Did you do this?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t want you putting your health on the line.”

“Oh my god, thank you. I can’t-- this is incredible!” You kept tracing your fingers over the ridge formed by the sealed crack, but you couldn’t see it.

“I did a good job, then?” He put his hands in his pockets, grinning.

“Better than good, oh my god I could kiss you!”

Your cheeks burned when you realized what you’d said, but he laughed. “Whoa, buy me dinner first.”

“Bet,” you said, accepting it like a challenge. “You pick the place, I’ll pay.”

“Okay,” he said, and then lifted his hands. “I gotta wash up.”

“Meet you by the front door in five?”

“It’s a date.”

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blitzturtles · 3 years ago

Text

Title: It Starts Like This, Ch. 3/?

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Pairing(s): BruAbba, Platonic Bucci Gang

Summary: “I’d ask how you’re feelin’, but I’m guessin’ the answer’s ‘not so hot’?”

Bucciarati hums at him in lieu of an actual response.

Notes: Turns out being dead has a bit of a long term effect. Who would have thought?

This fic got away from me, so I'm breaking it down by character interaction (sort of). This is Mista's part of this very Bucci-centric fic.

Mista is too busy watching a movie from his spot on the living room couch to notice his two new companions until one of them is practically deposited on top of him. He startles but reigns in his reaction when he sees that it’s Bucciarati. He looks like-- ‘hell’ would be putting it nicely. The poor bastard looks like someone put him through the wringer, either before or after running him over with a train.

“What the hell?” Mista asks, looking up at the room’s only other occupant. Abbacchio isn’t looking at him so much as frowning at the back of Bucciarati’s head.

“He had three seizures,” Abbacchio says finally. Bucciarati makes a noise in the back of his throat and flaps a hand uselessly in Abbacchio’s direction.

“Three?!”

“Yeah,” Abbacchio says shortly, “They did it on purpose. I need to--”

“Wait, what the fuck? I thought they were supposed to help!” That’s the whole reason Abbacchio took Bucciarati, right? Giorno had told Mista about it earlier after Abbacchio had apparently stopped by his office for long enough to explain why he was skipping out on work for the day.

Abbacchio pinches the bridge of his nose. Now that Mista’s looking at him, Abbacchio also looks wrecked, but in a different way. Exhaustion shows despite his makeup, and there’s black smudges around his eyes. It’s not significant, but enough that Mista has to wonder if Abbacchio attempted to clean it up after making a mess of it.

“They have to trigger them to-- I don’t know, evaluate them or whatever,” Abbacchio starts for the hallway. “I’ll be back in a minute. Just keep an eye on him.” He’s gone before Mista can respond. His voice has an odd waver at the end of his sentence that gives Mista a good idea of what Abbacchio is up to.

No problem, if the man needs a minute, Mista’s more than happy to keep Bucciarati company.

“I’d ask how you’re feelin’, but I’m guessin’ the answer’s ‘not so hot’?”

Bucciarati hums at him in lieu of an actual response.

“Yeah, thought so,” Mista shifts them so Bucciarati is tucked into his side. He wraps one arm around him, loosely, before letting the Pistols out to find perches of their own. They’re pestering him too much to keep them locked up, and the extra eyes can’t hurt.

They catch onto the situation quickly enough. Five snuggles up against Bucciarati’s neck, half obscured by black curtains of hair. The braid is still absent, which means there’s a lot more to hide in. Mista figures that that’s about where the rest of the Pistols end up, considering the fact that he can’t exactly see them.

As long as they aren’t fighting, Mista’s sure it’s fine.

He turns his attention back to the TV. He had only just started the movie about twenty minutes ago. Giorno had kicked him out of his office, claiming that he needed to focus on paperwork. Mista doesn’t think his presence was the problem, but he gets the nerves. They’re all a little on edge. It’s why he’s got a movie on in the first place. Something to distract himself, but now he has Bucciarati pressed against him. He remembers what Abbacchio said about stimulation the other day and decides to turn down the volume to near silence. He’s only interested in the gun-slinging parts anyway. Mostly so he can judge the accuracy (or lack thereof).

The two remain in silence for well over fifteen minutes before Mista is startled by the sensation of someone petting his head. Only it’s not his head. He glances down to see that Five has come out of his spot to cling onto Bucciarati’s shirt-- Mista takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Abbacchio got Bucciarati to wear something other than a suit in public, but that’s not important. He’s more concerned with the Pistols and what they might be getting up to.

But Bucciarati doesn’t seem bothered as he gently pets Five’s head with two calloused fingers. Five starts chattering away at him almost immediately. Talking about anything and everything. Mista’s cheeks heat up slightly. They don’t have to be so embarrassing, he thinks to himself, but Bucciarati doesn’t seem to mind. Nor does he seem to mind when One and Seven clamor in for their turns.

Mista startles again when he turns his head and ends up face to face with a blue helmet and a head full of spikes. They’re inches apart, and it’s a little unnerving to be stared at by something that he can’t actually meet the eyes of,

“Hey, SF.”

Sticky Fingers reaches past him and extends a hand out to the remaining Pistols. Two and Three climb on, each grasping a finger, while Sticky Fingers settles themselves on the floor, in front of the couch.

It’s a little odd to watch a stand so much larger than his own sit on the ground with their legs crossed, as if that’s totally normal. Mista has a feeling it has something to do with Bucciarati’s current condition. Five is always quick to pop out when he thinks Mista is in danger. Sticky Fingers must feel their user’s distress, and, if petting the Pistols is helping Bucciarati, they might as well join in.

Absently, Mista notes that Six must still be in Bucciarati’s hair.

“I thought I told you to keep an eye on him,” Abbacchio grouches upon his return. His footsteps give him away, thankfully. Mista doesn’t think he can take another shot at his ego. He’s already been startled twice. A third time would be absurd. (A fourth would be catastrophic. He’d definitely have to go check on Giogio with that kind of luck.)

“I am,” Mista says with a half grin, “Got fourteen of ‘em.”

Abbacchio grumbles something under his breath as he approaches. His fingers brush over Sticky Finger’s head carefully, “You know he doesn’t like it when you fuss.”

Sticky Fingers gives him a look that honestly amazes Mista. He doesn’t know how a stand with half their face obscured can be so expressive, much less expressive the level of unimpressed that SF is.

“Yeah, yeah,” Abbacchio pats Sticky Fingers and moves past them to take up the nearby chaise lounge.

Mista takes a moment to look him over. More so than earlier, and he winces. Abbacchio’s eyes are definitely red, despite his newly redone makeup. He must be trying to do his best to hide from Bucciarati. Not that Abbacchio walks around all that often with his face bare, but to take the time to redo his makeup and at least attempt to look like he hasn’t been crying from the stress… Mista feels for him, but he doesn’t know what he can offer.

He’s tempted to give Abbacchio his spot on the couch, so that the two can curl up together, but Bucciarati seems content where he is. Mista’s afraid to move him around too much, plus, Abbacchio isn’t exactly shy about asking (demanding) for something when he wants it.

The trio lapses back into silence. Bucciarati’s seemingly dozed off with two Pistols cupped under his hand. Two and Three join the pile when Sticky Fingers’ form dissipates, apparently recalled to their owner upon his falling asleep.

“They really take a lot out of him, huh?” The seizures, not the Pistols. Mista doesn’t think he has to clarify.

It’s weird to see Bucciarati like this. Two days in a row no less. There have been times-- in the past-- where Bucciarati had worn himself into complete exhaustion, but it’s a rare sort of thing where Bucciarati shows his weakness. Mista’s privileged enough to have seen it only because he’s been Bucciarati’s right hand a countless number of times. Plus, despite how he acts, Bucciarati isn’t that much older than him. He can’t soldier through everything. He has limits, like the rest of them. And trauma. So much trauma. Mista thinks anyone other than Bucci would have suffocated under it all by now.

“They gave him something to help relax his muscles. It’s supposed to help with the seizures, too,” Abbacchio explains, weary eyes flitting across Bucciarati’s form. He looks much more relaxed now, thankfully. Abbacchio doesn’t exactly like seeing his partner this way, but he prefers it to the painful tension that had been there earlier.

Mista frowns, “This all sounds crazy dangerous.”

“It is,” Abbacchio admits, eyes darting away.

“Oh,” Mista looks down at the man curled against him. Right.

“They wanted to admit him.”

“And he said ‘no’.”

“Nailed it,” Abbacchio sighs. “Look, it’s not exactly my place to tell you this, but… his father had seizures, too. One of the bullets,” he motions vaguely. Uselessly. He hates all of this, and he feels like he’s out of his depth, “Nicked his brain. Fugo and I think this is more uh-- he called it an ‘anoxic event’, but anyways. We don’t think it’s a hit that did it, but from when Giorno brought him back.”

“Oh yeah, Giogio said Bucci didn’t wake up when he healed him at the church. He had to do CPR.”

“Yeah, exactly, and it took him a minute. The brain doesn’t like that anymore than a bullet, I guess,” Abbacchio runs his fingers through his hair, only now realizing he never put his headpiece on. He can’t bring himself to care about it now.

Mista nods. That makes sense. He’s had his own head injuries in the past, and they usually throw him for a spin. He couldn’t imagine that being dead did the brain any favors. No blood flow, means no oxygen, and that usually means cellular death. That’s how Giorno explained it, anyways, and it makes sense to Mista

He runs his fingers up along Bucciarati’s arm. A gentle, comforting touch that he hopes isn’t too much. The man needs a break. Maybe they can plan a getaway for him.

“You said they gave him meds. They gonna always do this?” It’s honestly scary to see Bucciarati like this. Quiet and compliant. Mista doesn’t think there would be much protest no matter which way he might turn the man. He won’t. He doesn’t want to hurt him or set off something worse, but it’s disturbing all the same. This isn’t the man they’re used to, and he knows Bucciarati would hate it if he were more aware.

“Depends,” Abbacchio shrugs. He tries to sound nonchalant, but it’s obvious he’s failing, “Everyone responds to different shit differently, but this was more like what they’d give him if he went to the ED.”

It’s a lot to take in. Mista’s starting to get why Abbacchio looks the way he does. He feels completely overwhelmed, and he’s not actually dating the guy. He can’t imagine how Bucciarati is coping with all of this. Stubbornly, but it’s got to be a lot. More than anyone should have to deal with.

“I’d offer to get you something to drink, but I’m kind of pinned down by your partner here. But you look like you could use it. I still have seven sets of eyes… if you want to.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Abbacchio says after a moment. He wouldn’t consider it if Bucciarati were awake, but all he’s doing now is stressing over something that none of them can do anything about. He’s a coward for it, nonetheless. Bucciarati isn’t getting a break from any of this, except for when he’s unconscious. And Abbacchio has spent years trying to quell his tendency to reach for the bottle when life pushes him too hard, yet here he is.

“You’re overthinking it, dude.”

“Shut up,” Abbacchio grumbles as he gets up.

______

One glass easily turns into two, then three. Somehow he loses the bottle before it turns into four. He can’t figure out where to, and that keeps him busy and distracted for a while.

Whatever it takes to get Abbacchio out of his own head, Mista thinks. He teases him a bit, but he’s just relieved that Abbacchio doesn’t look like he’s going to have a breakdown if someone says the wrong thing about the color of his nails.

He doesn’t point out that the bottle is next to him and Bucciarati now. It’s not his own doing, of course. Bucciarati is firmly pressed against him, seemingly more drool than coherency. The Pistols can’t lift it either, at least not in any way that they could have gotten past Abbacchio unnoticed. The only thing that could do that would be the golden shine of a familiar zipper.

The other thing he fails to mention is the way Bucciarati had whispered, ‘shhh’, against him as SF made off with the bottle. It’s a little funny, and Mista’s happy to keep the secret for now. He figures Abbacchio’s good. Prone to drinking more than he needs to, he’s almost as likely to send himself careening back off the mental health cliff if given the opportunity (and enough wine). Right now, he’s perfectly tipsy and distracted.

Abbacchio eventually gives up his search for the bottle-- he never suspects his partner, nor his aptly named stand.

Bucciarati quietly restarts the movie and turns the sound up a bit. He doesn’t feel great, but his thoughts aren’t completely static now, which isn’t to say much about the coherency. There’s a full body nausea that he can’t shake, either, but the medication makes him feel somewhat detached from his body. Enough so that he doesn’t think he’ll be physically sick.

The television catches Abbacchio’s eye after a few minutes, and the man is scoffing almost immediately at some horribly inaccurate detail or another. Bucciarati says nothing, but he smiles in amusement.

“Thank you,” he whispers to Mista when he thinks Abbacchio is too engrossed to notice.

“No problem, Bucci.”

Mista grazes his fingernails over Bucciarati’s arm, a gentle press that feels nice against sore muscles. Bucciarati hums in response, once more grateful for his right hand. He’s not sure what he would do without his team.

#bruabba #bruno buccellati #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #jjba #jjba part 5 #golden wind #vento aureo #blitzwrites #blitz #fic: islt

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years ago

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Lethobenthos || Mike Hanlon x Reader

⊳ Ch. 2: The Butcher's Daughter⊲

A/n: on the off chance that y'all know about butcher shops and meat or whatever, im so sorry cause even though i did a bunch of research, I know it's still pretty inaccurate so please don't come for me 😂 EDIT: I am crying cause I have 950 followers 🥺🥺🥺 I love each and every one of you guys, thank you so much babes 💞

Warnings: Alv*n Marsh being Alv*n Marsh. He briefly leers at reader. There's no comment, but it still needs a warning i feel. Also, long ass chapter. I truly don't know how to write short chapters, yall. Brief mention of animal death (natural causes) and signs of a PTSD attack. Marker for PTSD attack will be labeled [●●●]. Safe reading loves

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

- 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟗 -

ℕ𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 of Costello Avenue Market, sandwiched between Terry's Barber Shop and one of the finer footwear retailers in town, was Derry's very own, Quality Meats. A quaint little shop - as quaint as butcher shops come, that is - right smack in the middle of the street, just across the road from the Capitol Theater. It was always a treat for Y/n L/n when the annual fourth of July parade was in full swing, she always had the best seat in the house from her bedroom window. It sat just above the shop, and truly had the best view overlooking the street. But the parade was weeks away, and it couldn't come soon enough.

For now, she was stuck in her daily routine at her father's butchery. Every morning it was her job to prep the shop before it opened, check the stock, and assure that everything was in order. Her father oversaw the shop but most of his time was devoted to preparing and tending to the meat in the back. This also left the task of receiving, inspecting, and storing meat upon delivery to her.

Her favorite part of the week. Because it meant seeing her favorite person, Mike Hanlon. He was the delivery boy who supplied some of their best selections, straight from the famous Hanlon Homestead. But this was not what thrilled her, what thrilled her was the company of the thoughtful boy. They had met the previous year when her father had hired him for deliveries, Mike had just taken up work at his grandparent's farm and the two quickly hit it off.

Mike was her saving grace. She never had the stomach for her father's work, and despite their weekly heated arguments on the matter, she'd get stuck with the tasks. At the very least, he didn't force her to work in the back in the meat locker. Not anymore. He had learned that lesson the hard way when he dragged her in despite her kicking and squirming - he figured she was just being dramatic, throwing a fit. But low and behold, it all ended with him clearing out the locker for sterilization when she got sick.

Now the only times she ever stepped foot inside was to get to the back door, which is something she didn't do - something she couldn't do - without plugging her nose and blocking out her peripheral vision as she slipped through the back door to greet her best friend.

An occasion, she feared, that she faced as she glanced impatiently at the clock on the wall for the fourth time on this hot June day. Mike was usually pulling up outside the store by now, hell, she clocked out at four to spend time with Mike and it was already three forty-five. Well, three forty-eight according to the shop's clock which one could always rely to be just three minutes fast no matter how much you reset it.

From her spot behind the counter, she had a limited view of the sidewalk outside. A variety of people passed, but none of them were Mike, the person she most wanted to see. And it certainly didn't help that a crowd of people were bunching up near the door, blocking her view of the window.

Three sharp notes from the counters bell broke her from her trance, throwing her harshly back to reality. A rather intimidating man stood on the other side of the counter, he was quite tall and everything about him put Y/n on edge.

"Sorry sir," Y/n mumbled, not feeling very sorry at all. "How can I help you, today?"

The man seemed to rethink his anger, though she would have preferred it over the new look on his leathery face. A wry smile stretched his lips and Y/n did not fail to notice his wandering gaze, only proving her first impressions to be correct. She felt her skin crawl and she did not fight the disgusted look cementing on her face.

"Just don't let it happen again, sweetheart. Now listen up, I'm in a hurry," Christ, she thought, even his voice is unnerving. "I need a pound and a half of the ground round beef."

"Right away, sir," she says, through gritted teeth. "One moment,"

Y/n hated when people ordered when her father was in the back, even though it happened often. Not just because she despised such tasks as grinding the meat and preparing it, but talking to the customers was never a favorite of hers. This was a fine example why.

Instead, she slipped into the back where they kept their stock that wasn't on display and began preparing the meat with a wrinkled nose.

"Fucking creep," she mumbled.

She wished she could say this was the first time something like this had happened, but unfortunately, Derry was filled with scummy people. Something did seem familiar about him though, she might have seen him here before. It'd make sense, Quality Meats was the only butchers around for miles.

Deciding she didn't want to dwell on it any longer, her mind began to wander. Anything that wasn't the man waiting out front really, thankfully that was easy enough. Hopefully, the rest of her workday would go by much quicker so she could meet with Mike. He said he had a surprise for her, and she had been wondering about it all day. The very thought fills her stomach with butterflies. Well, Mike did that all on his own, anyway. He always brought out that side of her. A bubbly, giddy side of her that always seemed to lose any sense of time around him.

Just ten more minutes, she thought. Just power through.

With the order all prepared, she returns to the front counter to find the man leaning against the counter in boredom. Great, now I have to redo the counters, too. When he spotted her, he straightened up and gave her a disapproving once over.

"What took you so long? I'm in a hurry. Fixing your hair couldn't wait, or something?"

Oh, a sexist fucking creep, she mentally corrected herself.

A snarl curled its way onto her face, but before she could make a bitter remark her dad's voice boomed across the shop.

"Well, if it ain't Alvin Marsh," The man in question moved his attention to Y/n's father, and remarkably enough, a somewhat friendly smile appeared on his face. "Good to see ya,"

"You too, always a pleasure,"

Y/n watched the exchange with shocked uncertainty. It frankly appalled her that this man was capable of being friendly, and even in such limited time in his presence. More importantly, she wondered, how could her father know this man? Why would her father know this man? Everything about this Alvin Marsh guy set her teeth on edge, and the only word coming to her mind for how to describe him was... slimy.

"So," the butcher asked, gesturing around the shop. "is there anything I might be able to help you with? Or has my daughter taken care of you, already?"

Y/n watched with great disdain as the man returned to her with another pointed look, glancing down at the packaged meat ready to go. He looks as if he's mulling it over, and finally, he clicks his tongue.

"Sure," he nods, looking back to her father, chuckling dryly with one elbow back on the counter. "when she found the time,"

"Ah, I see," He nods, sending a disapproving look to his daughter.

"Y/n," he sighs, nodding in the direction of the back of the shop, still a stern look upon his face. "Go wash up and clock in early, I'll take care of Mr. Marsh, and the rest."

Her mouth parted, ready to argue - not out of disappointment, for there was none, but to defend herself - when her father cut her off with a warning look.

"Now?"

She sighed heavily, her head rolling with her eyes as her arms snaked around to her back to untie her apron. At least she didn't have to pretend to care anymore now that she was technically off the clock. Her feet dragged across the ground subconsciously showing her frustration. As she made her way to the back when she heard that godawful grating voice again.

"Unbelievable, isn't it? There's just no respect anymore."

Y/n rolls her eyes when she hears her father chuckle. She sighs as turns the corner and hangs her apron up.

"Yeah, I got one of my own at home. Gorgeous little one, feisty too. But one hell of a mouth. Real bitch sometimes,"

Wide-eyed, and seeing red, Y/n is unable to take any more and heads farther back, slamming the door behind her, not caring if she took the fall for it later. Hell, she just might take the meat locker over that. She's shaking with rage, and his words echo in her skull still as she washes her hands. Her hands begin to sting and she realizes she had lost herself in thought and was just about to wear her skin down under the water as she scrubbed. Y/n shook her head, killing the water and drying her hands when her mind finally manages to break away from the creep when she thinks of the time.

Fuck, it's already five!

Quickly, she heads for the door to the meat locker, her nose already plugged when she pushes it open. Luckily, these trips were always fairly quick given the back door to the ally was just a few steps away, but what she saw when she stepped inside completely threw her through a loop.

The back door was wide open.

Upon first glance, she figured her father had opened it, and even though that was the most logical explanation, it didn't make sense. He never left it open. Not when he wasn't there. He was a stickler about that. Her head whips around the locker, but she was the only one. Fighting the urge to take an anxious deep breath, she creeps forward and peers around the corner, not knowing what to expect.

Her E/C eyes widen happily and relieved when she realizes it was only Mike. But her happiness vanished just as soon as it had come when she saw the state he was in, nevermind the fact he was laying in the heap of recycling!

"Mike!"

He jumped as she stepped out into the light, the entrance to the meat locker was quite dark from where he sat. And before he knew it was her, all he had seen was something moving in the shadows towards him. Y/n felt her heart tighten at the sight, something clearly must have happened, and it must have been bad for him to be startled by her.

Not unlike herself, though, he seemed to calm significantly when he realized who he was in company with. And yet, he still wasn't speaking. His eyes just bore into the darkness of the entrance, still panting heavily. Thick beads of sweat slid down his face.

"Mike," she knelt beside him, subtly checking for any signs of injury. "what happened?"

"I..." he gulps, finally breaking his gaze away and looking at her. "don't know."

Her eyebrows raise a bit higher in question, and curiously she searches his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite the comfort of her gaze, he breaks himself away from it to look back into the dark abyss, fearing It would come back. Whatever It was. And as he does so, he swears he can still hear the rattling of the chains and the bleating of a goat, and the very very very back of his skull was the chilling sound of a clowns laugh.

"Mike?"

He realizes he hasn't answered her yet, and quickly he shakes his head 'no'.

"Here, let me help you," she rises to her feet, extending her hand.

He gladly takes it, and despite his lingering fear from his encounters, she still manages to send a spark through his skin just with her touch. Little did he know, she felt the same way. Y/n pulls him to his feet, and already, his attention is centering away from the locker and towards her. She's watching him carefully, and only now does he fully process the intensity of the worry held in her eyes.

"I-I think I'm okay," he stammers, chest still heaving with his labored breathing. "really."

Y/n nods after a moment, concluding he must be telling the truth. Over time she had picked up on Mike's body language, including all of his tells. For instance, she could usually tell when he was hiding something. He'd always tug or scratch at his ear. Or when he was lying, the ends of his lips would twitch up. Almost as if subconsciously offering a guilty smile before quickly suppressing it. But Y/n found no such thing, and she felt the muscles in her shoulders relax.

"Good," she sighs with a weak smile, her eyes falling to the ground. "Here,"

Her hand leaves his and immediately, they both miss each other's touch but say nothing of it. She steps around him and begins picking up the many packages of meat that had spilled out of the basket. He joins her, just as soon.

"Oh," he steals a glance at her, a small smile creeping up on him. "thanks."

It goes away just as fast, his heart still aches from how hard it had been beating. Y/n does not fail to notice his darting glances over her shoulder at the meat locker. They both rise to their feet, and Y/n casts a confused glance over her shoulder before turning back to him.

"Are you sure you're good, Mike? You don't seem yourself,"

He sighs, not entirely sure himself. His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, and his lips part to speak but the words die in his throat when he hears the sudden and obnoxious revving of an engine nearby. He flinches, head jerking in the direction of the sound.

A ghostly expression washes over Y/n, and her anger visibly rises in seconds.

"Was it Bowers, again?" She scoffs, just enraged at the thought of him and she even begins to stammer as she grasps for an insult, anger clouding her brain."That-That bigoted fucking... dickhole!"

She stomps her foot and huffs, unable to properly deal with the overwhelming amount of anger and exhaustion building up in her. Mike looks at her with the tiniest hint of a bemused expression. His brow shot up and he almost felt a chuckle come out. Almost.

"Dickhole?"

"I know, I know," She chuckles dryly, the ends of her lips twitching up. "Shut up,"

The chuckle in his chest breaks loose and he feels as if another piece of stress has been chipped away. A long process in the making, but it was better now that she was here. Mike had yet to find out, the same went for Y/n. Mike placed the packages he had collected thus far back into his basket and Y/n popped her head back inside to grab a small bin by the door. She brought the small container over, placing the few packs of meat she carried inside and the two filled it in a matter of seconds. Any trace of a smile has fallen off her face as she looks back up at her best friend, shrugging.

"Well, he is," she defends. "All of them are. They're wrong in the head, Mike,"

"Can't argue with that," He shrugs, sending a grimace down the alleyway where the Bowers gang had just disappeared. "Need any help?"

"Nah, I got it. Thanks though," she grabs the bin, holding it against her frame and sends him a short smile. "Be right back,"

He answers with a curt nod, his sweaty palms unknowingly rubbing against his jeans out of nervous habit. She disappears back into the darkness, and Mike immediately feels the weight her absence leaves. The guard she had coaxed down had returned, plaguing his mind as several scenarios spiral out in his brain.

He couldn't tell her about the clown, he'd sound crazy! Hell, maybe he was. At least that's a what small voice told him in the back of his head, but deep down he knew what he saw was real. Real to him. Shaking that terrifying image from his brain would be harder than he thought.

Don't forget the turtle.

Mike shook his head, bewildered at the intrusive reminder his brain sent him. It was a strange sensation like the thought was not his own. It was a gentle voice speaking directly to his subconscious like a radio with interference. And yet, it didn't frighten Mike. Not at all like the dark, intrusive thoughts that had been occurring lately. This was soothing and gentle. Nonetheless, the message sent his hand flying for his pockets.

Relief swept over him when he felt the small lump in his right pocket where the gift resided. He smiled to himself at the thought of giving it to Y/ n. He had been working on it all year, a small wooden turtle he had carved himself in the many free moments he had stolen on his grandparent's farm. Mike couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment he had decided to make a turtle, or that it would come to be such a big secret he would keep until he could give it to her. He had just sat down one day and started carving as if something had compelled him to do so.

And now here he was, ready to give her the small carved necklace. Mike was quite proud of it, not only was it his first carving but he had managed to secure it nicely in a thin - but sturdy - string of twine. Mike takes the time to spare a glance at the darkened doorway where his best friend disappeared, before his hand descends into his pocket, his heart hammering against his chest. His hand fishes amongst the pocket of denim and lint where his fingers find the cool touch of wood and twine. He pulls out the necklace and it dangles in the air as he carefully inspects it.

Was the twine fastened tight enough? Was the belly of the shell smooth enough where it would rest comfortably on her chest without splintering? Most importantly... Would she like it?

He sure hoped she would, given her connection to the reptile. She spoke often of it, the turtle that visited her dreams. Y/n never thought much of it, it had become merely a topic of conversation meant only for small lulls but she did find it funny the reoccurring figure. She described it as being the same turtle somehow, and it was never a threatening presence but a calm one. Like a guardian almost. It was a small and silly feeling that abandoned her by the time she was up and awake but little did she - or Mike - know just how deep the connection ran.

These were all thoughts that flooded Mike's mind but he quickly has to put them and himself at ease. The hiss of the airlock to the meat locker and the backroom reached his ears and quickly he stuffed the necklace back into his pockets. When Y/n returns, looking far less than relaxed do all of his previous worries evaporate into the humid summer air. His hardened stare never leaves her troubled frown as she locks up the side door, all the while he grabs his bike.

The pair falls into a comfortable silence as they head for the back of the alley where Y/n's bike was hidden. All that hung in the air was her defeated sigh that had accumulated after a long and stressful day, and the buzzing of cars as they passed by on the main road behind them. His worries now gone in the wake of her newfound stress he pulls up a curious brow as he walks his bike alongside her.

"Rough day?"

Y/n laughs dryly, nodding to her best friend as they round the corner and picks up her bike. "You could say that."

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The town of Derry was quaint and rather cozy upon first glance. Quite a charming spot on the map with its snug downtown streets filled with local businesses such as Quality Meats. And one couldn't help but admire the long and beautiful running waters of the Kenduskeag stream that bled out from the Penobscot River, under the town and out into the Barrens stretching past the old train yard. The Barrens were the stretch of woods just outside of town.

And it was precisely these woods that the pair had found solace in the cruel and evil world they called their home. Months after their meeting, they had both explored the Barrens and to their luck, they had stumbled upon the Fort. The Fort was what Y/n and Mike called the large pit they had discovered past the train yard and just over the stream. You had to swing across an old rope swing they had found, but that made journey all the more fun. They almost hadn't seen the Fort behind the fallen trees walled around and piled over the top.

The way the trees had fallen it had created a rather spacious room just below the earth. When inside, one could see through the branches slats and out into the rest of the Barrens without being easily spotted. It made the perfect hideout from those who wished to see them harmed, and it also made a wonderful makeshift amphitheater. It was often they would look up from their conversations and see the wildlife walking around just feet away, still unaware of their presence.

This is where they found themselves now, deep amongst the thickets, far away from their everyday troubles. It wasn't until they had abandoned their bikes at the stream to cross and venture deeper inside did they finally feel the effects of the change in scenery. At long last, the weight that settled on their hearts and troubled minds began to evaporate slowly as they inhaled the fresh and pleasantly overwhelming aroma of pine and fresh dirt. It blended perfectly with the dewy oak that hung in the air after the past week's summer storm, as did the gentle breeze that managed to reach them after a long journey through the trees.

The sight of the Fort puts the last of their darkest thoughts to bed - for now. The crunching of twigs is the only sound that reaches their ears as they approach their haven. It is then that it occurs to Y/n, the birds have stopped singing. Come to think of it, she hadn't heard any birds in weeks. It was quite unusual considering these woods of all places were where their song carried the loudest. It was as if they were all... hiding.

She realized even the atmosphere felt different, and not just in the Barrens. It had been a thought blooming in the back of her mind for the past few months; that the town had been cast into a dark shadow. While Y/n had lived in Derry all her life, it had always felt mysterious to her. But this was different, it was darker. Like a cloudless storm had rolled into Derry, with no intention of leaving.

Mike brought her from her trance, pulling her gaze back down to earth from where it was previously fixed on the treetops.

"I feel it, too."

"What do you think it is?" Y/n asks finally.

Mike's lips crease into a flat shrug, eyes flitting to the ground as his shoulders briefly rise.

"I don't know," he sighs, his gaze trailing up to where hers laid in the treetops as if expecting to see this so-called storm with his very eyes. "But it's nothing good,"

Her hardened frown turns back to the forest floor, blinking several times as she reached for a thought that was fast asleep in the farthest corner of her brain. It almost didn't even feel like a thought so much as a part of her brain itself. But it quickly dissipates as calm washes over her, taking with it any budding anxieties. She could almost laugh, none of this made sense. Y/n had been waiting all day to be here with Mike, and now she was.

Y/n wasn't going to let anything ruin that. Or so she hoped.

A coy smile plays at her lips as she picks up her pace towards the Fort, and swiftly she navigates through their hidden entrance. Her hopeful attitude is just infectious enough that it takes to Mike, and warmth blooms in his stomach as he quickly follows her. His feet bring him to the entrance of the Fort, and through the slats, he can see Y/n settling in.

The sight of her relaxing brought a small smile to Mike's face, and quickly he joined her inside. The welcoming effect of the Fort just as soon touched him as it had her, and never had he been more relieved to see the sight around him.

Soft light from the gas lantern bathed the small dome inside the earth, illuminating the many mossy branches perched above their heads. Several discarded wooden boards lay tucked into the dirt beneath their feet, creating makeshift wooden floors that had long been covered in several spare blankets they had brought. While the dome was just that, it was not a perfect circle. It was a bit uneven but this gave the pair the advantage of a single corner. This is where they kept the single beanbag they had managed to get their hands on.

It was just as they had left it, a warm and cozy corner of the world that belonged just to them. It smelled just as the forest around them, only more intensified in their close courters.

[●●●●]

Y/n stumbled away from the bean bag suddenly with a horrified shriek, her band coming to rest shakily over her mouth as she backed into the dirt wall behind her. Mike jumped to her side, eyes wide and fearful as his mind conjured every horrible possibility. The fear from the alley returned.

"What? What's wrong?"

A heavy sob was building in the far back of her throat, her wide e/c irises were beginning to dilate and her limbs trembled. Mike recognized within moments what had caused her such distress, having recognized an attack of hers like this only twice before. But the pain of seeing her so distraught was burned in his brain so he might never forget. His hand that had come to rest on her shoulder now brought her into his embrace. As she stumbled numbly into his arms he saw her eyelids screw shut, and several heavy tears were squeezed free.

"Hey," he whispered soothingly, his hand rubbing circles in her back. "Hey, it'll be okay. You're not there anymore, you're not there. You're not there..."

Slowly but surely her breathing becomes less ragged, and he can feel her head nodding into the crook of his neck as she takes in his words. Y/n's sniffles are loud in his ear but he couldn't care less. Mike just wanted her to be okay. He only now realizes he was still muttering sweet nothings into her ear as he feels his mouth grow dry.

"We're okay, Y/n. You're safe."

She takes a long and trembling breath that he can feel in the crook of his neck. Her breath brings out goosebumps on his skin but he quickly banishes the thought away in her troubled state. When she speaks, her voice is barely audible, even from beside his ear.

"Thanks, Mike,"

All he can find himself doing is pressing a flat smile to his lips, his eyes glazing over sadly at the limp pigeon in the corner behind the beanbag. The sight brings a strong and forceful wave of sadness that washes over him, but he knows it is not quite the same kind of sadness as she is experiencing. Finally, after almost twenty minutes have passed, she breaks away, sniffling.

Mike feels the weight on his heart triple in size when she pulls away to reveal her puffy eyelids. The whites of her eyes are laced with red veins, and her trembling lips let loose a few shaky breaths. Immediately, she does all she can to wipe away the tears, but the evidence of her sadness remains. She shakes her head, disappointed in letting herself show this side and chuckles bitterly as she clutches her aching chest.

[●●●●]

"I'm sorry,"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "Don't do that, okay? You should never apologize for this. For feeling anything. You have your own baggage, just like everyone else."

She chews the inside of her lip in a nervous habit, heat creeping up in her neck.

"Sor-"

He eyes her warningly, and she bites back a sheepish smile and clears her throat. "Okay."

He studies her for a moment, not aware he is even doing so as her swollen eyes trail sadly across the room where the pigeon lays. He can hear a mournful whine building in her throat before he cleared his own with a somber expression.

"It's okay, I'll take care of 'em."

A weak, thankful smile flickers across her face and she watches thoughtfully as he rises and crosses the fort to the pigeon. He grabs one of the spare towels they kept around - sometimes the old rags they spread across the wooden grates would need a quick replacement, as they discovered the hard way - and knelt before the limp bird. Y/n finally rises to her feet decidedly and slips past Mike and outside the Fort without a word, a rusty trowel now in hand.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The pair now stood before a small lump in the dirt, their heads pulled down with gravity as they stare at their feet. After Y/n had dug a small grave, Mike had buried the old pigeon, and the two had managed a small eulogy. Hosting a small funeral for a pigeon is certainly not what the two had envisioned their day would look like, but oddly enough, it was cathartic for both of them.

Mike was hardly old enough to remember his parent's funeral. The same could be said for Y/n, and like Mike, she hadn't exactly been emotionally or mentally present for her mother's funeral, for when the time came she had still been in quite the state of trauma. Y/n didn't like to talk about it, and in their year of friendship Mike had only recently found out, but she had been the one to find her mother's body as a very young child. So it was no surprise the familiar sight of the limp body brought her such distress.

As her glassy eyes stare numbly at the mound in the dirt she feels a soft yet somehow calloused hand slip into her own, giving her palm a light squeeze. Her head feels heavier than normal in her crestfallen state, she notices, as she picks her stare up off the ground to look at Mike. He wears a small and gentle smile for her and gestures past her head towards the Fort that lies beyond only a few feet.

"C'mon. We should settle in before it gets too much later."

Her thumb flitters across his skin in response, and she nods. The two of them make their way back to their hideaway, the sounds of the earth beneath their feet filling the pensive silence once more. When they enter, her eyes flicker to the seat she was previously ready to occupy. A small shudder passes through her and she instead chooses the pile of blankets across the cramped room.

Mike settles in beside her, his hands flying back to his pockets again to ensure the turtle remained on his person. Sure enough, the small wooden necklace could be felt floating amongst his things inside his pocket. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, one she would have caught had she not distracted herself with the task of fishing out their stored away activities. A deck of cards was pulled from the small and rusty tin lunchbox they kept there for storage, soon to follow was an equally rusty - and rather dusty - silver spoon. Y/n shrugs with the spoon in hand.

"We could play Spoons or something?" Y/n suggested half-heartedly, her eyebrows falling into a curious frown. "Or was there something else you wanted to play?"

He gulps nervously though he doesn't quite understand why he was even nervous in the first place, it was Y/n! Then again, all the more reason for his heart to be aflutter... It was Y/n.

His sweaty palms return to his jeans and he wipes them anxiously hoping to keep his hands dry, and he sends her a weak and nervous smile.

"I um," he cleared his throat, and she emptied her hands, curiously turning all her attention to him. "I uh, wanted to show you something I made?"

"Oh," she says, a bit taken aback. "Yeah, okay. What is it?"

Any and all responses he had gone over previously in his mind vanished into thin air, leaving him speechless. All he could do at that moment was fish into his pockets, his fingers lacing around the string as he pulled out the necklace. It dangles in the air, the soft golden light from the lamp beside them illuminated the many grooves engraved into the wood that created the illusion. It sways back and forth before their eyes, but his gaze is set not on the turtle but her.

Her eyes had widened in reverence, and he could feel his heart swell with pride. She shakes her head in disbelief, the ends of her lips tugging up in a smile.

"This is incredible, Mike!"

He can feel a heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears that could rival the summer sun. His grin widens bashfully.

"Thanks," he says, gesturing towards her with the necklace, inwardly cursing at himself for this moment not going as smoothly as he had hoped. "It's, uh. It's yours. I made it for you. This was the surprise I was telling you about."

Her attention is on him now, and he can feel his heart skip a beat. He notices that the swelling in her eyes has gone down a little, but the smallest of beads pool in her eyes. She was welling up a bit.

"Mike," she breathes. "Thank you. I... Don't know what to say, I feel like "thank you" isn't enough."

He shrugs as she takes the necklace into her hands to examine it more closely, her thumb tracing the shell of the wooden reptile as she gapes fondly at it. Unbeknownst to Mike, her stomach won't stop its series of flips. Finally, she looks back up at him, and he's happy to see the first genuine spark of glee in her eyes he had been longing to see all day. The pride in his chest grows even bigger knowing he had been the one to make her feel better, even if it was only a little.

"I love it." She says finally.

Y/n takes the necklace by the twine, parting it in two as she brings it to her neck. Her eyes are travel across the fort as her tongue pokes out from between her lips thoughtfully as she attempts to secure the necklace in place. She struggles for several moments, muttering a few frustrations to herself as she fumbles to tie the knot properly without it slipping from her fingers first. Seeing this, his own stomach doing a flip, Mike scoots himself closer and gestures to her neck.

"Here, let me," he offers.

A heat rages up from her neck and to her cheeks and ears, not unlike Mike had moments ago but she complies and turns herself so he can reach the back of her neck. He takes the twine from her hands, their fingertips grazing briefly creating a matching storm of butterflies in their stomach. And as Mike sets to work on the knot, neither of them can see the brilliant grins stretching across their faces that they wished to hide from the other.

"There you go," he mutters shakily, praying she can't hear his voice wavering.

She does, but it only sends her heart racing faster. She mumbles a 'thanks' as she turns back around, and sends him another thankful smile as she simpers down at the turtle that now hung from her neck. Already her fingers had snuck up to her neck to fiddle with the turtle, and a warmth washes over her.

Y/n does not know whether it was her nearly intoxicating feelings for Mike, his kindness, the reassuring presence of the turtle, or perhaps all of the above, but she now felt a great deal better. It was as if a great weight had been taken off of her shoulders, the banishing of great unease as she wore the necklace now. Perhaps it was all in her mind, but Y/n rather enjoyed the strength the gesture had brought her.

And maybe, just maybe, Y/n could take on whatever the future might throw at her.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Black Lives Matter m resources, what you can do to help. Link in the comments below, can be accessed on any computer.

Support black owned businesses! There's this great app shared by @lovechlmt on Twitter, which I found on a post from Tumblr but either way I downloaded the app and it is a great way to find black owned businesses in your area! Please download and use if you can! It is called Black Nation

As I've heard, there is a wonderful website that provides therapy specifically for black and other poc, so you can speak to someone who shares your experiences and can truly get you the help you so deserve. Particularly black women. Its a simple url: therapyforblackgirls.com

Here's the description provided from @ madamblack on tumblr for the info:

"This reminds me, if y'all haven’t heard of therapyforblackgirls.com please visit if you need a therapist. You can search by mental health need, location/distance, insurance, etc. I believe there are some that provide a sliding scale payment method for those without insurance.

If you’re not quite ready to make the jump, there is a podcast you can listen to as well as articles and links to help answer some of your questions about mental health and/or therapy.

The purpose, as I understand it, is to provide a place where black women can go to find culturally sensitive therapy. Some specialize in family/couples as well.

Take a look."

[Link]

I'd also like to provide additional resources that were added on to this source, this being a collection of free therapy resources found by @ ntbx on tumblr:

[Link]

As well as Black Minds Matter UK resource from @ girthcobain on the very same post.

[Link]

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Taglist:

@loversclwb @bibliophilesquared

Let me know if you would like to be added!

#lethobenthos #mike hanlon x reader #mike hanlon x you #chapter two the butcher's daughter #mike hanlon rewrite #MH rewrite #it reader insert #it reader rewrite #mike hanlon #chosen jacobs #derry maine #you'll float queue

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sage-nebula · 4 years ago

Note

3, 4, 22

3.) Game that deserves a sequel?

The first games that immediately came to mind are already getting sequels. The one that I would normally say after that is also getting a sequel coming out next year. So I’m going to say . . . Golden Sun: Dark Dawn. It ended on a cliffhanger and while many people took issue with the game for not being what they wanted / expected so many years after The Lost Age, I still want to see where the story was intended to go and I think it’s only right to give us a fourth game, given they left the third game off the way they did.

That said, I would also like a proper sequel to Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney, as well as a follow-up to Ace Attorney: Dual Destinies, since we haven’t had a proper sequel to either of those. Thanks Capcom.

4.) Game that deserves a remaster?

Sonic Adventure 2!!! Look, I know it’s the source of many memes, but it is a legitimately good game with a good story and characters and I want to see it remade in the style of the current games. Not necessarily the gameplay (although if they could add more hedgehog stages and reduce the number of gem hunting / mecha walker stages that would be great), but in terms of the graphics and whatnot. The script could receive some tweaks as well, and we could even have most of the current cast, although I will put my foot down and say that we need David Humphrey back as Shadow. No hate to Kirk Thornton, he’s good at other things, but he is not a good Shadow and his Ultra Edgelord voice would not work for Shadow’s original characterization in SA2. But even with them redoing the voice acting, they could still include some of the things that gave meme charm, such as Sonic and Shadow talking over each other in the forest confrontation (and that script would have to stay the EXACT SAME, I will NOT hear any word against it). So some things could definitely be kept, but overall the graphics and some of the gameplay just did not age well and I would LOVE to see it get a remaster, rather than just an upscaled port.

22.) Games you want to play?

Let’s see, my current list is:

Raji: An Ancient Epic (have started this one actually, but not too far in yet)

Story of Seasons: Pioneers of Olive Town

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild 2

Neo: The World Ends With You

Hollow Knight: Silksong

Immortals: Fenyx Rising(?)

That last one gets a question mark because I’m not sure if I still want to play it . . . I knew that it was inspired by Breath of the Wild, but I’ve come to realize that “inspired by” is putting it mildly. It’s basically a direct ripoff, which is a huge turn off to me, much like how I didn’t want to touch Gleamlight because it was a pretty obvious ripoff of Hollow Knight. Obviously there will be inspirations when great games are created, that’s how games continue to get better overtime, but when it’s obvious that everything from the aesthetic to the movements of the characters have been ripped off, my interest drops to zero. So while I was at first interested in Immortals: Fenyx Rising because I thought it might give me the same happiness that Breath of the Wild did, I’m very hesitant now because I feel like I might just end up judging it the whole time, and thus it might not be worth the money.

Numbers three through five are sequels to games I love, so those are obvious. And while I’ve never played a Story of Seasons game, the trailer made it seem like Stardew Valley to me without seeming like a ripoff, so I’m intrigued by that one. (Plus I feel like it’d be a cyclical thing, because iirc Story of Seasons was made by the original Harvest Moon team, and Stardew Valley was inspired by Harvest Moon. So it’s greatness building on greatness here.)

I’m sure more games will be added to this list sooner rather than later, but for right now this is what I’ve got! So many games, so little time (time that is not helped by me booting up The Sims 4 again, oops.)

#video game ask meme #I do like what I've played of Raji so far #but it's been very little and I'm not pulled in yet #so progress will be slow I feel #we will get there though #sooner or later #yume-x-hanabi

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Blind (Rajila) - Imposterzoe

AN: Not that anyone cares but this is an homage to my first fic that I wrote one year ago today! Thanks to Mistress for beta-ing and hope you enjoy. IZ

Manila had been staring at Raja for a while. She knew she'd been staring at Raja for a while.

"Nila, you're staring." Latrice points out.

She replied immediately. "No I'm not."

Latrice rolled her eyes. "Girl, at least try to be discreet."

"I'm not doing anything!" She insists.

"Then look at me for more than ten seconds."

It takes a second for her to tear her gaze from across the room but once she does she promptly starts a countdown in her head.

"Happy now?" She teases, trying not to turn her head.

Latrice stares at her. "Good god get a grip girl! You're drooling!"

She wipes her mouth on instinct, accidentally smearing her lipstick all down her chin.

"Oh great!" She mutters, grabbing a makeup wipe.

Her intense stare is turned to the mirror as she dabs at the lipstick.

"Damn Heather!" That damned voice cries from behind her. "I forgot how good you looked with your lipstick smeared everywhere."

Desperately trying to keep all her blood above the waist, she simply raises her middle finger above her head.

Raja laughs as Manila sucks her teeth, resigning herself to just redoing her lipstick entirely.

She grabs a few more wipes, trying not to focus on the thin, tattooed arm that bobs in and out of her vision as Raja talks to Latrice.

"Wait Nila, you missed a spot."

Before she could think, the wipe is plucked from her hand and Raja grabs her face.

She wonders if Raja could hear the sharp breath that left her as she was faced with eyes that were the deepest brown she'd ever seen.

Raja carefully wipes under Manila’s bottom lip and the concentration on her face had Manila's full attention.

"God you're beautiful." She whispers without thinking. Raja's hand freezes and her heart drops.

"Thanks Heather." She mumbles, releasing Manila's face.

She blushes, thinking fast. "Thanks for what? I was talking to my reflection."

They both break into laughter, relieved to have broken the tension. However, once the laughter dies down, they're left staring at each other, something unspoken in the air.

"Hey Raja, come here a sec!" Raven calls, yanking them back to reality.

Raja starts to go but Manila grabs her hand. She turns, staring expectantly.

"Uh... Drinks after the show?" She squeaks, her voice fully crapping out on her.

"Yeah." Raja responds enthusiastically. "Wanna just come back to mine?"

She smiles. "Yeah that sounds great."

"Raj!" Raven shouts.

"I'm comin'! Damn!" She calls back. She turns back to Manila, swiping her thumb under her lip.

Her eyes dip down and for a second Manila thinks she sees them darken.

"I'd hurry and re-apply that." She mumbles.

It occurs to Manila that she never released Raja's hand. It also occurs to her that she doesn't want to.

It's a physical strain to slack her fingers and her hand feels empty as Raja shoots across the room.

She turns back around to find Latrice has been watching her.

"What?" She snaps, digging her lipstick from her makeup bag.

Latrice rose and leaned into her ear. "Y'know, since you're redoing stuff I'd give that tuck some attention." Then she's gone.

Manila looks down and flushes as she sees her extremely obvious boner through her dress. How did she not feel her tuck pop? Did Raja see that?

She groans, laying her head on the table. "Of course she saw that. And not only do I have to reapply my lipstick, I have to rub one out in the bathroom and re-tuck. All in the next…" she checks her phone. "20 minutes."

A tired sigh escapes her as she raises her head. She swipes her lipstick on and definitely doesn't stare at Raja through the mirror. She just doesn't.

~~~~~~~~~~

Raja watches Manila scurry off into the bathroom and tries to ignore the urge to follow her.

"Raja!" Raven yells half an inch from her face.

She flinches before pushing Raven's face away. "What?!" She yells back.

Raven rolls her eyes. "God, you and Manila are gonna go blind, staring at each other the way you do."

"We don't stare." She responds, absently mussing her hair in the mirror.

"Liar. You guys have heart eyes everytime I turn around."

She rolls her eyes. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhmm sure. Just make sure you blink every now and again."

"Shut up."

She sees Manila emerge from the bathroom in the reflection, looking slightly frazzled. Turning in her chair, Raja watches her friend walk shakily back to her station.

Concern edges into her features and she wonders if she should go over there.

"Blink!" Raven hisses in her ear and she jumps so violently, she almost falls from her chair.

By the time anyone turns to look, all they see is a pissed Raja drilling punches into Raven's shoulder as she laughs hysterically.

And Raja doesn't blush when she sees Manila smiling at her. She just doesn't.

[...]

The show goes well. Or as well as it can with Raven whispering, "Blink," in Raja’s ear every now and then.

It would annoy her more if it wasn't whispered every time her eyes hadn't shut in 30 seconds.

She slid over to Manila, murmuring in her ear, "Drinks at mine, right?"

She jumps at first, but smiles warmly. "Yeah. You can go ahead though. I'm gonna de-drag and hit my hotel room first."

"Cool, can't wait."

And butterflies don't swarm in their stomachs as they part. They just don't.

~~~~~~~~~~

Karl lightly knocked on the door, ignoring the pounding of his heart.

The door flew open and he almost dropped the wine in his hands. Between the very low cut tank top and shorts Sutan wore, the amount of exposed skin was making Karl's mouth water.

"Jeez Heather, just kill me why don't ya." He jokes weakly.

"Ha ha." Sutan responds dryly, grabbing his free hand and pulling him into the house, slamming the door shut.

There's a beat of silence as they stare at each other, hands still linked.

"So…" Karl starts.

"So…" Sutan echoes.

"So… wine?" Karl hefts the bottle.

"Yup!" Sutan releases his hand and walks toward the kitchen.

He trails behind, plunking the bottle on the table while Sutan grabs glasses and a bottle opener.

"So why were you trying to kill Raven earlier?" Karl asks, attempting to break the tension.

Sutan snorts. "Because he thinks he's funny." He turns, placing a glass in front of each of them.

Opening the bottle, he asks a question of his own. "What happened in the bathroom? You looked like you lost a fight with the hand dryer."

Karl flushes crimson. "First off, the hand dryer fights dirty, so fuck you."

They both laugh as Sutan fills the glasses. He raises his in a toast. "Well then to lost dryer fights."

Karl taps their glasses. "To you going to fuck yourself."

"Fuck me yourself coward!" Sutan responds, sipping his wine.

"You're acting like I wouldn't." Karl mumbles into his glass, draining a fourth of it in one gulp.

"What?"

They exchange blank stares before Sutan shakes his head.

"You know what Raven said?"

"No I don't, Raja. Enlighten me to the wisdom of Raven." He picks up on the slightest hint of jealousy in his tone. He's confused by it.

Because he wasn't jealous. He had no reason to be. He didn't. Right?

Sutan swallows hard. Did his dick twitch ever so slightly in his shorts at Karl's tone? No, no of course not. Who finds jealousy sexy anyway?

I do. He thinks to himself.

"Uh… anyway. He, uh, he said that we're gonna go blind from staring at each other." God it sounded stupid out loud.

"We don't stare." Karl murmurs.

"Yeah I know. But he said we always have heart eyes when we're together."

"Can we stop talking about Raven?" He snaps, draining his glass.

Sutan tops him off, biting his lip. "Do you think we're blind, Karl?"

He sighs, swirling his glass. "Well I don't know about you, Grandma but last I checked I can see perfectly fine."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant but I think I'd know if I was in love with my best friend."

They both freeze, tension filling the room. Sutan takes a huge gulp of wine, eyes on the floor.

"Yeah uh, that wasn't exactly my point either." He murmurs, clearing his throat.

"Plus," he adds with a wry smile, "We both know you're absolutely obsessed with the beauty that is me." He strikes a pose.

You have no idea. Karl thinks as he chuckles. "Oh please. We both know you're the obsessed one."

"Why you so obsessed with me?" They both shout at once, promptly falling into hysterics.

They talk about nothing for a bit, polishing off the bottle and opening another. Before long they were well into the land of tipsy.

"Hey at least my tuck didn't pop!" Sutan cackled, in response to a quip he didn't really remember.

Karl banged his glass to the table. "I knew you saw that! Why didn't you tell me?" He demands.

"Why did it pop in the first place?" Sutan counters. "All I was doing was wiping off your lipstick!"

"Well if you weren't looking at me with bedroom eyes while you were doing it, maybe it wouldn't have popped!"

He snorts. "If I was looking at you with bedroom eyes, believe me you'd know." He smirks into his glass. "I mean, unless you're as blind as Raven says."

"Oh please." Karl rolls his eyes. "How would that even work? We're both tops."

"You'd bottom for me and we both know it." Sutan replies smugly.

"Oh would I?" He challenges.

There was a glint in Sutan's eye and he leaned across the table. "Most definitely."

Karl sighed, leaning in as well. "You know what I hate?"

He blushes as Sutan's breath hits his lips. "What's that?"

"I hate that you're goddamn right." Then he grabs Sutan's face and presses their lips together.

But the wine screws with his orientation and he hits Sutan's cheek more than his lips.

Sutan pulls back, hand going to Karl's neck.

"What're ya blind?" He growls before kissing Karl's lips forcefully. He quickly presses his tongue into Karl's mouth, tasting the wine at the back of his throat.

Karl's hands move down to his shoulders as he kisses back. He knows he isn't thinking straight but he couldn't care if he tried.

Sutan leans in further, grabbing him by the waist and walking him around the table.

He follows quickly, clambering into Sutan's lap. He whimpers as he feels Sutan's barely clothed erection against his own and Sutan smirks.

Not to be outdone, Karl grinds lightly a smirk of his own forming as Sutan moans into his mouth.

Sutan's mouth moves down to his neck and sucks hard. Suddenly he snaps back to reality.

"Oh fuck. Sutan wait, stop." He presses Sutan's shoulders as his neck is released.

"What? What?" Sutan mumbles, his eyes dark and his lips swollen. Karl stares.

"God you're beautiful." He whispers, one hand going up to caress the man's cheek.

"Thank you but why'd you wanna stop? What's up?" There's concern on his face and his hands move down to rub Karl's back.

"Huh? Oh nothing." He responds lightly.

The concern turns to confusion which turns to irritation. "Then why did you stop me?"

Karl smirks. "What're ya blind? No way in hell you're fucking me on this table."

#rpdr fanfiction #raja gemini #manila luzon #latrice royale #raven #rajila #slight angst #imposterzoe

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