#but even then they never actually fixed the root problem i was sent there for in the first place. me being cripplingly depressed and s/h-ing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monawriteslol · 2 years ago

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𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘪'𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 - g.listing x reader

Summary: You and Georg have been "you and georg" for a while now - definitely more than friends but still less than a couple. Your arrangement seemed to be working fine until Georg spots a mystery bouquet of flowers at your place and his behavior starts to shift in unexpected ways.

warnings : Friends with benefits i guess. Light Angst. Cunnilingus. Vaginal Fingering. Spanking. Cum Play. Protected sex. Feelings realization. Female bodied reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a very short and very small oneshot but turned into a whole ass fic 😭😭 i love feeding my fellow georg fangirlies

5.2k words

“If you’re not ready in 15 minutes, I’m going without you,” Georg declares.

“Cool but it’s my friends we’re having dinner with, so that might be controversial,” you point out, nudging his elbows off your vanity so you can open the drawer in front of where he’s sitting.

“Oh, they like me better than you, it won’t be a problem,” he teases, handing you the beauty blender you were looking for.

You snatch it from his hand. “Hey, you literally weren’t even invited, you just asked if I was busy and said ‘oh that could be fun’ when I told you what I had planned.”

“I feel like my presence was assumed when they asked you,” he shrugs.

You toss the sponge at him and he laughs as you shoo him out of the room so you can finish putting yourself together.

You and Georg have been together for a few months, although neither of you have ever tried to discuss what “together” actually means. Your relationship seemed to be an endless string of implications. When you met, it was implied you liked each other. When you made out at a party a few weeks later, it was implied it was as friends. When you started sleeping together, it was implied it was casual. In your mind, you were something more than “friends with benefits” but still something less than a full-on relationship.

He puts a record on and has just crossed into the kitchen to help himself to a bottled water from your fridge when he notices a vase of flowers on the counter that he definitely didn’t send you.

“Fancy flowers,” he comments. “Who sent them?” He asks, despite immediately checking the card and seeing the message alongside what seems to be a masculine name:

“Thanks for last weekend, let’s do it again sometime ;)”

You’re rooting around in your closet, trying to find the top you had planned on wearing while your mind is focused on your mental checklist of everything you still have left to do before you leave; it takes a good 15 seconds for it to register that Georg has even said anything and another 10 before you distractedly call out “a friend” in response.

Georg sits on your couch and while his hands are turning the pages of some random magazine he found on your coffee table, his eyes are fixed on the bouquet he can still see sitting on the kitchen counter. You’ve never discussed exclusivity, he would have no right to be jealous. But he can’t deny the panic that ran through his body when he saw that card and he can’t keep his mind from racing now.

He thinks he’d almost feel better if he’d found evidence you were fucking someone else; he hates the thought of someone else touching you but he’s also confident that they couldn’t possibly make you feel the way he does in bed. He’s not worried about the sex. But flowers? That implies romance, implies thoughtfulness and intimacy, which are things he wouldn’t blame you for seeking elsewhere. He knows he hasn’t been offering that to you in the ways he could, in the ways you probably deserve.

He tortures himself with these thoughts a bit longer and then props himself in the doorway of your bedroom to check on your progress.

“Oh you’re still here? You were so quiet out there I figured you made good on your threat and you were already at the restaurant ordering without me,” you tease, pulling on your boots.

Georg gives a half-hearted chuckle in response. “You look nice,” he compliments you quietly.

You flash him a pleasant but puzzled smile; something’s off with him, you don’t think he’s ever said you look “nice” as long as you’ve known him and he never passes up a chance to banter with you.

He makes small talk but you notice the way his fingers are fiddling with the label of his water bottle and how his eyes hesitate to look for yours. By the time you’re ready, he’s nonchalantly mentioned the flowers three times and asked you to a party next weekend, when he usually never plans that far in advance.

You pause gathering your things as you realize what’s happening. He’s fucking jealous, you amusedly think to yourself. Part of you wants to tease him about it but there’s an underlying sense of nervousness to it that’s almost sweet. How could something as innocuous as a vase of flowers shake this man’s seemingly endless confidence?

“I wasn’t trying to be vague before,” you tell him. “I helped someone move last weekend; only a couple people showed up to help, it was pretty intense. That’s what the flowers are for.”

“Let’s do it again sometime, winky face?” He raises his eyebrows, casually drinking from his water bottle to show how unbothered he is.

You make a face. “I should’ve figured you’d read the card,” you tease. “I joked that the move was so brutal I’d sooner buy him the apartment than help again when the lease is up.” To punctuate your story, you walk over, peck him on the lips and affectionately straighten his shirt collar. “I don’t know what you’re thinking but I can tell you you’re probably overthinking it.”

Georg tightens his jaw and runs his tongue over his lips as he listens to you. “Didn’t even know you liked flowers,” he shrugs as you smile softly at him.

When he doesn’t immediately follow you out of the bedroom, you know his wheels must still be turning. You get your keys out of the dish and text your friends that you’re leaving now. He finally appears and just as you’re about to tell him you really need to get going, he grabs you and gives you the most over the top, absurdly intense kiss of your life. One hand twisted in your hair, one hand pressing you against him, tongue claiming your mouth as his. He’s clearly trying to prove a point - what and to who, you’re not quite sure - but he certainly proves it.

He pulls away, fire in his eyes and casually says, “You lock up, I’ll get the car started?” as if nothing happened.

You stand there, stunned for a moment, quickly attempt to repair your smudged lipstick and lock the door to meet him outside.

The car ride is mostly silent, save for the radio. Georg plants his hand on your thigh the second you get in the car and it doesn’t budge the entire time. When you grab drinks with your friends at the bar, his hand never leaves your back. During dinner, his arm snakes around your waist the second you slide in the booth next to him. To the outsider this would seem possessive and you’re guessing it partly is but you think you’re pretty good at reading Georg at this point and to you, it feels more complex than that.

He’s still his engaging and charming self, chatting endlessly with everyone about everything but you can tell he’s in his head and you’re not entirely sure why. You recall how unnerved he seemed back at your apartment. You think about the number of times he’s leaned in to whisper a joke or comment in your ear tonight. You feel the gentle way his fingers brush over your hip while you wait for the check and you start connecting the dots.

It may have started with jealousy but this goes deeper than some basic macho territorial bullshit. You’re fascinated as you consider this development. He never seemed to feel angry or betrayed at the thought of someone else holding your attention; he just seemed troubled. Sad. And now it feels like he’s constantly reassuring himself of your presence, like as long as he keeps touching you, keeps engaging you, you’re undeniably there with him.

Your head swims as you consider the implications of this. You never doubted you both cared for each other but is it more serious than that to him? To you? You focus on him talking with your friends and you don’t realize you’re staring until you feel his eyes on you. He looks at you with amused expectancy; you just shake your head and smile fondly.

Your friends say their goodbyes and you start down the street back to the car park. Georg reaches for your hand and it kind of breaks your heart so when you stop to wait for the crosswalk, you place his arm around you and snuggle into him. He looks at you quizzically, as if he’s surprised by your affection. He truly has no idea how transparent he is sometimes, you think to yourself as you mumble something about being cold.

As you make your way down the block, he starts chattering away about the night’s events and with each comment you burrow further into his embrace, appreciating the cool night air and the sound of his voice.

By time you’ve reached the parking structure, you’ve got your arms wrapped around him, inside his jacket. He sways with you as you wait for the elevator, “Am I dropping you back home?”

Your answer comes out muffled as you’ve decided to take this opportunity to bury your face in his chest. “Your place.”

He kisses the top of your head and clarifies, “Thought you had work tomorrow?”

As the elevator doors open, you say, “But your place is closer now” with a glimmer in your eye and you pull him, first into the elevator and then into you. You give him a kiss reminiscent of his over the top, absurdly intense one from earlier but yours has no underlying point to prove. You’ve decided you need him, only him and you want to be sure he knows that.

The car ride is once again silent but this time there is a different tension in the air. His hand finds its way onto your thigh again, though this time it’s definitely a few inches higher. You can’t help but study him, as breathtaking as ever, lit only by the glow of evening traffic. You’re now almost as lost in your thoughts as you know he was earlier. He was so perturbed by those goddamn flowers, why? If you had found a gift from someone you didn’t know at his place, would you be feeling the same way? You’re pretty sure you would.

He catches your gaze at a stop light or two but he doesn’t say anything, just gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze and turns back to the road. As soon as he shuts the engine off, you’re practically lunging across the car to get your lips back on his again. He indulges you for a minute and then breezily laughs, “let’s get you inside then” as he pries you off of him.

Once inside, it’s a dizzying clash of teeth, tongues, lips and limbs as you stumble up the stairs into the bedroom. You’re not sure exactly when it happened but suddenly he’s in his underwear and has you naked and spread in front of him.

He runs his fingers through your folds as he looks at you with a predatory glint in his eyes, asking, “Wet already, huh? This all for me?”

That’s apparently the extent of his teasing mood as he dives right in and starts eating you out before you even think to answer. You gasp and immediately tangle your fingers in his hair as he ruthlessly attacks your clit, first swirling it with the tip of his tongue and then sucking it in between his lips. The way he alternates broad strokes of his wide tongue with deliberate rapid fire flicks has you whimpering faster than you thought possible.

“Been wanting to taste you all evening, beautiful, thought we’d never get away,” he murmurs as he teasingly presses light kisses into your thighs.

“Georg…” you start, still attempting to catch your breath. “What is going on with you tonight…”

He chuckles and replies, “Says the woman who practically jumped me in the parking lot after dinner?” He pushes himself up your body to kiss you deeply, both of you groaning as you taste yourself on his tongue.

He pulls away just enough to continue, “Says the woman who could barely wait for me to put the car in park before she pounced again?” He kisses you even harder, distracting you enough that you don’t notice his hands have begun to wander until you feel two fingers slowly dragging against your pussy.

You break the kiss with a moan and Georg seamlessly moves his mouth to your neck, giving several teasing bites and nips before he raises his head to look directly at you and say, “Says the woman who I suspect has been dripping for me since the kiss I gave her before we left for dinner?”

He pushes his fingers into you with ease and expertly starts working them. “Maybe even before? Has my girl been wanting me this badly all night?”

You feel your skin flush as you hear the words “my girl” come out of his mouth; this is new. That’s as far as your thought process gets because then he’s curling his fingers and all you can focus on is the way your walls are beginning to twitch and tighten around them, “Georg… please…” is the best response you can manage.

His hand that’s not buried inside you traces down your throat and over your breasts. “Please what, baby? Think you know you’re gonna have to do better than that,” he teases.

“… Want to cum… please…” you breathlessly pant out, rocking your hips against his fingers which have slowed to an agonizingly slow pace, keeping you just on the edge of orgasm.

“Oh don’t worry, pretty girl, you’ll cum alright,” he teases with his bottom lip fixed in a mock pout. “Gotta make it up to you, I obviously should’ve filled you the second I walked through your door tonight,” he speeds his fingers back up and adds his thumb into the mix, rubbing it against your clit, causing your legs to shake.

You grip his arm that’s working you over, digging your nails into his bicep as your entire body tenses and you pulse around his fingers. “That’s my girl, that was a good one, wasn’t it?” he coos as he pumps his fingers into you a few more times for good measure.

You can only breathe heavily in response; your mind and body are both reeling. There it is again: my girl. That kiss by your door, his hands on you all evening, now my girl. You’re not sure if it’s intentional or if his subconscious is giving him away, but he’s claiming you. You’re much more comfortable with that idea than you thought you’d be.

The second it seems like you’ve started to catch your breath,Georg withdraws his fingers from your body and sucks them clean, exaggeratedly groaning his approval. You reach out for him, hoping for a kiss but before you even realize what’s happening, he’s back between your legs lapping away at your center again. “Georg, what the fuck,” you cry out, legs involuntarily closing around him.

Unfazed, he easily spreads your legs back how he wants them and looks up at you, face obscenely wet and glistening from his task. “You tasted so good on my fingers, I wanted more straight from the source,” he shrugs and immediately returns to his mission.

You involuntarily let out a tiny moan at his remark before tugging on his hair to get his attention. “Too much” is all you manage to get out before he licks at your clit in just the right way to make you jolt and let out a guttural groan.

He pulls back and snickers against your thigh. “That’s what I thought, do I know my girl or do I know my girl? Know when you’re ready for another one before you even do, know how to leave you speechless with just a couple flicks of my tongue,” he sneers, rapidly fluttering over your clit in demonstration. “Know this pussy even better than you do, bet you’ve never had anyone else who can say that, have you?”

You grab onto his shoulder and moan as soon as you hear that magic phrase, my girl, again. Georg’s dirty talk has always been a huge turn on for you but tonight the language is as telling as it is arousing: you are his. You decide that you like it, you want that and you like that he wants that.

You sigh deeply, disappointed but not surprised, when he pulls away just as you feel your climax begin to build. He kisses up your stomach until he reaches your tits, spreading sloppy kisses over one while he squeezes the other, rolling over the nipple with his thumb. You’re not quite sure why tenderness is your instinctual response but you go with it, softly running one hand through his hair and stroking his face with the other.

He looks up at you and his eyes are as breathtaking as always, glowing with both a familiar fire and also a softness you’ve only seen on occasion. You can’t help but smile as you tell him, “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a complaint or a compliment?” He asks with a smirk as he turns his attention to your other breast, repeating his actions.

“Not sure… both maybe…” you reply, in a dreamy haze of fondness, amusement and desire.

“I’ll take it,” he mutters against your skin. Satisfied with his work on your chest, you see him start to move back down between your legs.

“Geo… no, need more,” you object, attempting to pull him back up to you.

“That’s what I’m tryna to give you here, baby,” he chuckles, allowing you to pull him up to your lips.

You frantically kiss him and grabble between your bodies until your hand finds his erection still confined in his boxers and you give it a squeeze. “God, Georg, honestly I just want your cock more than anything right now,” you hate how pitiful you sound but you also hope it’s enough that he’ll give you what you want.

Instead he looks you directly in the eye, grins and taunts, “But when don’t you want my cock more than anything?”

He impishly pecks your nose and confidently states, “First you cum on my tongue. Then you can cum on my cock.” And with that, he’s suddenly peppering quick kisses all the way back down your body, musing almost to himself, “No one else can make you feel this way, can they? Know how to get you off like this? Gets you this needy?”

He dives back in with a renewed sense of purpose and has you cumming within moments; you swear at a certain point you can feel him grin against your sensitive core, clearly reveling in the nonsensical murmurs you don’t even realize you’re letting out until you hear them yourself.

“Good girl, sound so pretty when you cum for me, taste even better,” he praises, pressing a final kiss to the inside of each of your thighs before he’s on his feet, finally stripping off his underwear and retrieving a condom from the bedside table.

You’re tired from his teasing but the anticipation of finally having him inside you fuels your decision to snatch the package from him and begin tugging at his cock as soon as he’s within arms reach. You roll the condom on him as he tucks your hair behind your ear and says, “Been so good tonight, baby, you decide how you want it.”

You purse your lips in amusement because while his offer appears generous, based on the tone of the evening and the charged mood you’re both in, there’s no way he doesn’t already know you’re about to choose his preferred position.

You reach up and kiss him lustfully one more time before you dramatically turn over and raise yourself up on all fours, looking over your shoulder at him with an expectant look. He raises an eyebrow at you and you playfully roll your eyes at him, “Are you going to pretend like you’re surprised or are you gonna fuck me?”

He grips your ass cheeks, kneading them in each hand, fondly clicking his tongue, “Cum twice already and still so impatient.”

You expect him to tease you; he always does and after the evening you’ve had, you assume you’re in for another tortuous display of dominance so it takes you by surprise when he’s suddenly sliding in to you. You hear his breathing become noticeably more pronounced as he buries himself and his fingers lightly trace down your spine, his actions pausing for just a beat longer than you’d like.

Without even giving it a second thought, you start eagerly moving against him. "Need me that badly you can’t even wait one second for me to catch my breath?” He taunts in a voice that’s both amused and aroused. He wraps his hand in your hair and yanks hard. “So desperate for me to wreck you, gotta fuck yourself on my cock?” He punctuates his question with a swift smack to your ass.

You attempt to scoff at his teasing but a simple, strained “fuck” leaves your lips instead as you steadily rock yourself back against him. He doesn’t seem to mind your initiative, responding to your movements with approving groans and keeping his large hands occupied by covering your ass, first with sharp slaps followed by firm yet tender rubbing to soothe your reddening skin.

You hear yourself chanting “More. Please. More.” in a rhythm matching the way you’re throwing your body back on him. He complies with your request, hand coming down on your backside multiple times in rapid succession and you cry out in satisfaction. You love the sting but you think you love the fact that you’ll be wearing his marks for days even more.

A particularly strong blow has your arms giving out, dropping your upper body down to the bed with a moan. He takes this as you handing over the reins and quickly moves his hands from your ass to your hips, grip digging into your skin as he takes over and starts pounding into you.

“Goddamn you wrap around me so good, it’s like you were made to take my cock weren’t you, beautiful?” His praise has both your mind and body humming; it’s been a long evening and although you’ve already had two orgasms, you find yourself overwhelmed by the undeniable need to cum with him inside you.

He pushes down on the small of your back to pop your ass and fuck you at a better angle but the way his fingers firmly but gently fall on your skin reminds you of how he touched you earlier in the evening. In the restaurant. On the street. In the car. Always wanting to feel you, always confirming your presence, always reassuring the both of you that your rightful place was with him.

An unexpected wave of affection washes over you and suddenly you’re needing him in a much different way. You manage to feebly say, “Geo? Babe?” as you muster the strength to raise yourself back on one arm while you fling the other behind you, blindly searching for him.

You almost never call him pet names so it immediately jumps out at him; he notices the shifted tone in your voice and halts his actions. You turn your head to meet his gaze as he pants, “You alright? What’s happening?”

Your hand finally finds his resting on your hip and you give it a squeeze, “Changed my mind. Need more of you on me.”

The confusion and concern that were clouding his features softens into something familiar yet somehow undefinable as he gingerly pulls out and leans forward to give you the softest kiss you’ve received all evening. “Well, let’s do that then.”

You spin around to face him and sit back on your knees, pulling him into another soft, slow kiss, brushing his hair off his forehead. He basks in your tender attention for a moment before he’s guiding you back down onto the bed, situating himself to fully lay on top of you, between your legs, careful not to break your kiss until you’re ready.

He slips back inside you and before he even gets the chance to ask, a breathy “Yessss” is all the confirmation he needs to know that this is what you were craving. You wrap your legs around him and run your hands across his broad back, “Just wanted to feel more,” you explain.

Your eyes are closed, relishing the feel of his weight on you and the stretch of him inside you, so you don’t notice the way he silently studies you for a moment before he lifts himself up and starts thrusting into you again.

For all the filth that’s come out of your mouths this evening, this round finds you both unusually quiet, letting your joined symphony of moans, groans, “yeahs and “fucks say everything that needs to be expressed.

You feel him reach for your hand and move it to rest above you on the pillow, interlacing his fingers with yours; you respond with a squeeze and then one up him by turning your head to nip at his skin, simply because you can. He’s left his signature up and down your body tonight, it’s only fair you get to leave a small token of your appreciation on his.

He hisses at the feel of your teeth lightly grazing his skin. “Come on, baby, play nice.”

“Since when do we do that?” You breathlessly reply and then bask in the glow of the grin you receive in response.

Still smiling, Georg shakes his head. “If you’re able to make smartass remarks like that, clearly I’m not doing my job here.”

He takes one of your legs from around his waist and lifts your thigh back towards your chest; your mouth opens to moan but nothing happens as he pulls almost entirely out and then fucks into you so much slower and deeper than before. He chuckles, “That’s more like it.”

You consider rolling your eyes at his teasing or panting out another sassy quip at him but the way he’s moving in you feels so otherworldly you honestly don’t care about anything else. You grab on to his forearm and dig your nails in.

“Feeling good, beautiful?” He reaches between you and mercilessly rubs your clit. “Who’s making you feel this good?”

The sound emanating from your throat might be his name but mainly sounds like a series of whimpers.

He rubs harder and thrusts deeper. “Didn’t hear you, speak up. Whose cock makes you feel like this?” You continue crying out nonsensically as you feel yourself on the verge of your third orgasm.

You need him close so you pull him down to you for a kiss. He sloppily licks into your mouth, panting against your lips. He’s almost as gone as you are. You bite at his bottom lip and say, with a bit more desperation than you anticipated, “Gonna cum for you, Geo.” He nods understandingly and pecks your lips once more.

His lips move to your neck as his thrusts speed up again; he’s determined now and you’re moaning in earnest. You feel that familiar burning in your core and your eyes instinctively flutter shut, savoring the fall into bliss.

“Uh-uh, eyes open, baby. Want you to look at me. Need to be sure you know whose cock it is you’re cumming on,” Georg commands.

You force yourself to focus on him as you start to unravel, your entire body on fire, tensing deliciously; your mind is screaming his name but only indecipherable whines fall from your lips. Georg is relentless as he fucks you through it, his thrusts never slow; no matter how impossibly tight your pussy squeezes around his cock, he never stops driving into you even rougher and deeper than before.

His eyes remain locked on yours, making the entire experience feel unbelievably more intimate. You swear you can feel every pent up emotion from the evening - the jealousy, the worry, the possessiveness, the passion, the… love? - in his gaze and you’ve never had a more intense orgasm, physically or emotionally.

As you come down from your high, you hear him praising you, “Yes, baby… love making you cum… you always give so much… always such a good girl for me.” His words alone would’ve earned a reaction from you but he sounds as wrecked as you feel, causing you to emit a deep and breathy moan at this realization. He’s panting so heavily you know his release won’t be far behind.

You feel like you’re mad with desire at this point; you’re beyond satisfied and you know you couldn’t possibly cum again but you still feel like you’re wanting something, you still need more of him. Feeling emboldened by watching Georg lose control and the euphoria still pulsing through your body, you find yourself digging your nails into his arms and muttering, “Want your cum, Georg.”

He lets out a grunt as his hips slam into yours. “Oh, you’re definitely about to get it,” he smirks.

You sigh partly out of exasperation and partly out of arousal for what you’re about to request. “No, Georg, I want it,” you pant. “Want you to cum on me, make me yours.”

His hips slow as he processes your words. “Fuck” is all he can manage to growl under his breath in response. He pulls out and you whimper at both the absence of him and the anticipation of what’s going to happen.

Georg peels off the condom and you can’t take your eyes off him as he wraps his long fingers around his cock and begins to stroke himself. It only takes a few tugs before he’s gasping and murmuring your name and you have to moan along with him when you feel his warm cum spurting onto your stomach and chest. He maintains a firm grip as the rhythm of his hand varies, making sure he squeezes out every last drop for you.

He hangs his head in exhaustion for a beat and then takes in the sight of you: fucked out, chest heaving, painted in his release. You catch him staring and offer him a tired yet mischievous smile; he seems to pick up on your wavelength and smirks as he runs a finger through the substance on your breasts and brings it up to your lips for you to suck off.

“Jesus, baby,” he groans, shaking his head almost as if he can’t believe his eyes. “Don’t move.” He affectionately rubs your thigh a few times before he moves off the bed and ducks into the bathroom, returning seconds later with a wet washcloth. He climbs back next to you on the bed and presses a passionate kiss to your lips before he starts gently cleaning you up; it’s quiet for a few moments and the intimacy is not lost on either of you. You reach up and brush his hair from his eyes.

“Hey,” you start, fondly. He smiles much softer than he has all night. “Hey yourself,” he giggles. You pause and feel a bit of leftover boldness coursing through you, so you comment, “You seem like you’ve got something on your mind. ” Georg bites his lip and exhales deeply, clearly considering how to answer. He looks down, avoiding your eyes, and fusses over a mark on your hip that’s sure to form into a gnarly bruise by morning.

“Sorry if I got a little crazy tonight, I know I‘m usually better at checking in with you,” he muses. You sit up and squeeze his shoulder. You feel the urge to reassure him but you can tell he’s on the verge of opening up and you don’t want to derail him.

You’re trying to find the courage to prompt him further when he surprises you by admitting, “It just really fuckin’ got to me when I thought… “ he trails off, looking away again. “I got weirded out about those flowers and I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry.” He tosses the washcloth onto the nightstand in exasperation. You give him a faint smile. “Geo, I told you —”“I know and I believe you but I just started thinking… and then I couldn’t stop,” he confesses quietly.

He stands up and pulls on a pair of shorts before busying himself by starting to tidy the bed. You excuse yourself to the bathroom. You figure he could use some time to process whatever it is he’s still trying to work out so you wash your face, brush your teeth and slip on a t-shirt of his you find discarded on the counter. You venture back into the bedroom and find him tossing the pillows back onto the bed after having changed the sheets. He still looks lost inside his thoughts and you yearn to ease his mind. You walk over and hug him from behind, burying your face into his back; he gives your arms an affectionate squeeze.

“I know we don’t really talk about this kind of thing but I feel like you should know I haven’t seen anybody else since we started talking,” you offer, your confession muffled with your face still pressed against his skin. “It hasn’t even been a conscious thing, I just… haven’t been interested, I guess.” Georg pulls you to his side and kisses the top of your head. “Thank you for telling me that,” he murmurs, rubbing your back.

You quickly come around and kneel on the bed in front of him so that you’re at his eye level and you wrap your arms around his neck. “And I liked everything that happened tonight; you know I would have told you otherwise,” you assert. He nods in acknowledgement so you continue, “I like hearing you tell me I’m your girl, I like when you make me feel like I’m yours… ”

You feel tempted to look away, to fidget with the necklace he’s wearing but you resist.

You look straight into his eyes, full of warmth and attentiveness, and state, “You know, I could be yours, if that’s something you decide you want.”

Georg only lets your words hang in the air for a split second before he wraps his arms around you tightly and kisses you slowly; it’s intense and passionate but not in the same over the top, cocky way that he kissed you back at your apartment.

This kiss is also trying to prove something but it’s a message meant only for you and he’s taking his time to make his point clear.

When your mouths finally separate, you take a deep breath and steady yourself on his arms. You open your eyes at him and grin.

“Was that your way of asking?”

#tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel #georg listing #georg listing x reader #georg x you #georg listing smut #tom kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz x reader #gustav schafer x reader #tom kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz smut #gustav schafer smut

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audhdnight · 1 year ago

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Okay I need to rant because I just got in an argument with someone over this and he blocked me as soon as he realized he didn’t have the facts on his side.

Original point he made: “The absolution of government funded mental institutions in the 80’s is the source of all our country’s current psychological problems.”

So for anyone who doesn’t know, those facilities were defunded and abandoned because they were prisons. They were torture chambers. No one’s mental health was actually being cared for in those places.

Women were sent to these “mental asylums” for being too promiscuous or too rebellious or for running away from home. Essentially, women and girls who refused to be good silent little pieces of property for their fathers or husbands, women and girls who tried to escape from abusive situations, were institutionalized so their families wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore. They were isolated. They were given shock therapy (and not the kind we have now that can be used as a treatment for epilepsy, what they were given was so much stronger and completely unsafe, many were left with permanent nerve damage after). Some of these women were even given lobotomies. A notable example would be Rosemary Kennedy who was left permanently disabled after her lobotomy.

Modern day “pray the gay away” camps also have their roots in the mental asylums of the past. Gay children (or children suspected of being gay) were institutionalized because they thought that forcing these kids to pray for hours a day with no food would “cleanse their spirits” and therefore “fix” them.

People with genuine mental health problems also ended up in asylums, but they weren’t helped either. Imagine the affects of stone walls, bad food, isolation, and the inability to go outside on a person with depression? A lot of patients killed themselves, in the words of one girl, “so that at least I may know my body will face the sun again”. (That quote is from the suicide note of a girl who was institutionalized in the 1950s, I’m going to try to find it again so I can link it here but I’m not sure if it’s even still on the internet.)

You know how there’s that stereotype of high school mean girls all growing up to be nurses? Yeah, this was a big thing in asylums too. According to letters and records from survivors of forced institutionalization, a majority of their nurses were cruel and delighted in withholding food or blankets or hygiene products for “bad behavior”.

Often times the people who forced the institutionalization would literally just dump their relatives there and forget about them. Which meant those people never got to leave, because they were not the ones who determined their health status. You couldn’t just say “I’m all good now, thanks!” and walk out. Either the doctors (many of whom were not licensed at all or were licensed but not for anything related to psychiatric treatment) had to pronounce you well, or you had to be retrieved by the person who put you there. And considering one of the main qualifiers for “health” was that you had to not be actively trying to leave (because people who were desperate to get out obviously just couldn’t accept they needed help and it wasn’t for any other reason) I’m sure you can imagine how often that happened.

So many people died in asylums, wasting away from their neglect, taking their own lives, or being killed in the struggle to escape. I read a record of one asylum in Virginia that had a huge problem of people dying of sepsis because they were so badly mistreated, and when patients asked to leave because they were sick, the nurses thought they were faking. Most asylums also had their own incinerators, which is why still to this day we have no idea how many people actually died in them. Add to that the fact that high-ranking or rich families would try to cover up the “embarrassment” of the children or wives they institutionalized, so no one was really sure how many patients the asylums had in the first place.

The mental asylums of the past are not something we should want to bring back. They are not something we should wish had continued. They should never have existed in the first place. Why do you think there are so many horror movies and books about haunted asylums? Granted, those aren’t great because they’re sensationalizing real people’s pain and vilianising the mentally ill, but still. There’s a reason people think restless and vengeful spirits would abound in a place like that.

And yes, there’s the argument to be made that current mental health facilities are also not good and they charge the patients for it, and I agree that is a massive problem. But the solution is not to bring back government funded asylums. The solution is government and health reform, free healthcare, and getting rid of the fucking scam that is insurance.

#mentalheathawareness #mental asylum #tw homophobia #tw abuse #tw neglect #tw medical malpractice

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narcolini · 1 year ago

Text

night//morning - pt. 2

part one - ao3 link luca x marcus (or luca & marcus tbh), 2.6k, i have no idea what to label this i can't lie. pining and un-satisfaction tagging: @drabbles-mc @ashlingiswriting @garbinge @hausofmamadas (bear squad jeje)

Tuesday, 05:48:

‘Hey mate, um, hope you’re doing alright. Just thought I’d check in and, yeah, well, actually I had something I wanted to talk to you about. No rush, of course, but when you’ve got a minute—and everything’s, you know, less intense. Just, um, give me a bell when you can. Cheers.’

Seen, 22:53.

‘That’s not yours.’

Four ounces will do twelve, six will do eighteen.

‘Luca.’

‘Yes, chef?’

‘That’s not your dough.’

‘What?’ He straightens, palms stilling on the floured edges. ‘Shit. That’s the…’

‘The filo.’

‘The filo, right. Sorry.’ Not the shortcrust he’d made, but the pastry she’d taken out of the fridge herself. He’d even reached across her to grab it. Mind in the locker room behind, sense on the wood-panelled floor of his bedroom. He’s spun the filo into a useless ball in his daze, patted it with flour it didn’t need, fucked up her prep entirely. ‘That’s my fault, Ali.’

‘Yeah.’ She scoffs, but there’s no malice in it. There’s no time for that.

‘I’ll make more.’

Ali nods, eyeing him from the side as he sets about fixing his mistake.

It wasn’t an easily made mistake, it wasn’t even a common one. It was an absolutely absurd thing for anyone with even a crumb of kitchen experience to do. They both know that, so there’s no point in trying to pretend otherwise. In shutting the door for the sake of pride.

‘I haven’t been focusing,’ he says. Bowl, flour, oil. Bin the old and wipe down the counter before starting again. ‘Got a friend and…Yeah, he’s been on my mind a lot. Haven’t been sleeping well.’

She does him the mercy of ignoring the pause that slipped between friend and—friend and—to say, ‘I can tell,’ instead. ‘It’s not like you.’

He nods. ‘I know.’

‘To mistake filo for shortcrust.’

‘I know, mate.’ He laughs, smile spreading, all corners and teeth. ‘You gonna rub that in all day?’

She shrugs. ‘Maybe all week.’

‘Alright, cool, I deserve a week.’

But with Ali, it’s never a week, it’s twenty minutes and then it’s forgotten about, because stress sits on her like lead. Shoulders down, jaw tight. He never gets a word from her after opening. Whether he’d been her best friend that day, or the nitpicking prat by her ear.

‘Have you spoken to him about it?’ she asks, reaching for the shortcrust that he was supposed to be working with. Picking up slack like they’re trained to do. ‘Problems shared, and all that.’

‘Sent him a few voice notes.’ One, to be exact, three days after the last message Marcus had sent. ‘I don’t want to push him.’

‘So he’s going through some shit,’ she deducts. ‘And you’re dragging yourself through the same shit, along with him?’

He sighs, talking around the end of it, ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘You know what I’m going to say,’ she adds, throwing a smile that he only catches the shadow of. Wry and knowing.

‘Yeah.’ Can’t help anyone when you’re both in the mud. ‘Thanks, Ali.’

She nods, chin flicking to his half-made dough. ‘Thank me by working faster.’

‘Alright.’

Faster and more efficiently. More focused. He pushes his hands into the mix, knuckles deep, welcomes the attention it requires from him like a rope thrown overboard. A gnarled root on the edge of the pit.

For the rest of the day, that’s all there is. Ali as a silent partner, in tandem, in sync. Rudy talking about football through every break they overlap on. The mice in the bins, the customer sending his praises to the chef.

Open, service, shut. Then the cold of his pillow as he gets into bed again.

And still no reply from Marcus, either. Just a little thumbs up, pinned to the corner of his voice note, sent some time around lunch.

He’s seen it, at least, listened and agreed to get back to him when possible. So it’s Luca’s turn to wait again, because he can’t do more than that. Shouldn’t, even. It’s easy to add things, fix the acid, sweeten the sour, but harder to take them away. He has to remember that. At one end of the spectrum, is that shit with Frankie, and at the other? This mania he’s driving himself into with Marcus, brakes off, steam pluming.

It’s not like him. It’s deeply unlike him, even, he’s unfamiliar and stumbling because of it.

Control what you can, control the reaction to what you can’t.

‘Fucking hell.’ He draws the fuck out, long and groaning, and presses his palms over his eyes. Finally time to rest and he’s lying here thinking about it, turning it over and over, fold mix fold. ‘Get a grip, man.’

Marcus is fine. And he’s fine. There’s no way to perfect a recipe with an undecided end product, no fine tuning to be made on a relationship with no future. Spending this much of his time trying to do so, will only twist him further into the ground. Bury him neck deep.

His phone buzzes then—buzzes because it’s still on silent from work, audible against the wood of his bedside. He’s on it before it gets to the second round of vibrations. Taps answer before he realises it’s a video call, and not just the usual voice-only chat.

Marcus appears on his screen, well, the top half of his head does, the bottom is lost somewhere beneath the home button. ‘Shit,’ he laughs, ‘you answered too quick, man. I’m still—hang on.’

‘Yeah, course.’

It’s near black in Luca’s bedroom, his own image nothing but a pixelated blob of grey in the bottom corner. He clicks the lamp on while Marcus finishes whatever he’s doing and, God, shit, that won’t work. He looks like the fucking personification of pillow-talk. Amber lighting, bed-squashed hair, bare shoulders against his mattress.

He sits upright, and holds the phone at an appropriate angle.

‘Wasn’t expecting you to call this late,’ he says.

Marcus’s beanie bobs back into frame. ‘It’s only late for you, dude.’

‘Right, obviously.’

‘Sorry—there. All done.’ His face fills the screen at last, still angled like he’s got the phone sitting on his chest, but his smile is there now. Cheeks to either side of Luca’s phone. ‘You good?’

‘I’m alright.’ He nods. Puts his free arm across his chest, hand anchoring on the shoulder. ‘Are you on break?’

‘Nah, had the morning off to sort some things out. Heading over there now.’

‘Cool. Nice.’

‘Yeah, real fun.’ Marcus laughs, dry and unaffected. ‘Sure love spending the morning with some anaemic-looking dinosaur, going over Mom’s will.’

He mirrors the empty laugh, nodding alongside it. ‘Beats brunch though, right?’

‘Fuck brunch,’ Marcus quips.

It barks through his screen, passionate enough to make Luca laugh for real that time, a smile tugging on his lips.

‘Who the fuck invented giving up two meals for one?’

‘Dunno,’ Luca humours, ‘the French?’

‘Probably the French, yeah.’

He’s walking now, buildings passing by from the upwards angle Luca has access to. It’s raining, misting Marcus’s camera, and pearling on the knit of his hat. He walks a few more steps without saying anything else, head shaking like he’s still thinking about brunch.

‘Did you listen to my voice note?’ Luca asks, switching the rain-dropped Marcus into his other hand, and covering his chest in the opposite way.

‘Shit, yeah,’ his eyes flick down to the phone, into the camera, ‘was gonna ask. What’s up? You wanted to talk about something?’

‘Yeah, I did.’ And suddenly it’s back down his throat, fleeing and cloying to the sides. Unwilling to come to life. ‘I know you’ve been having a tough time of it.’

Marcus sighs, or scoffs, or whatever sort of frustrated, dissatisfaction sits in-between the two. ‘I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disappear on you.’

‘No, no, that’s not it,’ Luca corrects keenly. ‘I get it, it’s completely understandable, mate. But I’ve been thinking—well, wracking my brain, really, over what I could do to help out.’ Drag it back, claw it out. ‘And I settled on coming to Chicago,’ he says. ‘I think.’

‘What?’

‘I was thinking I could come to Chicago.’ It’s easier the second time. Goes out of him like it isn’t an utterly absurd, completely over-stepping, gesture. ‘I've got some holidays to use up, y’know, been saving them for something important.’

Marcus frowns slightly, staring ahead like Luca’s there and not sitting under his chin. ‘Shouldn’t you be using it to, I don’t know, see your family or something? Go back home?’

He could do that in a weekend. Could go for a day, once a week, if it really compelled him. ‘I mean, Mum’s in Copenhagen so often she may as well buy a flat here, and Frankie. Well, yeah, you know.’

‘Would sooner close the borders than have you back,’ he says, with half a smile printed in his cheek.

‘Mhm. So. My remaining two weeks are yours, if you want them.’

The lump’s back in his throat again, this time paired with a creeping heat in the shell of his ears. Marcus says nothing, head tilting like he’s physically weighing up the idea, a set of scales balanced between his eyes. Luca’s offer slow-rolling between the two.

It feels like three minutes pass in wait of it. Four now. The room’s silent minus the tinny echo of downtown Chicago, cracking through the line. He pulls his knees up, bent, to balance his arm and the phone on top of them.

‘You really wanna stay here?’ Marcus asks eventually.

He shrugs, watching himself do it in the corner of his screen. Easier to look there than— ‘I can get a hotel,’ he suggests.

‘No, I mean,’ he looks down at Luca, ‘you really wanna waste your vacation days on me?’

‘Yeah,’ he replies, thick with sarcasm, ‘call it self-flagellation.’

‘Self-what?’ Marcus laughs. ‘Come on, none of your cryptic shit when I’m being serious, please.’

‘Sorry.’ He smiles. ‘Bad joke. But it wouldn’t be a waste, Marcus.’

And he knows better than to think of it like that, because he knows Luca, right? Even if it’s only in that surface level, co-worker sense—which it isn’t, it can’t be—because he knows Luca isn’t one for waste. Ever. Not when he’s paying attention, that is.

‘Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to,’ he adds, once the silence starts to itch again.

Marcus sighs. ‘I don’t know, man. I mean, that’s, it’s fucking crazy that you would do that for me—’

‘Steady on, it’s not just for you.’ He laughs, voice full of fake offence. ‘I like holidays too, y’know?’

A tsk scuffs through the phone. ‘No you don’t, man.’

‘Alright,’ he knows him, ‘but I am long overdue.’ Outside of the kitchen, he knows him. ‘Been promising Carm for years,’ he says. Heat along the top of his ears, skin reddening down his neck, hidden by the orange of the bedside. ‘I’m sure he’d be glad to see me.’

‘Yeah,’ Marcus nods, ‘would be glad to have you in the Beef, too.’

‘Well, I didn’t say anything about working.’

‘Come on, like you’d be able to help yourself.’

‘I might.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

The silence steps back in; uninvited, between the laughs, over the unfinished hypotheticals. He watches Marcus duck under a low portion of scaffolding, then nod in a no problem way, as he pauses to let someone past. A whole world in his palm, a snapshot of a day he’s already lived through.

‘What’s your hesitation?’ he asks, quiet in a way that’s only appropriate for Copenhagen. For his bedroom in the dark, after the turn of midnight. ‘About me coming?’

Marcus shrugs, he assumes, only able to see the upside-down crescent that his mouth forms with it. ‘Guess I was kind of hoping to get out of here myself.’

‘We can do that,’ Luca answers, far too quick. Sharp enough to invite another silence in, hand on the door, fingers catching the edge of it. ‘You should, I mean. It’d be good for you.’

If Marcus notices the fumble, he chooses to ignore it. ‘Thing is, I can’t imagine myself leaving right now. Y’know, going far from home, incase I…’ He laughs without the spirit of it. ‘Man, fuck, I don’t really have a reason, do I?’

Luca shakes his head. It makes sense. He’s seen it before. ‘I get it,’ he says.

‘Really? Cause I’m feeling like all my logic is mad crazy right now. Keep doing shit and I don’t even know why.’

‘It’s normal.’

‘Is it?’

‘Were you wanting me to disagree?’

He holds his frown just long enough to make Marcus crack, teeth flashing as he smiles. ‘Okay, yes, I wanted you to tell me I’m not crazy.’

‘You’re not crazy,’ Luca obliges.

‘Thank-you.’

A nod. It’s nothing. ‘So where do people from Chicago go, when they don’t want to leave Chicago?’ he asks, lying back onto the pillows at last. He’s been slouching deeper and deeper as the call goes on, and it’s starting to bite. Numb-ache tugging between his shoulder blades. He needs his spine flat, stretched out. He hovers phone-Marcus over his face while his arm can tolerate it still.

‘I have no idea,’ Marcus answers, back to looking ahead of him. Into the road Luca has no view of. ‘Fucking…Costco?’

Luca snorts. Then he lifts his eyebrows, head tilting, like it’s a plausible option, something worth considering. Costco hotdogs and a Coke. He’d take it, if the offer was there.

‘Yeah, y’know, Costco might fix me,’ Marcus continues, laughing in between. ‘I will definitely do that.’

The smirk toys in the corner of Luca’s lips again. ‘I’m glad we could sort something, mate.’

‘Plus, it saves you buying a plane ticket.’

‘Yeah.’ He swallows, back to watching himself in the corner of the screen. A square of gold over the blue of Marcus’s jumper. Tired eyes watching tired eyes, slow blinks in-between. ‘I should probably head off,’ he says. ‘Getting late.’

‘Shit,’ he glances down, ‘I’m always messing with your sleep, dude. My bad.’

‘Yeah-no, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you called.’ His arm’s aching, and the phone drops slightly as he tries to maintain it. ‘It’s good to speak to you.’

Marcus is indoors now, having just stepped from the grey sky into the bright, man-made lighting of the Beef. ‘Hit me up tomorrow?’ he asks, with a quickness that gives Luca no time to do anything but nod in reply. ‘Sweet.’

‘Have a good day, man.’

‘Yeah, you too.’ He corrects himself. ‘Night.’

‘Night.’

The call ends, Marcus’s image replaced by the blinding white of their text conversation, that thumbs up emoji staring back at him again.

There’s no relief now that his idea’s been voiced, because he’d barely even argued the case. Marcus didn’t want to travel, it was right there, even after his hesitation, the stone through the stream. Then I’ll come to you, he should’ve said, it makes the most sense. And I’ll muck about whenever you need a break from me, do all the touristy shit, you know? Visit the Bean.

He sighs and lays the phone flat on his bare chest, screen going dark after a few passing breaths.

Marcus was right, it was crazy of him to even offer to do that. Like throwing slate into a lake and expecting it to float. Another angle then, another gift in the post, maybe, one that neither of them can talk out of existence.

Or maybe nothing at all.

He switches the light off, night blanketing him. Tomorrow. He can think about it tomorrow.

#marcus x luca #luca x marcus #the bear fanfiction #marcus the bear #luca the bear

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depressedhatakekakashi · 1 year ago

Note

Kakashi himself may not be pretentious, but Kishimoto on the other hand, he really thinks his quotes sound profound, it reflects especially badly on Itachi.

"Becoming the Hokage doesn't mean people will acknowledge you. But when the people acknowledge you, you can become Hokage." That's basically the same thing, moron! It's just a series of words that vaguely sounds "deep" together!

And Kakashi I would argue is a bootlicker, but then again who isn't by the end of the series.

The only thing about ‘Kakashi is a bootlicker’ is that a bootlicker NEVER goes against the system. They fully and completly believe in and support the system

From day one Kakashi made clear that he does not fully support the system and see’s the problems within in. Dies he do anything? No but as you said with the pretentious thing, that’s a Kishi fault. Even Naruto see’s the problem and never actually fixes it, and Sasuke who did want to ‘fix it’ (in his own way) ultimately became a firm supporter of it.

It’s less ‘everyone is a bootlicker’ and more ‘kishi dealt with issue he did not have the knowledge or skill to deal with’

But like, Kakashi actively goes against the system multipule times

He goes against hiruzen’s orders and directly outs himself against a village elder (danzo) to save Yamato

He ignores Tsunade’s orders to go on an S-ranked mission asap when he finds out she sent genin and one chunin after the sound four and sasuke. He straight up turns his back on her and tells her that he’ll be back because saving his students is more important to him

When he became hokage he faced criticism and anger within the village to make some genuine changes such as just having a ‘no kill’ or ‘kill as a last resort’ order

He went against village law to take Naruto out of Konoha during a Kage summit so he could approach the Raikage and beg for Sasuke’s life

He agreed with Zabuza and Haku about being tools of the state and while he personally couldn’t fix it he recognized that it was a problem. (A bootlicker, a proper full bootlicker would NEVER recognize the problems because they think the state is perfect and can do no wrong.)

Kakashi is a part of a broken system. He recognizes he’s part of a broken system but he has been torn down by that system to a point where he genuinely doesn’t think he can fix it and instead tries to focus on making it better for the next generation by doing things like supporting Naruto’s drive to do better.

One can be part of a broken system and not be a bootlicker, and that’s what a lot of the character’s actually are.

Actual bootlicker characters would be Itachi (who even after everything he did and went through believed Konoha was right), Danzo and pretty much all root operatives, the elders, Tobirama (though he made the system so he’s less if a bootlicker and more of a large part of the problem the future has), Asuma (though at least his ‘will of fire’ is actually about future generations but he’s also the Hokage’s son so he was raised in a way others weren’t) and of course Hiruzen.

If you want Non-Konoha bootlickers, it would be Onoki mostly as he genuinly never thinks the system is broken and outright insults those who speak out against him and the system (his grandaughter could also be considered such as we never see her speak out against the system)

Edit: i did not forget about the original topic i swear XD

But yes, omg. Agreed that Kishi thinks some of his quotes are top tier best thing ever and he puts them through on the absolute worst characters to use them on. Even the most chill quotes can sound terrible, like Hiruzen saying Itachi age 13 ‘already thought like a Hokage’ like sir… no. That is a child you manipulated into doing your dirty work stfu

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more-thoughts-than-money · 1 year ago

Text

Born “gifted”; grown chronically depressed

// long, personal post. basically a tutorial on express therapy (and by express I mean 10 years of rationalising, learning psychology on myself and fictional characters + 48 hours of not sleeping)

When I was grieving I spent 48 hours sleepless

it’s not that I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been on insomnia medication for 3 years now. I just had to “have a reason” and time to actually acknowledge my emotion and thoughts which caused my body to struggle with setting a “proper” circadian rhythm

Living with a 5 person family in basically a studio flat for 13 years of my life low-key harmed my ability to think and “feel” without privy eyes

this accidentally sent my brain into survival mode where I could only “think rationally” at night

So when we moved out and I got to have a room of my own

that’s when *serious* sleep problems started

my brain would just REFUSE to shut the fuck up

first off I was used to tv noise while falling asleep

i fixed it up with some rain sounds or watching ATLA when I was feeling funky

it distracted me enough

still I wouldn’t fucking sleep.

because my brain didn’t feel like it

probably hyperactivity which I could never “treat” with sport as an asthmatic kid

also an outcast but it is what it is

unable to name the cause of my insomnia I would just head to sleep at 10pm. Two reasons for that:

a) you know what they say! Don’t trust your thoughts after 10PM

b) 8h of sleep is THE healthy amount. And it seems like my brain likes waking up early for whatever reason!

yeah also I went through a fair share of medication before they got it right

anyways whoops I’m depressed now. Very depressed and even more anxious. Day by day my brain is giving me more compulsive behaviours and thoughts! Yaaay!

so I went through a 3 years worth of antidepressants

also a lot of unintended research (thanks, tiktok.)

basically I “subconsciously” KNEW what my problem is but “consciously” my brain refused I acknowledge it because haha living in the state of constant survival mode is way more fun! right?

right?

basically it was like being a doctor and being pretty certain about the diagnosis but having to go to some other doctor to objectively either confirm or discard my diagnosis

yeah anyways I changed medication, SNRI, venlafaxine

known to help some adhd folk with severe vegetative depression for “no reason”

Yeah basically my new psychiatrist kept on upping the dose until I got “a kick in the ass” so we know it works

and then my aunt died.

wELL my workaholic and emotionally constipated child brain would NOT acknowledge it

hell you’d catch me dead before I’d admit that I felt shitty but didn’t know how to deal with that because at the same time I “saw it coming”

No one ever told me she’s sick

I just saw her hair loss (or rather a sudden haircut change and awkward silence that followed) and had some foggy memory of someone saying her sister died of cancer

Mind you I don’t fucking remember my childhood that well

hell I don’t remember it at all but it is what it is

I just “know” some things and some are more of a “hunch”

I have this information buried in my brain but I can’t recall how it got there, ykwim?

yeah basically I was suspecting she’s dying of cancer but I was trying to stay optimistic and told myself I’m “overthinking it”

and I thought the mourning was “good enough of a reason” to stay up for 48 hours, write down my “thoughts” and wail all day long (yes, everyone gave me shit for crying growing up, how did you know?)

anyways yeah I did this and suddenly I “solved” the root of ALL my anxieties and minor paranoias.

as if it was a fucking riddle. Or a fucking house MD episode.

I hope you can understand WHY I’m so livid.

I SPENT OVER 3 YEARS ON ANTIDEPRESSANTS AND MADE ONE THERAPIST CRY JUST BECAUSE MY BRAIN WENT SO FAR INTO THE SURVIVAL MODE EVERY TIME I INTERACTED WITH A HUMAN BEING. IM JUST FUCKING AUTISTIC AND TRAUMATISED NOT “ANXIOUS” AND “PARANOID”

OH FOR FUCKS SAKE

Also I’m fucking dyslexic. But hyperlexic at the same time. I mean I’m hyperlexic in my native language, and I “remember” the spellings so I went undiagnosed

but I love technology. I want to be a CS student and then I’ll see where I can go from here. I’d love to work on an online learning platform for “gifted” children

y’know so they don’t lose their childhood but at the same time can associate learning with something nice and actually enjoyable

I think a lot of “gifted kid burnout” comes from the | dopamine <—> habit making | mechanism

so if children can learn they don’t HAVE TO be good at every subject and learn their “strengths and weaknesses” early on

Hardships later on won’t be as depressing

cause hey maybe I’m not the best at english but I know a lot about maths and I like maths and maybe when I grow older I can be a mathematician!!

you see what I mean?

at least this is what I’m trying to do for myself

generational trauma and neurodivergency running in the family made me develop some shitty coping mechanisms (example - perfectionism in order to cope with my actual time blindness and the “need” for structure while hating organisation and refusing “unreasonable” authority)

I wasn’t raised catholic, not really

nor was I raised queer lol

but my brain reacted to religion the same way people who went through religious trauma did

basically I put myself through religious trauma on accident!

fun, aye?

what I mean is, I grew up religious because that’s what “felt right”

tradition and all that

and then I realised the catholics hate me for no fucking reason

and then I thought “well fuck you too!” And called myself an atheist

later it went into agnostic

and a couple of weeks back I grew OBSESSED with religion

christian one I mean

Fuck I even started reading the nsrv bible in english (!)

and then I tried to interpret it “by myself” using some historical context and googling some stuff

WHAAAAAAAT! Turns out the bible is a product of its own time and is not to be taken literally!

That’s crazy innit?

Yeah and then I realised all of my recent hyperfixations (last two years) were a silent ways of rationalising ALL my “unreasonable” anxiety and trauma caused by; you guessed it

NOT UNDERSTANDING SYMBOLISM AND SOCIAL CUES AS IT IS

IN MY NATIVE FUCKING LANGUAGE

I can learn *any* language

I just need some books, movies, music in said language

But don’t ask me about any grammar. I don’t care about grammar. And you can’t make me. Idfk what present simple is but I can shove it so far up your ass your own mother won’t recognise you. so yeah

I’m great at learning languages cause they’re a “brainless” work for me

I mean

I learn languages for fun - it’s a tool to communicate with broader audience AND find more knowledge on the internet (I Google EVERYTHING in english)

and when someone tries to make it into an actual job of mine. This is when it goes downhill.

also english being coded as “language of knowledge” is my “main” language

my native language is way more complicated and I never really had to acknowledge my emotion in polish

I mean maybe I did but I just never wanted to cause I never learned that! English in comparison is simple. It allows me to communicate simple ideas without the need to “sound smart”

this and isolation from my peers (kids are bastards) gave me an actual “language barrier”

which isn’t the case really

it was just my overthinking

I started enjoying polish music way more recently cause I can never get the lyrics

so I listen only to what sounds “cool”

in english on the other hand the most of my music taste was built around midwestern emo and folk punk

cause I listened only to songs that felt “somewhat relatable”

yeah all of that understanding makes me want to write an essay but i kind of don’t care and I’m too lazy to do that!

so yeah this is how I “cured” my compulsions, anxiety, depression, irritability and perfectionism. By having fucking adhd and being a massive nerd. because I would hyperfixate on linux, customisation, open source applications, cybersecurity, programming

turns out I’m great at maths since I KNOW HOW to solve the problems

My brain is just too quick to do it step by step so I tend to skip and get lost in my own fuckin notebook 💀

schooling just made me believe I suck at maths and i should actually kms for trying to improve at it /hj /lh

And I suck at my own language. I know a lot of “complicated” words and can deduce what certain words mean (logically) but I have issues adapting my language to my listeners. I either cuss every other word (too comfortable; thanks mom LMFAO)

Or I speak like an university professor. To my peers. And they don’t know what the fuck is going on. And I end up isolating myself because of crippling fear of being misinterpreted. And people think I don’t have a sense of humour whatsoever because I don’t “get” jokes. But I joke a lot and am very sarcastic cause that’s just how I am. God damn it

When were y’all going to tell me not everyone thinks I want to use them and be a bastard overall when I need to ask someone for help. when. were. you.

icb I had to go to paid therapy, feed myself some subliminal messaging, deprive myself of sleep for 48 hours, force myself to talk to my dad about things I don’t understand or scare me, go manic for a week on venlafaxine, my aunt had to die and I had to have a reason not to go to school for 2 days for me to actually acknowledge my emotion instead of rationalising it.

also everyone in school + my therapist thinks I’m still manic and in need of hospitalisation. How do I even begin to explain it’s not that I have superiority complex, and I just realised I’m hella smart, just in a pretty unexpected way….. because thorough my entire life I never acknowledged it for the sake of being “humble”. bitch it’s not humble it’s the lack of self worth and being someone else’s doormat.

y’all think that if I say “house md and one tumblr post cured me” they’ll let me off the radar?

no honestly I have too much to catch up on (maths, c++, reading in POLISH, and learning German for fun) to actually care about “depressing” things of this world

I mean sure it does sound unhealthy in hindsight

but thing is

this is the first time in my life where I don’t feel hopeless both about present AND the future

and I guess that’s enough for now

I have “a goal” and that’s enough

Later I might catch a job as an actual university professor. Maths or computer science. Biology or physics maybe?

it gives me an excuse to be “eccentric” lol

cause the students are here to learn not to make fun of who I am and focus on that

sure it’s a funny anecdote to mention like “dude my physics teacher is fucking nuts but at least his lectures are interesting”

and that’s all I care about

I get to express myself instead of internalising anything

and the students get to learn

yay and yay

mutual benefit!

yeah anyway fuck I have so much shit to catch up on and I’m so lazy I actually have to reorganise my room and desk so I don’t try to do my homework in bed……. (Yes I was THAT depressed and lazy)

when I do my chores in bed I keep on losing my pens and I’m one minor inconvenience away from doing something I might not particularly want to do…….

yah

thats it I guess

If this post made anyone realise something (“connect some dots”)

congrats and I’m sorry you had to find out this way LMFAO

if not

scroll ahead, not the target audience probably

#neurodiversity #gifted kid burnout #mental health #txt #long post #personal #also you’re not “evil” but possibly have some developmental trauma. Probably. Who am I to judge. Have fun with the realisation!#hate crimes md #don’t take this too seriously #Im the last person I would take actual advice from #🦐🦐

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burntblueberrywaffles · 1 year ago

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My 2023 recap (but it's through all my favorites posts I've made this year)

Part 2! (part 1 here)

Aug 14th

Me @ the prequels haters:

Aug 14th

Aug 18th

He did it for me specifically and I thank him every day ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Aug 20th

Me progressively spiraling in my latest sw posts:

Aug 26th

Discovering you’re ace is wild cause like, you guys were serious when you said you wanted to fuck that character/celebrity?

We weren’t just exaggerating and being silly?? UH???

Aug 27th

Watching the end of ROTS: a moodboard

Aug 30th

Having a R2d2 and C3po cameo might be the laziest form of Star Wars fan service but you know what that shit work my dumbass goes “OMG it’s R2 and threepio 🥺🥺🥺” everytime

Aug 31st

Tumblr staff be like: somehow they’re still using desktop, lets add an evil clown

Aug 31st

“I want the main character to end up with this person, even though I hate one of them who sucks and doesn’t deserve to end up with such a good-”

My brother in Christ call me crazy but I don’t think you actually love this ship. Read an x reader or x OC fanfic at this point jfc.

Sept 4th

Me sending a feedback report to complain every time tumblr makes another idiotic change:

Sept 10th

I’m always so scared to assemble it

Sept 15th

I love doing research, I am not tearing my hair out (lying)

Sept 21st

Im so good at forgetting my blorbo is a child murderer you wouldn’t even believe

Sept 29th

Lowest luminosity setting is not low enough why is my iPhone a fucking beacon of light burning my retina with the force of a thousand suns

Sept 30th

Me every few months:

Oct 4th

Oct 18th

Me reading fanfic titles on ao3 after first becoming a Taylor Swift fan:

Oct 28th

My boy was so sleep deprived this would have fixed him.

Oct 29th

Can’t believe you hate on my ship just because it’s toxic, unhealthy and has disastrous consequences for everyone around them. Grow up. 🙄

Nov 11th

I have beef with TCW Anakin

Nov 14th

When people go “ew why would you be into this ship when it’s toxic and problematic” and I’m just

Sometimes you don’t need another reason than "it makes my brain go brrrrr” it’s fiction babes it doesn’t have to be good or healthy ❤️

Nov 15th

I thought “oh it would be fun to randomly send a kitten picture to this one mutual” and then I went insane 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ sorry about that besties

(this isnt a good post but since i'm making this as a 2023 recap I want to commemorate that time I sent kitties to all the beloved mutuals LOL)

Nov 18th

I love these “what do you most associate with [insert US state]” polls bc my non-American ass is always:

Baby I literally have no idea what you’re talking about ❤️

Nov 17th

hate when people are like “why would Padme be into cringefail Anakin it’s so unrealistic”

Like, um, CLEARLY she saw his pathetic weepy eyes and immediately decided she wanted to fuck that. What’s hard to understand.

Nov 20th

I think when you break up with someone their memory of you should be wiped men in black style thank you

Nov 22nd

Philosphy class be like

Nov 25th

Me when the known mass murderer starts murdering

#you’re telling me my genocidal babygirl is in fact genocidal???

Nov 26th

The thing about philosophy class is that most of these dudes you have to learn about just suck.

“Ohhhh humans only use each other and every relationship is only built on the potential advantages you can get from it” So your heart has never exploded thinking about how much you love your friends?? Sounds like a you problem.

Nov 28th

Snow being judgmental and having a constant sense of superiority…. brother you can’t even buy a new shirt HUMBLE YOURSELF

Nov 28th

Me starting the Ballad of songbirds and snakes and reading snow’s inner monologue: this guy sucks lmao I will NOT be rooting for him and Lucy Gray to be together 🙅‍♀️

Snow:

Me: oh goddamn it

Dec 1st

“I liked this thing before it was cool!“ Boohoo you’re not special. You just stumbled upon it before other people, congratulations.

"I still like this thing after it was cool, now that public opinion has shifted from being overly positive to considering it bad and cringe” now that takes strength. Courage. Who I aspire to be.

Dec 3rd

Snow: is always nice to Sejanus, helps him distribute food to the tributes, offers him a seat, gives him advice, CALLS HIM HIS FRIEND, save his life-

Also Snow: wtf this bitch thinks we’re friends????

#babyboy you are so stupid

Dec 4th

Me when I see my friend sadposting: I will smother you with kisses and love. Do you need me to kill someone btw

Also me, when I’m sad posting and friends send me encouragements: Friend??? 🥺 Friend cares about me??? 🥺🥺 friend wants to cheer me up? 🥺🥺🥺

Dec 7th

Tumblr rn feels like a landlord trying to make its tenant leave by not fixing shit and cutting utilities, but unfortunately for everyone involved, I am a rat

Dec 10th

No but seriously no one should try being tumblr famous, this website is for one thing only, and that’s having a silly time with your friends and mutuals 😤

Dec 12th

If your mutuals don’t say hi in the tags when they reblog one of your popular posts from someone else then what is it all for

Dec 12th

“Ew liking unhealthy ships is so toxic-”

“Actually toxic ship are INTERESTING unlike those boring healthy ships that have no flavour-”

Meanwhile me, who can appreciate and enjoy any ship dynamics:

Dec 18th

I’m like an old man shouting at clouds except I’m a 20 years old trying to make everyone listen to La Lumière by pomme asdagshdjfk

#I don’t think anyone is buying what I’m selling but I shall keep trying 😔

Dec 20th

Snow when being friendly to Sejanus results in becoming friends with Sejanus

#bro was really like: you’re telling me the person I’ve been treating well and interacting with regularly thinks I’m his friend??? #and that everyone else also think we’re friends???? #like yeah bby that is how friendship works ❤️

#burntblueberrywaffles #end of the year recap #2023 recap

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amhrosina · 2 years ago

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The Way of the Water (Namor x Reader)

MASTERLIST // CLICK HERE TO JOIN MY TAGLIST

A/N: Y'all thought I wouldn't immediately write a Namor fic as soon as I saw Wakanda Forever??? Anyways, this ended up being over 3k words lol enjoy! Also, I did my very best to translate from English to the Yucatec Maya language that Namor speaks. If I messed any translations up, please let me know! I will fix them asap if necessary.

Summary: You meet Namor on the beach one evening, and what follows is a whirlwind friendship that quickly develops into more, but what happens when the real world comes crashing down around you?

(Warnings: minor character death (off page), angst, grief, mutual pining, flashbacks??, allusions of smut, but no actual smut)

Translations:

jats'uts lool – pretty flower

in ch'ujuk – my sweet

in yakunaj – my love

Rain pelted the windows of your apartment, and the increasingly loud rumble of thunder reminded you of him. It always did. Even the sound of the shower running sent you spiraling into your memories of him. He had completely and irrevocably taken hold of you, and even though it had been over a year since you’d seen him last, you couldn’t shake the grasp he had on you, on your heart.

You had always loved the water as a child; spent hours frolicking up and down the beach, playing a never-ending game of tag with the tide. As you got older, the games eventually evolved into hours of sitting in contemplation, watching the tide inch closer to you until it finally washed over your toes. By the time the brisk water found its way to you, you had figured out exactly what your next steps would be. There was never a problem you couldn’t solve by sitting near the waves, breathing with the sea.

The beach near your mother’s house is where you’d first met him. It was dusk, and a storm was brewing on the coast, so the beach was empty of tourists and surfers. It was just you and the waves, until it wasn’t.

You watched as the water began to behave strangely, gently crawling up the beach towards you in an unnatural fashion. The tide was still hours away from being at its full height, and you struggled to make sense of it. Your mother’s voice was screaming at you in your head, telling you to run away from the beach and never look back, but as you stood, the water enveloped your feet, caressing your skin with so much gentleness that you were rooted to the spot.

“Don’t be afraid, jats'uts lool.”

His voice echoed in your head, taking over your body and soothing every fear building inside of you. It was a kiss to each eyelid, a brush across your cheek, a comforting hug around your waist. It echoed safety and warmth, and you felt your anxiety wash away as he breached the surface ahead of you.

You took a step forward and faltered. His presence was God-like, but not scary, you decided. You could tell how much power he held just in the way he stepped onto the beach, covered in beautiful hand-carved makings. He stopped a few feet in front of you, watching you for any signs of fear, but you had none. Pure curiosity lit your face, and he couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

“Hello.” You breathed, unable to take your eyes off the ethereal being in front of you. He was strong, yes, and likely very powerful, but he was also beautiful. You couldn’t move, still rooted to the spot on the beach.

“Hello.” He responded. “I am K’uk’ulkan, but you may call me Namor, if it suits you.”

There was a gleam in his eyes, one that you couldn’t read, but you continued to stare in awe at him.

“Are you a God?” You asked, voice light and wispy. “My mother always warned me not to meddle with Gods, but you are not here to hurt me.”

His smile grew into a wide grin at your comment about your mother, but he didn’t laugh.

“I am a type of God, I suppose. I am not here to hurt you, but your mother is right, jats'uts lool. Meddling with the Gods is a foolish endeavor.”

He turned to the sea and sat down in the sand, patting the space next to him.

“Sit. I will tell you about my people, and you can decide if you want to continue playing with a God.”

His voice allowed room for disagreement – he was giving you the choice to sit with him or leave – but you lurched forward to sit with him, the decision already made.

“My people,” he started, searching the sea in front of you, “belong to the sea. As do I. We are a formidable presence, which is why we are still a secret from the world. Anyone who dares disturb my people learns rather quickly that we are not a force to be reckoned with. So, if I tell you this, jats'uts lool, you must not repeat it to anyone. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” You breathed. Your body had subconsciously leaned towards him, drawn in by his melodic voice. “Why are you trusting me with this, K’uk-,” you struggled to pronounce the name he had given you but tried anyways. He turned to you, smiling as you tried again to say his name.

“I have seen you here, sitting with the sea, many times before, even though you couldn’t see me. You are alone, jats'uts lool, sharing your secrets with the tide. That is why I trust you. Because you trust her.” He nodded towards the water.

He began his tale, describing his journey to you with overwhelming passion. When he spoke about his mother, his eyes hardened, but softened when he looked back at you. You sat with him for hours, in awe of his story and his people. When he finished, he gazed at you in question, watching as you processed the information he had shared with you. Day had fallen to night long ago, but the dark felt trustworthy, like everything being spoken would be held within it for the rest of eternity.

“This feels like a dream.” You finally said, shaking your head. “Am I dreaming?”

“This is no dream, jats'uts lool. But I must return to my people tonight.”

He stood, holding his hand out towards you. You rested your hand in his as he pulled you to your feet, refusing to let go, even though you were both balanced in the sand.

“Will you come back?” You asked, searching his gaze.

He brought his hand to your cheek, gently cupping your face. You leaned into his hold, breathing in the scent of salt and sea.

“I will come back if that is what you wish, jats'uts lool.”

“What does that mean?” You call after him as he makes his way back into the sea.

“I will tell you when I see you again.” He smiled as the sea washed over him, pulling him down into the dark depths of it and out of your sight. You watched the sea for a few minutes, trying to convince yourself that he wasn’t a figment of your imagination, and then finally turned and headed back to your mother’s house.

A loud clash of thunder brought you back into the present, in your apartment where you had lost yourself, yet again, in thoughts of him. It had been like this since that first night with him, and only got worse after every visit. Your heart panged with guilt over leaving the coast without saying goodbye to him, but you had to go, had to get away from the town that had taken everything from you, and he hadn’t come on the night you needed him most. The storm would leave eventually, but he would stay with you forever.

It had been almost a full year since you’d left your small coastal town, and you eyed your car keys as the desire to return overwhelmed you. It was only a few hours away, still close enough to be reached by car, but not so close that you would be reminded of your childhood at every hour of the day. Before you could convince yourself it was a bad idea, you grabbed your car keys and bolted out the door.

Namor visited again two weeks after the first night. You were sitting on the beach one night, later than you usually stayed, half-convinced that you had made him up, when the ocean began to stir. Your heart leaped into your throat as he made his way out of the water.

You met him halfway up the beach, enveloping him in your arms. The sudden reminder that he was a literal God, and that hugging him probably broke all kinds of rules, had you stiffening against him. The thought quickly washed away as he wrapped his arms around you, tightening your body against his. He was unexpectedly warm, even though the sea was cold, and your skin broke out in goose bumps where it touched his.

“You are real.” You mumbled into his skin.

He chuckled, leaning his head back to look at you.

“I am real, jats'uts lool.”

This is how every reunion went. You’d hug him, he’d swing you around in the sand, and you’d spend hours talking about everything. He told you about his home, a place you dreamed about. You told him about your childhood, how alone you had been for most of your life and how he was probably your only true friend, even though he was a literal God. He talked about bringing the sun to his people, and you were so overwhelmed with something in your heart that you had to remind yourself that God’s don’t love humans the way humans love Gods.

One night, he finally asked you what he’d been wondering about all along as you both sat in the sand, watching the tide make its way up the beach.

“Why do you spend so much time alone, jats'uts lool? You speak of your mother, but I never see her here with you.”

“I’m waiting for you, Namor.” You tried to brush his question off by flattering him, but he had never been stupid, and you sighed as he refused to let it go.

“No, even before you knew of my existence, you would spend many hours here. Don’t think I haven’t seen you crying. What bothers you, jats'uts lool?”

You couldn’t fight the tears welling up in your eyes. Namor waited patiently as you worked up the courage to respond.

“It’s my mom.” You finally murmured, roughly wiping the tears from your cheeks. “She’s sick, Namor, and I can’t do anything to stop it. The doctors say it’s terminal. All there is to do is wait, now, for the inevitable. She will die, and I will truly be alone.”

Namor watched you, carefully constructing his response. You couldn’t look at him as you tried and failed to stop the tears flowing down your face. He gently grasped your chin, tilting your head to look at him.

“I am sorry, in ch'ujuk, for your sorrow. I understand the grief of losing one’s mother. It never leaves you, and for that, I’m sorry. But you will never be alone, jats'uts lool. You will have me.”

He leaned in, planting two soft kisses on your eyelids and wiping away the tears from your cheeks. You couldn’t stop yourself from capturing his lips with your own. You didn’t think about the consequences, or how many rules you were definitely breaking by doing it. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He grasped your waist, roughly pulling your body towards his.

He laid back on the sand, pulling you on top of him as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. You rested your knees on either side of his waist, grinding into him. His hands couldn’t figure out where to rest, running up and down your body, cupping your head, and squeezing your thighs as you grinded into him again.

The previous conversation finally caught up to his thoughts, and he gently pushed your body a few inches away from his. Your lust slowly warped into confusion at his abrupt stoppage.

“Not tonight, in ch'ujuk, when you are vulnerable and sad.” He closed his eyes, tightening his hold on your waist. “When I take you, I want it to be because you want it, not because you are sad and in need of comfort.”

“I’m not-,” the look he sent you buried any attempt of continuing what had transpired. Namor was right, and you couldn’t deny his assumption that you needed comfort more than anything.

You sighed, resting your head on his chest. He held you tightly as another round of tears engulfed you, racking your body with ugly and guttural sobs.

“It will all be okay, in ch'ujuk. You will always have me.” He murmured, running his hand over your hair in a soothing gesture.

When it was time to part ways, you walked him into the water, clutching his hand in yours. The tide, usually violent by this time of the night, was peaceful around you. It always was, nowadays. He cradled your face, kissing your nose lightly.

“I have something for you.” He murmured, gently grabbing your hand. He began to tie what was probably the most beautiful piece of jewelry you had ever seen around your wrist. “It was my mother's, and now it is yours. It is a beacon of strength and persistence. My people wouldn’t exist without it. Whenever you are feeling weak, let it guide you towards peace.”

A wave of emotions overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t breathe. The significance of him gifting you something so special to him was so incredibly generous that you couldn’t stop yourself from crashing your lips into his. He kissed you in sweet, unhurried motions, letting you push every emotion you were feeling onto him. He would take all the hurt away if he could. Carry it on his shoulders so that you could breathe easier. It wasn’t just a connection with you, it would always be something more, something galactic, something intangible but never missing from his being.

When he finally slid back into the water, you clutched the braceleted wrist to your chest and swore to never let go of it.

The sight of the sea after so long calmed your nerves, as it always did. You had parked in front of the house that had belonged to your mother for so many years and headed towards the beach where it had all started. The house belonged to you now, but you hadn’t stepped foot in it since the awful night that had sent you scurrying for dry land, far away from the world you’d grown comfortable in.

When you stepped onto the beach, your nerves resumed their anxious drumming. The last time you’d been here, you had been so angry at the world, so incredibly grief-stricken and so sad. Your mother had gotten pneumonia, a curse that had taken many sick people before her, but you were convinced she would pull through. When she didn’t, and you had to watch as EMT’s rolled her body out on a stretcher, you had stormed to the beach, intent on burning the world around you.

You had called to Namor, begging him to take you away from here. You prayed and cursed and screamed, pounding at the sand with your fists, but he didn’t come. You sat with the anger until it finally warped into an incredible sadness, swallowing you whole. When dawn finally cusped the horizon, and you had finally accepted that he wasn’t coming, you had turned from the beach, climbed into your car, and driven far away. You hadn’t come back, until now.

The storm had followed you back to the coast, where it was brewing something heavy in the skies above you. A light rain had drenched through your clothes on your walk from your house to the beach. It was dangerous to be so close to the water when the skies looked like this, but you didn’t care anymore. You needed to be with the sea, with him, even if he hated you for leaving.

You sat on the beach, watching as the rain grew heavier around you. The tide was violent and angry, whirling and crashing hard onto the sand in front of you. That’s fine. You shrugged. Let it be angry with you.

A stirring in the sea had you bolting to your feet, running towards the turbulent water. Namor stalked onto the beach, head swiveling back and forth until he saw you. You couldn’t help the sobs coming from your chest. You fell to your knees in front of him, clutching the bracelet you had never removed from your wrist to your chest.

“Namor.” You mumbled, voice strangled and weak. “Please forgive me.” You sobbed into your hands, dropping your head. You couldn’t look at him, but you would accept anything he gave you, even if it was anger.

You felt his presence before you felt his touch. He slowly wrapped his hands around your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from your face. He was kneeling in front of you, concern written on his face.

“In yakunaj, where have you been? The sea has been missing your presence for a year now. Why did you leave? Why did you go somewhere I couldn’t follow? Why did you hide from me?”

“Namor,” you breathed, voice breaking. “My mom. She-”

You couldn’t say it. You hadn’t been able to since that fateful night a year ago. But Namor knew, sympathetic expression dawning on his face as you spoke.

“Oh, my love.” He murmured, pulling you into his chest. You wound your arms around his neck, holding him tightly. You squeezed your eyes shut, relishing his warmth. “I am sorry you have been dealing with this alone. The sea called to me, told me you were hurt and angry, but I was far away, and by the time I got here, you had left. I’ve come every night since, but the sea no longer held your presence. I could not find you, in yakunaj.”

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled into his skin. “I’m sorry for leaving. I've hated myself since I left, but I couldn’t face what I’d left behind.”

“Do not apologize for your grief, in ch'ujuk. I am glad you are here. I am glad you are safe. I’m sorry I could not protect you from this.”

You pressed your lips against his, something you’d dreamt about doing every night since you’d left. After all this time apart, you finally felt like you could breathe again. He was here, and he didn’t hate you.

“In yakunaj, my people have been working on a way for me to bring you home with me, so we can rule the seas together. It could be your home, with me. Is that something you would want?”

You gasped at his proposal, mind whirring. “Do you mean it, Namor?” You murmured, searching his eyes for false promises.

“Of course, jats'uts lool. They took notice of my absences after we met, and I could not lie about falling in love with a human from the surface. Some were weary, understandably so, but the sea whispered to them about your gentle heart, and the sea does not lie. They have already begun constructing a throne for you.”

“Take me home, Namor. Your home.” You whispered, heart aching at the thought of Namor telling his people about you, at the thought of them accepting his love for you.

“I love you, in ch'ujuk.” He murmured, capturing your lips with his.

“I love you, my king.” You responded against his lips.

The surface world had never really felt like home to you. The sea had been your home long before Namor had stepped onto the beach that fateful evening so long ago, but now it beckoned you into its warmth. It called to you, and you would be a fool to ignore it. Yes, meddling with Gods was a foolish endeavor, but Namor was your home, and there wasn’t a chance in the world of you turning away from him now. You took a step into the water.

Home.

Tag List:

@alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen

This is my first Namor fic, so I'm only tagging those who asked to be tagged in every Marvel fic I post. If you'd like to join Namor's taglist or you want to alter your form, click here <3.

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kodzuken · 3 years ago

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this is gonna be kinda long and incomprehensible but hear me out: sth is really weird with buck, he is acting super ooc this season. first his relationship with taylor that seemed super weird in 5a but i brushed it off attributing it to me being negative abt it bc i don't like BT. but then with each passing episode he was acting weirder. he was once again focused on his own pain and making it abt himself. he tried to leave bc he felt unwanted. 1/3

2/2 then maddie left. and back in that episode when chim punched him and buck spent the entire episode telling chim how maddie just needs time and she's fine i didn't think much of it either. but now after boston, now that we know more? like buck is the caretaker. he loves his family. and maddie came to him, told him abt almost drowning jee and that she is leaving, she didn't tell him where and he just LET HER? he never would have before. 2/3

3/3 the buck we always knew would NEVER let maddie go if he suspected that it was THIS BAD. did he not even realize??? and then there is the cheating storyline. this was super ooc for the buck we know. and then the eddie thing? sth bad is happening to buck. i don't mean ooc in a 'this is bad writing' way. i think it's excellent writing. i think they're giving us subtle hints about how he is heading for sth Bad. i think once everyone else is "fixed" he is gonna go down. hard.

OKAY sorry i’ve been holding on to this since you sent it last night and i wanted to wait until i was off work so i could properly digest it and respond because i think you are actually the smartest anon that’s ever been in my inbox.

so my thing with buck is this: eddie hit the nail on the fucking head when he said in 504 “you’re the guy who likes to fix things”. he wasn’t just walking about buck’s relationship with maddie; he was stripping buck down to his very bones, the very root of his character -- beneath all of buck’s bravado, his flirting, his jokes and fun facts, he’s just a guy who wants to help, who wants to do the right thing, and most importantly, who wants to fix other people’s problems. it is of my personal opinion (but i’m right, actually) that buck wants to fix other people’s problems so he doesn’t have to fix his own. i could go on a mile long tangent about how buck compartmentalizes himself and his own issues (hello buck 1.0/2.0/3.0), and how everything we know about buck in canon goes to prove that he avoids dealing with his own problems by dealing with other people’s. he loves to be able to fix things, he hates when he can’t.

which brings us to season 5, and i think you’re literally so right, that buck is acting ooc, and it’s for a very good reason. as the audience, we’re SUPPOSED to be thinking, as my father said during 511, “what the fuck, buckley?”. we’re supposed to be wondering what’s going on in his head. and where with say, eddie, we very clearly know why he’s heading into the direction of a major breakdown, we don’t necessarily have that with buck. like obviously, we know he’s Been Through Shit (daniel, the shooting, the ladder truck, the tsunami, the blood clots, the lawsuit, jesus christ man), but we’ve also been made to believe that those things are things we’ve dealt with. personally i believe this is why dr. copeland was introduced in 4A -- to give viewers the impression that buck was dealing with his shit. but we very clearly see in season 5 that he hasn’t dealt with it, and with the huge fucking elephant in the room that is the shooting and the will, buck can’t deal with it.

so, he acts out of character. this is SO fucking pertinent to buck’s character, imo. he quite literally has a track record of making the wrong decision when he’s backed into a corner and doesn’t know what else to do; the lawsuit is a perfect example of this. so now, in season 5, we have a buck who has absolutely no direction as to how to move forward to healing, so he does what he does when he’s afraid -- he makes Decisions that aren’t necessarily the best for him in the long run. take taylor, for example -- he makes it clear that he’s tired of running after people, and yet he gets with taylor (not to MENTION everything that happens in past is prologue) anyway. he’s constantly making ooc decisions, and it isn’t bad writing. it’s fan-fucking-tastic writing, actually, because we’re slowly seeing buck break down in real time. this isn’t eddie clutching a back (with buck In The Room) because all of his trauma is hitting him at once; this is buck slowly but surely digging himself into a hole he won’t be able to get out of without serious help

and you’re right -- especially after everything that happened with doug, i don’t think buck normally would have let maddie go off by herself, especially if he feared she was in danger to herself. but this isn’t a buck who’s acting rationally; this isn’t a buck who’s head is on straight. this is a buck who’s grasping at the edge of a cliff, trying to hang on. this is a buck who can’t fix someone else’s problems, because his own are becoming suffocating.

so yeah, you’re right on the nose -- buck is going to put it away (hah) and help other people; he’s going to be there for maddie and chim, be there for eddie and chris, be there for bobby and may, and he’s not going to worry about himself. but as soon as he doesn’t have anything to fix, anything to focus on, the weight of everything is going to hit him at once, and he’s going to fucking break.

#you said this is going to me long and incomprehensible and i said BET WATCH THIS #anyway i have so many fucking feelings about this stupid little man #so thank you for reaching into my brain and digging them out #anonymous #reply #911 #911 meta #evan buckley #also im kissing you on the mouth for i don't mean ooc in a this is a bad writing way it's excellent writing like you're so SMART anon #writing essays on tumblr dot com instead of for history of astronomy <3 #anti taylor kelly #just to be safe

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ambelle · 2 years ago

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Words need to mean something. If all it takes for 4x08 not to be racist garbage is a love scene then what are they really saying? This can’t be about deep rooted racism in the writing if it’s such an easy fix.

For example Bonnie getting a couple love scenes with white men did not fix anything. Because the root of the issue was that her purpose on the show was to die for her white friends and be happy to do it. It was repeated by her and them many times. Yay she and Enzo fucked…and then they killed him and she literally got shipped off to Africa. No that’s not a joke… they legit sent Bonnie to Africa in the finale.

SO if the writing was actually racist Kory and Dick sleeping together wouldn’t fix that. Did it fix the problems they had with season 1?

What people are complaining about is ironically what a lot of people wanted from season 1. For Dick to be there for her and support her. For him to fight for her and put her first. For Kory to be the center of the his world and the main plot. But because they didn’t get the kisses and sex (if there’s sex) by a certain timeframe now it’s racist. It’s just throwing around trigger words because your horny lol.

And yea the idea you and I “accept crumbs and are the reason the show gives us crumbs” is insane when there’s hours upon hours of recordings of us complaining during season 2&3. It’s also delusional to assume we have power over what the showrunners do if we whine and moan daily … but keep giving it ratings. Like yeah that’ll show em!Just because they are underwhelmed with DK doesn’t mean it’s problematic… it just means they are underwhelmed.

Once again they need to show me the ship on this show whose scenes and overall story is better. And it can’t be a ship with a black person since this is about race. There’s a reason they all pretend KomKon never happened because it blasts a giant hole through their theory that the writers find a bw being loved revolting.

TBH I think the most racist thing I’ve seen come out of this show is the way some fans said with their whole chest they resented Mar’i, a 3 year old black toddler, and not a single one of these SJW dickkory shippers checked them. No I’ll never forget that cause WTF company are you keeping while complaining about racism?

Then them writing fics wear Dick is swearing in Kory’s face, touching her while threatening her, making her cry and feel insecure, even having people hate crime her…People can truly get fucked LMAO. That’s insane.

Dick and Kory being supportive, kind, and understanding of each other and it ultimately leading to them realizing they are destined to be together… you can call it boring, underwhelming, unsexy if you want. But you can’t say this is a clear cut example of writers despising bw. Not with how loved Kory is not only by Dick but by her whole family. Not with how underwritten most white characters are on this very show.

You know who can’t relate Tara and Bonnie. No one gave a shit if they were breathing or not and getting fucked by white men did not change that.

I’ll be honest that I wanted DK as a couple for a whole season but I didn’t expect that because they are so unorthodox. I figured they’d be in a lot of scenes together and we would see them figure out they act married anyway. So I agree I wanted a full season of them. What I don’t agree with is discounting all romantic moments that don’t involve kissing and sex. That’s part of love but it’s not the whole thing. Frankly it the ONLY thing missing from their relationship.

Hi anon I definitely feel you!

I think people misinterpret my feelings because I just became frustrated with accusations about who I am as a person and how I basically support racist writing because I enjoy Dickkory’s writing. I think they are so kind and understanding of each other and I find couples that emotionally support each other so refreshing. They always have each others back.

My stance is that I love their relationship I just wanted to see more of it in season 2&3. It’s not that I think the show is flaw free. However…this season I can’t complain. I’ve been loving them and how much time they’ve spent together confusing Jinx and a whole town into assuming they were an item.

But also Brenton literally told us at NYCC that they confess at the very end of the season. So like… we knew??? And secondly we’ve gotten way more of them than we ever have and that includes season 1. But unlike season 1 Dick is openly affectionate and Kory is the focus of all his attention. Not daddy issues, not Rachel cause she can handle herself now , but Kory. Because he’s so afraid of losing her and so deeply in love.

Dick’s entire character arc in part 2 is about keeping Kory safe and confessing his feelings. Episode 4x08 wasn’t a useless throw away episode just because they didn’t have sex or kiss. They realized they both are in love. So we did get a full season of Dickkory- it was just a season of them realizing they belong together Vs them being an official couple (but having the exact same mission focused scenes because they don’t have time for Olive Garden with May running around.)

Season 1 when you look back at the fans commentary people said they were rushed, they were insulted by DickDawn being married, they were mad DK fizzled out so quickly. All valid complaints but also things people are pretending they didn’t say because they are laser focused on season 1 having a love scene and that being the most important thing. Just like they are pretending they didn’t say they wanted Kory to give Dick the cold shoulder this season. THANK GOD the writers didn’t waste time on her being mad at Dick for dating Babs when he was single lolz?

Anyway I decided to officially stop taking people seriously when they called 4x08 crumbs because that’s just ridiculous. And people who found this episode beautiful and romantic aren’t enablers of racist writing.

Such an outrageous and disgusting thing to claim LOL!

#dickkory #will miss them but not the tired ass discourse #or the virtue signaling and lies

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leogichidaa · 2 years ago

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Love the idea of a muggleborn who want nothing to do with the wizarding world, I can't believe JK Rowling thought the issue was fixes, like muggleborn were going to Azkaban, I can't imagine them wanting to stay in the wizarding world and Voldemort didn't invent muggleborn hate.

Yeah, so I mean, I do understand why most muggleborns want to stay in the wizarding world (magic) but I agree that defeating Voldemort only addresses the surface issue. The bigotry runs far deeper than Voldemort and far deeper, even, than the old wizarding families like the Blacks and the Malfoys. The wizarding world seems to operate under the assumption that muggleborns will cheerfully completely assimilate into the wizarding world and leave their muggle lives more or less behind them. And most muggleborns, lured in at a young age by the wonders of the magical world, go right along with it, presumably until the day they die. But it's actually insane.

Like think about being a muggle parent and finding out that your child is magic. They have to go to a special boarding school. Ok, you will miss them, but they are magic and you can't deny them this opportunity. But they are not just sent to a boarding school, they're sent to a boarding school you can never visit. You can never check on them. Your knowledge about what goes on in your child's life is limited to what your child or the school decides to tell you. You have no recourse if something happens to them at the school. You don't understand and cannot interact with the legal system, the healthcare system, or any of the broader wizarding infrastructure that impacts your child. That's bonkers.

And that's just one of a myriad of problems that muggleborns face, because at the end of the day, even wizards who ostensibly see muggleborns as their equals consider muggles beneath them and act accordingly (i.e. wiping their memories with reckless abandon), leaving muggleborns in the awkward position of choosing between their family/childhood friends/the world they grew up in and this new magical world.

So while I do understand why most muggleborns seem to stay in the magical world, I also think it makes a ton of sense for them to get their education so they have enough magic to be getting on with and leave the wizarding world behind entirely. Personally, I'd rather have magic and live in the muggle world than be writing letters with quills on parchment to send via bird in a world where my chosen profession appears to be nonexistent and the prison system is literally soul-sucking torture. Especially in the leadup to, during, and after the wars. I would not be hanging around for that shit.

The root of the issue, imho, is the Statute of Secrecy. Maybe it made sense and was necessary at the time that it was instituted, but in the modern world it seems to create more problems than it solves. And the isolation certainly does nothing to help the rampant bigotry.

#ask #anon ask #anti-Statute of Secrecy #hp meta

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fortheloveofwonderland · 4 years ago

Text

Oh Baby! [Spencer Reid x fem! reader]

Send me a I wish you would write a fic where…

Find my masterlist here. Click here to join my taglist.

From this Anon prompt - “you're drunk, you have sex, the only problem is that you hate each other, and you think you're pregnant so you have to deal with it (you're not, it's just late)”

Not me posting two fics in one day! I like to think of this as a prelude to Odd Socks which I posted earlier. Mild hints at smut, drinking and bad language. Enemies to lovers.

WC: 3.8k

—————————————————————

Spencer Reid was not your favorite person. He wasn’t even in your top twenty. Or fifty. Or even a hundred.

Working with him was a chore. He was constantly correcting you, always had to be right and you found it exhausting. After four years of working with him you’d all but reached the end of your tether.

You just tried to distance yourself from him the best you could which was easy in the field but not so easy when Penelope insisted everyone go out for drinks. Everyone. Including the anti-social Doctor Reid.

Even with copious amounts of wine in your system, he was no less annoying.

“Statistically speaking, one in five American’s-“

You cut him off when you started to make a high pitched squeaking noise. Spencer and the rest of the team turned to look at you with frowns on their faces.

“What was that?” Spencer asked in confusion.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you sipped your wine. “That’s just the sound my brain makes whenever you speak.”

You saw Spencer’s jaw clench the way it always did when you insulted him; it was his way of trying to bite his tongue and not rise to it.

But he’d also had a few glasses of wine and try as he might, he couldn’t hold back this time.

“It surprises me to know you have a brain.” He scoffed.

You growled at him, literally growled like a dog before you threw back your wine and got up from the table.

“I need another drink.” You spat before storming away.

You ordered a drink and were waiting to pay when he sidled up next to you.

“What’s the matter Y/N? You can dish it but can’t take it?” He was smirking at you and you wanted to slap that stupid look off of his face.

“Just leave me alone Reid.” You rolled your eyes. You didn't want to get into a fight with him, not here.

“I find it funny that I’m expected to just take the insults you throw my way but the second I bite back you go running.” He folded his arms, his expression telling you he found it anything but funny.

“I’m ducking smart.” You growled again. “I have a higher than average IQ but you are always belittling me and making me feel like the stupidest person in the goddamn room!”

“That’s what this is about?” He frowned a little, his arms falling back to his sides. “I’m not trying to belittle you Y/N. I’m trying to challenge you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’ve never met anyone who can keep up with me. I’ve never met anyone who can give me a run for money. It’s nice having someone almost as smart as me around.” He smirked a little, accentuating the word almost.

“You were so close to saying something nice.” You scoffed, tossing a note on the bar before grabbing your drink and turning your back on him.

You started back to your table but he was quick to catch up with you and you felt his large hand on your shoulder.

“Does it always have to be like this?” He asked when you turned back to face him.

You contemplated this for a moment before you stepped out of his grasp.

“Yes.” You spat and then you continued back to the table.

***

You groaned loudly as you peeled your eyes open and the sunlight hit your retinas. Clearly in your state last night you’d forgotten to close the curtains.

You’d had more than your fair share of booze last night and your head was pounding. At least today was your day off. God you hoped you didn’t get called in on a case.

You wriggled yourself up against your pillows and ran your fingers through your tangled hair.

At around the same time you realised you were naked was almost the exact moment a small grumbled startled you.

You practically screamed, turning over to see the other body in what you assumed was your otherwise empty bed. He had his back to you, his head buried under the pillow.

You didn’t remember meeting anyone last night, let alone bringing someone home.

“What the fuck?” You raised your voice making your head throb.

The man grumbled again and when he spoke his voice was muffled under the pillow.

“Jeez Y/N keep it down, my head is pounding.”

You froze. You would know that voice anywhere. That voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you.

You grabbed the pillow and lifted it from his head. As expected you were met with messy, brown curls.

“Reid?” you yelled even louder than before. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

“Please, keep your voice down.” his voice was low and croaky. He rolled onto his back and you could see his eyes were bloodshot, probably from all the alcohol. He was also shirtless too and you would be willing to bet he was wearing as many clothes as you were.

“What. Are. You. Doing. In. My. Bed.” you slowed down, pausing between each word.

Spencer sat up a little, ruffling his hair.

“Well I’m naked.” he croaked. “And I can only assume you are too, which would lead one to believe we had sex.” he spoke casually as though it wasn’t the most ludicrous thing in the world.

“No.” you shook your head. “No way. There is no way I would have sex with you.”

“The current situation begs to differ.” he smirked at you.

“Nuh uh. Nope. No way.” you shook your head again. “Absolutely not. There must be another explanation. You are the last person I would ever sleep with.”

“Well trust me, you did.”

“You remember?” you frowned.

“Eidetic memory.” he smirked again, looking proud of himself. “Even when drunk. We most certainly had sex and you most defintely enjoyed the mulitple orgasms I gave you.”

“No.” you shook your head again. “No, that didn’t happen.” you swung your legs out of the bed, making sure to keep the bed sheet wrapped around your naked body.

Your clothes were just out of reach. You would have to get up to reach them.

You looked back at Spencer over your shoulder and he was staring at you.

“I need to get up, don’t look.” you spat at him.

“I’ve seen it all already Y/N, it’s all up here.” he smirked once more, tapping his head with his index finger. “I’ve got it all memorised. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips. The small red wine coloured birthmark on your inner thigh. The way you smell. The way you taste. The way you screamed my-”

“Stop it!” you cut him off. “Stop it for christ sake.” you needed to distance yourself from him so despite knowing he was watching you, you stood up and keeping your back to him made a grab for your dress.

You pulled it over your head and covered yourself before turning back to him.

“Why are you just sitting there?”

“I was hoping you’d maybe have the decency to make me some coffee? After all I did for you last night.” he winked at you and you hated that it sent a twinge between your legs.

You had never seen this side of Reid, this confidence. You always assumed he was probably a virgin but you supposed it was always the quiet ones.

“Well you know hope leads to disappointment. Get up and get out of my apartment.” you wrapped your arms around yourself, as though protecting yourself from something.

“Now that’s just rude.”

“Reid, this was clearly a huge mistake. We were both extremely drunk otherwise there is no way we would have ended up in bed together. So let’s just agree to pretend this never happened and never speak of it again.”

Spencer chewed his lip looking as though he was contemplating this. Then he smirked again.

“Or,” he had a mischievous look in his eyes. “You can come back to bed and we can have a repeat of last night. Last night I made you come four times. I think I can beat that.”

You felt your cheeks burning with embarrassment and more worryingly, arousal. You hoped he didn’t notice what his words were doing to you.

You liked this confident side of him. There was something so hot about the way he was looking at you and talking to you. If this was how he had talked to you last night you were surprised you ended up here.

“Get out!” you forced yourself to say. The thought of getting back into bed with him was too tempting. But at least you could blame last night on the wine. If you got back into bed with him now you had no one to blame but yourself. And you knew he would hold it over you forever.

“If you insist.” he shrugged, slipping out from under the covers. He stood up and faced you, stark naked. He was hard and you had to force your eyes away from his erection up to the ceiling. He clearly noticed because he laughed.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting this.” he chuckled.

“Because you are an ass and I can’t stand you.”

“But I’m an ass who can show you a good time.”

“Good god Reid just please...please get out of my apartment.” It was taking every ounce of your strength to keep your eyes away from him. You knew if you looked back at him it would be game over. You would pounce on him and throw him back on the bed and he would win.

You kept your eyes fixed on the ceiling while he reluctantly dressed in last night clothes. Once he was fully clothed you finally allowed yourself to look back at him.

He looked so different from how you were used to seeing him. His shirt was wrinkled and he kept the top couple of buttons undone. His tie was slung open around his neck and he dangled his blazer from his finger. He almost looked normal.

“Are you sure you want me to leave?” he asked with another small smirk and you swore you were actually going to smack that look off his face in a minute.

“Very.” you folded your arms in defiance.

“Fine.” he shrugged. “See you tomorrow Y/N. Thanks for a great night.” he gave you another wink before he headed to the bedroom door.

You forced yourself to stay rooted to the spot and not go after him. You stayed put until you heard the apartment door open and close behind him.

Once you were sure he was gone, you fell back to the bed with a sigh.

What had you done? Why on earth would you sleep with Spencer Reid?

Little did you know, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

***

Three Weeks Later

“Nope. No. No way. Not possible.” you paced your apartment, muttering under your breath. “Nuh uh. Nope. Nada. Not a fucking chance.”

The knock on the door startled you, making you physically jump. You’d been expecting him, you’d invited him, but you’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts you’d momentarily forgotten.

You took a few deep breaths to try and calm your breathing before you made your way to the door.

You flung it open, he was standing on the other side looking a little frustrated that you had dragged him across town on your day off.

“Yes?” he scoffed.

You were regretting this immediately.

“Come in, come in.” you motioned Spencer hurriedly inside.

“If this is some kind of booty call Y/N, I am not interested.”

You closed the door behind him rolling your eyes.

Since your stupid drunken night spent together things had been even worse between the two of you. Spencer barely spoke to you anymore, not that you were really complaining but it was odd. He gave you the cold shoulder after you’d told him to forget all about the night you spent together.

What you didn’t realise was your words had hurt Spencer. He had been waiting four years to make a move on you but had always been too scared of the ultimate rejection. When you had come on to him that night he had been elated. It had been the best night of Spencer’s life and you’d just wanted to act like nothing had happened. It hurt, so he’d had to distance himself from you as much as possible.

“Booty call? You really think that’s what this is?” you frowned at him.

“No of course not, how could I be so stupid.” he rolled his eyes now. “God forbid you would want to sleep with me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Just forget it.” he grumbled. “What did you drag all the way over here for?”

Oh yes, that.

You sighed loudly, feeling sick just thinking about the words you needed to utter.

“I...I uhm...fuck. We fucked up. We made a big fucking mistake.”

“Excuse me?” He spat. “First you tell me to forget anything happened but now you are telling me it was a complete mistake? Wow, that makes me feel fucking great thanks. You know what Y/N you-”

“Shut up!” you cut him off. “That’s not what I...not like that. We just...fuck this is fucked up.” you started pacing again.

“What the fuck are you talking about Y/N?” he grabbed your wrist to stop you pacing and pulled you to a stop to look at him. He saw tears behind your eyes. “What is this about?”

You had to just say it, blurt it out. Just like ripping off a bandaid.

“I t-think...I m-might be...I’m not sure...but I’m late and I’m n-never late…” a few tears escaped your eyes. “Fuck Spencer!” you sniffed, you had never called him by his first name before. “I think I might be pregnant.”

Spencer felt the air leave his lungs, as though your words had just punched him in the gut.

The words hung in the air between you like stale smoke in a bar. Time stood still. His head was spinning.

“P-pregnant.” he choked out. “With a b-baby.”

“Yes genius.” you dried your eyes on the back of your hand.

“And it’s m-mine?”

“Do you think I would be telling you this if it wasn’t?” you spat. “Fuck Reid, say something useful!”

“I don’t know w-what to say.” he swallowed hard, struggling to grasp at a coherent thought. “Are you s-sure?”

“No.” you shook your head. “I said I think I might be. I haven’t taken a test yet, it’s probably too early. But I was due five days ago and that is not normal for me. I am like clockwork.”

He could tell how much this clearly pained you to admit to him so he knew if you were telling him this you were pretty damn certain.

“Pregnant.” He repeated, still trying to wrap his head around it.

“What the fuck are we going to do Spencer?” You started sobbing then and Spencer couldn’t help but come to you and throw his arms around you.

You tried to resist at first but then you gave in and buried your head into his chest while you cried.

He ran his large hands up and down your back and placed soft kisses to your head. It was a very strange situation for the two of you.

“Y/N I am going to be here for you every step of the way.” He used his finger to guide your chin up so you were looking at him. “You and our baby will not be alone in this ok?”

You chewed your lip trying to sniff back your tears.

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to be involved.”

“I want to be.” He stroked your cheek. “The truth is Y/N, I’m crazy about you and I have been for a really long time. I want this. Us, this baby. I want it all.” He brushed away your tears and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Spencer Reid has feelings, who would have thought.” You teased him.

He laughed a little.

“You can say something nice every once in a while you know?”

“I hope our baby has your eyes.” You smiled softly at him. “And your smile.”

“I hope they have your everything.” He replied.

He bowed his head a little to meet you and he let his lips brush cautiously over yours as though testing the waters. When he went to pull away, you gripped the back of his neck and kept him close, your mouth opening and allowing his tongue access.

It felt right. It felt like you should have always been doing this. It felt like the stars and planets aligning.

But of course, it couldn’t last. You should have known better.

***

Over the next few weeks things changed dramatically between you and Spencer. It was amazing how this had brought the two of you together and seemingly washed away four years of contempt you held towards each other.

Despite the pregnancy the two of you decided to take things slow, you went on dates, held hands and had the occasional make out session but that was as far as it went, despite being desperate for each other.

This was the time to get to know each other, really get to know each other. You were going to be parents after all.

Or so you thought.

The day before you were going to take your first pregnancy test Spencer found you in the bathroom at Quantico, on the floor in tears.

You’d been away from your desk for a little while so he’d gone looking for you. He had never expected to find you like this.

He ran to your side and fell to the floor next to you, instinctively wrapping his arms around you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me.” You sobbed.

“I-I...what’s happened Y/N? Please talk to me.”

“What’s wrong?” You spat. “What’s wrong is that I just came on my period, that's what’s wrong!” You raised your voice.

“You...you’re not…” he croaked, unable to form a sentence.

“I’m not pregnant Reid.” He finished for him. Hearing you call him Reid again was weird and it didn’t sit right with him.

His own eyes welled with tears. He’d already gotten so used to the idea of having a child with you he felt his heart shatter in his chest.

“Oh.” He croaked. He had no idea what to say.

“Just go Reid.” You wiping your eyes on the sleeve of your blouse.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He sniffed.

“We don’t have to do this anymore. I’m not pregnant, I’m not having your baby. You’re free. You don’t have to pretend this was any more than what it was.”

“And what was it?” He chewed his lip with a frown.

“We were trying to force feelings that weren’t really there. We were just trying to pretend for the sake of the baby. But there is no baby. So we don’t need to bother anymore.”

Spencer’s frown deepened.

“Pretending?” he scoffed. “Y-you thought I was pretending?”

“We both were Reid and it’s ok. We just wanted to make it work because we thought we were having a child. But we aren’t so let’s just go back to normal and pretend nothing happened.”

“You expect me to pretend nothing happened?” he swallowed, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “You want me to pretend I wasn’t excited at the thought of being a father? You want me to pretend I hadn’t started thinking of baby names and planning our future together? A future for the three of us. You think I can just pretend that baby or not that I’m not head over heels in love with you?” His words came tumbling out of his mouth so fast he barely had time to realise he was saying them before they were out.

He saw the moment you registered what he’d said. He saw your mouth fall open and your eyes widen. Understandable really, he’d just confessed his love to you in the bathroom of the BAU.

“I-I…” nope, there were no words, at least none that you could find anyway.

“It wasn’t supposed to come out like that.” He swallowed a lump in throat. “But uhm...now it’s out there I can’t very well take it back. I’m in love with you, I probably have been since the moment you walked through the door. I remember it like it was yesterday. Hotch introduced us and I knew when our eyes met you were the person I’d been searching for.” A few tears escaped his eyes.

“Y-you...me?”

“Yes you.” He laughed a little cupping your face and you let him wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry you aren’t pregnant, I’m really, really sorry, because it would be a privilege and an honour to father your child.”

“I-I had no idea you felt that way.”

“You’re a worse profiler than I thought you were in that case.” He teased.

“Oh if you're so good, tell me Doctor Reid, what am I thinking right now?” You gave him an unimpressed face.

“You’re thinking,” he moved one hand around to the base of your neck. “That I’m an ass and you’d be right. But you’re also thinking that you want me to kiss you.”

“Oh am I now?” You raised an eyebrow at him but you couldn’t help but glance down at his lips.

“Let’s see if I’m right.” He smirked and then he captured your lips with his own in a deep kiss. When you opened your mouth to allow his tongue access, he knew he was right.

When you pulled back both of your tears were all but gone.

“I guess I should say, I love you too by the way.” You told him with a shrug.

“Oh I know.” He shot you a smirk as he pushed himself up to his feet.

He held his hands out and you took them and he hoisted you to your feet.

“I don’t like cocky Spencer.” You grumbled.

“No, you love him.”

You nudged him playfully in the ribs. To your surprise he suddenly enveloped you in a tight embrace.

“I really am sorry you aren’t pregnant Y/N.” He kissed your head. “One day we’ll make one, I promise. But in the meantime,” he smirked to himself. “We sure can have a lot of fun practicing.”

————————————————————— Taglist -

All ships & genres -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl

@measure-in-pain

@ptrs-prkrs

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@takeyourleap-of-faith

SR all genres -

@boxofsparklingmuses

@frickin-bats

@reidandhisgourd

@ukai-hoe

@dreatine

@adoringanakin

@hsbavery

@amesandpineapples

@goldeng1rl8

@dr-spencerr-reidd

@90spumkin

@battinson

@sleepretreat

SR oneshots -

@seasonfivereid

@willowrose99

@multixfandomwriter

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n

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bigasswritingmagnet · 3 years ago

Text

Uncle Bob

Fandom: Psychonauts Rating: G Summary: Bob Zanotto does have roots, if he'd like to reconnect to them. Lili has a plant question, and Bob's got an answer.

"Ok, see the bolt your hand is on?" Helmut asked.

"Yes..."

"Not that one. Go left. Left. Left. More left. Less left--"

Bob looked away from the block of grease and rust that was the Feel Mobile's engine, and leveled a flat stare to the brain ball beside him.

"You mean right?" Bob said. It was hard to feel annoyed or upset with someone when you forgot how to breathe every time you remembered that they were alive, but he was definitely about to manage some exasperation.

"This would be so much easier if I had hands. I could just point!"

"Helmut, if you had hands, you could do this yourself," Bob said. "Why don't you wait until we get back from Grulovia?"

"I can't wait that long! Look at the state it's in!" The ball rolled forward until it thunked gently against the side of the bus. "My baby."

"What if you got Otto to help you instead?"

"Oh no no no, not while I don't have the hands to stop him from making "improvements" while he's in there."

Bob had to give him that one.

"We can do this!" Helmut insisted, with such enthusiasm Bob couldn't help but smile. "We're a great team. Just put your hand back where it was and move it very slowly left until I say stop."

"Hey guys!" Rescue came in the shape of Raz rounding the corner and waving. "Whatcha doin'?"

"We're fixing the Feel Mobile!"

"We are trying to fix the Feel Mobile," Bob corrected. "But I don't know anything about engines, and Helmut doesn't have hands. It's a process."

"Fortunately, I am excellent at instructions," Helmut said. "Just because I don't have eyes doesn't mean I can't see you rolling yours, Bobby."

"What brings you out to our neck of the woods?" Bob asked.

"We had a plant question," Raz said, triumphantly. There was a brief pause.

"Is that the royal 'we', or...?" Helmut asked.

Raz looked at the empty space at his left. He looked at the empty space at his right. He looked back up the way he came. He gave Bob a slightly embarrassed smile and held up a finger, backing away.

"Gimme one second."

Bob tossed the wrench into the tool kit and stood, a process that was a lot more involved than it used to be.

"Jeez, you sound so old," Helmut teased.

"I am old, you--" The words cut off short, caught in Bob's throat at the flash of dark pigtails zipping back behind a tree. Bob looked away, wiping his hands off on a rag, but he couldn't stop Raz's words from drifting into his ears. The kid had lowered his voice, but not low enough.

"You can't be shy, you're you. ...What? ...Why wouldn't he?"

"Bobby?" Helmut asked, softly.

"It's Truman's daughter," Bob said, gruffly, focusing very hard on getting the grease out from around his nailbeds.

"Oh."

What must she think of him? The last time he'd seen her she wasn't even walking yet. She'd only know him as the crazy old hermit who lived on top of a thorn tower and hated everyone. Or worse, as the drunken mess who screwed up so many missions his own nephew had had to put him out to pasture before he got somebody killed--

Something bonked insistently against his ankle.

"Hey. Hey. Stop that," Helmut ordered. "You're great and she'll love you."

"But--"

Another bonk, this one so hard it actually hurt.

"You're. Great. And. She'll. Love. You."

"Of course he'll like you! ...My psychic senses tell me so. ...It'll be fine, I promise."

Lili stepped out from behind the tree. She looked exactly like the pictures Truman had sent, minus the usual glazed look that came with a school photo. She was clutching a terracotta pot to her chest, one far too large for the sullen, drooping stalks that protruded from it.

"Hey there!" Bob said, trying to sound as cheerful and un-evil-hermit-that-lives-in-the-woods as possible. She approached slowly, but at least didn't look like she was on the verge of running away.

"Hi," she said, softly. "Um...Raz said you might be able to help me with my amaryllis. I've been trying to get it to bloom again. I let it go dormant twice, but it still won't put out any buds."

Bob reached out, and then hesitated. Lili released the pot, which floated over to Bob and hovered. Bob examined the plant, curious. He was impressed, to say the least. Second bloom or no, there weren't a lot of ten year olds who could successfully winter an amaryllis at all, let alone twice in a row.

"No fungus, no pests," he muttered. "Soil seems fine. Is it getting the right kind of light?"

"In the window, sunny and south facing," Lili said, with more confidence. "I checked the soil acidity, I used filtered water, I tried different kinds of plant foods, I tried playing music, I tried talking to it--"

"Yelling at it," Raz corrected.

"I was only yelling because talking wasn't working," Lili said, narrowing her eyes at him. Bob cleared his throat to hide his chuckle.

"Welp," Bob said. "I figured out your problem."

"You did?" Lili's eyes lit up. "What is it? What should I do?"

"You got a dud bulb," Bob said. He prodded the limp leaves, which looked like tangled green shoelaces. "You should just toss it."

"...what?"

Bob gave her a large wink, then continued loudly.

"Yep. That's amaryllis for you. They're weak, give up easy."

The leaves twitched.

"I never bothered with them, honestly. They need so much hand holding, and as for looks, well..."

"You're right," Lili said, nodding sagely. "They're just not pretty enough to justify all the work I've been putting into them. Maybe I should just dump them and grow tulips instead."

"Honestly, you're better off with roses--"

The stalks shot up, straight as arrows and quivering with indignation. Lili laughed in delight as first one, then two, then three pink bulbs swelled and unfurled into three perfect flowers.

"I can't believe that worked!" she cried.

"...did you just use reverse psychology on a plant?" Raz asked, nonplussed.

"Yep. Nothing like spite to put a little color in a flower. Amaryllises are divas," he told Lili. "You need to treat them carefully, but don't coddle them. Make 'em work for your attention." He took the pot in his hands and held it away, leaning down to mutter "And they hate roses."

"It's a plant," Raz said, in the same tone.

"You get used to it," Helmut said.

"But it's--"

"Let it go, kid. Trust me."

Bob handed the pot to Lili and opened his mouth to ask Helmut to explain just what that was supposed to mean...

But the girl took the pot in both hands and beamed up at him with a smile like the sun, and said "Thanks Uncle Bob."

It made it very hard to think of anything to say other than 'sure thing, kiddo.'

#bob zanotto #lili zanotto #helmut fullbear #razputin aquato #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers

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narglesnthings · 2 years ago

Text

Teachers caring is kids come to class is a good thing and shows that the teacher both cares about student success and believes their class lessons are valuable. The bad thing is when teachers guilt students over not coming to class or penalize students who demonstrate/exceed the knowledge benchmarks for not coming to class. A lot of the time these will be teachers who honestly don't care much about their content and just read out from the book every class (which you can do yourself, on your own time), but won't accept that their teaching style is the reason kids aren't coming and just get offended by the low attendance

Providing an external motivator and trying to both make the class engaging and communicate that the class is engaging is a great action to take. It can also help pull kids who really don't have a reason to miss class other than 'I don't feel like going' and are failing back into the room, increasing their chances of success. It's still their prerogative whether or not to come, but after seeing some close friends miss so many classes that it's going to take over 6 years and over minimum tens of thousands of dollars of debt to get a basic degree, it can really make a difference in someone's life to provide more reasons to come to class than just 'you should come to class.' College students are largely young adults that have just been released from the tight reign of the k-12 school system, and encouraging (but not overly penalizing) attendance can help prevent several thousand dollar mistakes

Attempting to get my students to fucking come to class

#Not me speaking from experience about the bad teachers #I'm looking at my Music In World Cultures class #Which I was legitimately SO excited to take #And then the teacher literally just read from a PDF script every single class #Which he also sent all of us before class #So we had every word he was going to say sitting right in front of us #As well as every video and picture link #And he never brought in a cultural instrument of any kind which the school definitely had a handful of #Even if he just wasn't allowed to use those I can count the amount of times there was any live music happening in the room on one hand #Which were also the only times I was actually interested #Needless to say I and many of my classmates really didn't feel it was important to be at the class lectures #I still showed up most of the time but I was upset about it #And almost every day he would yell at the kids who did show up about the fact that the class had low attendance #And then half the class dropped and he yelled about that #Like have you ever considered #That maybe you are the problem buddy #I wrote a pretty scathing course review #And found out that the only thing he changed for the next class was he stopped sending students those PDF scripts #Which I guess makes the class slightly more valuable but doesn't actually fix the root problem #I really wanted to enjoy that class and I'm very obviously still salty about it

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fridayfirefly · 4 years ago

Text

The Power of Luck [Chapter One]

Read The Power of Luck on AO3

Masterlist [All Works]

Masterlist [The Power of Luck Series]

Written for Maribat March Day 6 - Miraculous Side Effects

The Ladybug Miraculous had quite a few side effects. Marinette was able to think quick on her feet, she was a skilled tactician in battle, and her reaction time was half that of a normal human. Most notably, the Ladybug Miraculous granted its user the force known as Miraculous Luck, which, depending on the situation, was sometimes more of a curse than a blessing. Marinette didn't get to choose how that good luck manifested. For instance, when she needed an extra day to finish a history project, her school closed down due to a gas leak. Or when she wished for a fresh start after the defeat of Hawkmoth, her parents were offered a deal to grow their bakery business in America.

Marinette assured her parents that she didn't mind moving. After all, most of her class had already moved on. Lila had been deported to Italy, narrowly avoiding jail time. Chloé (much to her dismay) was sent by her father to an all-girls boarding school in England. Adrien was taken in by his Aunt Amelie (as Gabriel was in jail and Emilie was declared brain-dead) and moved to England as well.

No one else from Marinette's class left the country, but many of them moved out of Paris. Nathanial was accepted to an elite art school in Marseille. Max was accepted to a gifted program at an elite school in Bordeaux. Officer Raincomprix was transferred to Toulouse and took Sabrina with him. Juleka and Luka both started homeschooling after their mother sailed the houseboat down the Seine to the city of Rouen.

Worst of all was the loss of Alya. Her parents were horrified that the son of Hawkmoth was in the same class as their daughter, and promptly pulled Alya out of class and decided to move out of the city. Alya begged them for weeks but nothing came of her protests. In the end, Alya left too.

The Miraculous Luck could do a lot of things, but it couldn't keep her friends together. Those who remained at François Dupont filled holes in other classes. Marinette tried to make the best of her new class, but she felt no real connection to them. When her parents proposed the move, Marinette jumped on the opportunity. In Gotham, she wouldn't be haunted by the ghost of her old life.

Marinette cut her hair, leaving it choppy and just above the shoulders. She donated all of her brightly colored clothes to the thrift store down the street and created a new wardrobe for herself. It was toned down and mature, much more fitting for Gotham.

Marinette left Paris a much different girl than the naive fourteen-year-old who thought she could save the world. She was ready for a city like Gotham, a city that didn't make any promises, a city where Marinette could set down some new roots.

-----

At first, it was easy to fly under the radar at Gotham Academy. It was a school filled with the self-absorbed children of millionaires and billionaires, after all. Marinette was there on scholarship - her good grades, leadership experience, and working-class parents combined to cut her tuition down by 75%. Marinette quickly learned that scholarship students were at best ignored, and at worst mercilessly bullied. So Marinette kept her head down and vowed that she would get through the year unscathed.

There was one variable, however, that the Miraculous Luck wasn't able to account for. Marinette's entire plan fell apart thanks to one boy: Damian Wayne.

Marinette became acquainted with Damian Wayne through the school's rumor mill. She learned that he was one of the most wealthy and most attractive people in the school, but he was thought himself too good to spend time with any of his fellow classmates (Marinette couldn't fault him on the last bit; she also found the students at Gotham Academy to be difficult, to say the least). Marinette also learned through the school's rumor mill that Damian spent quite a lot of time staring at her. Given that Damian had never paid the slightest amount of attention to a Gotham Academy girl before, this was a big deal. Suddenly Marinette was the farthest thing from under the radar. Everyone who used to look down on her wanted to be her friend. It was exhausting.

Marinette resolved to ignore Damian Wayne - an easy task, given that she still didn't even know what he looked like. Now that everyone was staring at her, it was hard to

"Why?" grumbled Marinette. "Why couldn't my so-called Miraculous Luck help me get through one normal year of school?"

Tikki shrugged from her spot inside of Marinette's backpack. "Maybe all of this attention will turn out to be a good thing?"

"I doubt that." Marinette glanced around, checking that no one had spotted her talking to her backpack. There was one spot in the cafeteria that was hidden from view, a window-sill nestled behind a pillar, bordered by a wall on one side and an out of order vending machine on the other. Marinette sat on the window-sill every day to eat lunch, with Tikki as her companion for the meal.

"I think your problem is that you're overthinking this. Miraculous Luck always works out in the end, even if there are some obstacles in the middle."

"I just want this horrible school year to be over," sighed Marinette, setting her head down in her arms.

"Don't give up yet, Marinette. I have high hopes for this school year," said Tikki.

Marinette had some serious doubts but picked her head up anyway. Maybe this year wouldn't turn out the way she expected. Marinette defeated Hawkmoth, the greatest villain Paris ever faced. She could survive a year of high school.

-----

Marinette was going to survive her senior year of high school. Damian Wayne on the other hand... Marinette still wasn't sure if she was going to let him survive the year, after everything he put her through.

"Excuse me?" a sickeningly sweet voice piped up from behind Marinette.

Marinette put on her best disinterested-face, took out one headphone, and turned around. "Yes?"

There were three girls standing behind her: a blonde, flanked on both sides by a brunette and a red-head. The blonde girl had a smile on her face but a devious look in her eyes. Marinette had long ago learned to spot manipulators, and this girl had it written all over her. "Are you Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

"Yes."

"My name is Julie Cooper. I was just wondering... Are you dating Damian Wayne?"

Marinette huffed in exasperation. "What do you think?"

Julie's eyes narrowed. "I just wanted to warn you. I mean, did you really think that Damian Wayne would seriously date a girl here on scholarship? You should break up with him before you get hurt."

"It was a rhetorical question. I'm not dating Damian Wayne. It's just a rumor."

Julie instantly perked up. "Oh, good! I was beginning to think that Damian had lost his mind. I mean, I'm sure you would be a nine or a ten at a public school, but at Gotham Academy, you're like a seven, maybe an eight on a good day. Most of the girls who go here are actually hot, not just," the girl waved her hand towards Marinette. "Above average."

Marinette wasn't sure if Julie meant for her to feel flattered or offended, but her words had the strange effect of making Marinette feel both all at once. "Um, thanks? I'm going to go now."

Julie's brunette friend suddenly paled as the girl started to tug on Julie's sleeve. "Um, Julie?" she whispered.

"What, Nora?" Julie's eyes widened as they fixed on something behind Marinette.

Marinette turned around to see what the cause of their concern was. Or rather, to see who the cause of their concern was. It was a boy, tall and scowling. "Are you done here, Cooper?"

Julia nodded, a nervous edge to her voice, "Bye, Marinette." She and her two friends hurried off, exchanging frantic whispers.

"What do you want?" asked Marinette with a sigh. She was tired of dealing with boys who were only interested in her because Damian Wayne was interested in her.

"I wished to apologize."

"For Julie? Did you put her up to this?"

The boy looked confused. "No, of course not. I meant that I wanted to apologize for everything, not just Julie Cooper."

"For everything?" The truth suddenly dawned on Marinette. "You're Damian Wayne! I didn't think that you would be so tall."

"You didn't know what I looked like?" There was real shock in his voice.

"Well, by the time I learned that you had been staring at me everyone was staring at me, so that wasn't much help in figuring out who you were."

"You could have googled me."

Marinette shrugged. "I could have, but it felt weird to google one of my classmates. I pretty much just resigned myself to never figuring out who you were."

"I should have approached you sooner. I've wanted to apologize for a while, but every time I've caught you alone you've looked like you wanted to be left that way."

"I'm not a fan of most of the students here."

"The students here can be..." Damian searched for the appropriate word. "Tiresome. I resigned myself to a dull four years of high school in their company. That is, until I saw you."

Marinette cocked her head. "Why me, though? I'm nothing special."

"You're different than everyone else here."

Marinette stiffened. "I know. I've been told. I'm here on a scholarship which means I don't belong," she snapped

Damian shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. You move through life differently than all of the other students here. You don't care about the gossip or drama - at least, not until you were right at the center of it all. You've seen the real world, so you float above the high school drama. You're just so... so..."

"So what?" Marinette's tone softened.

Damian ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. The addition of the messy hair added a certain charm to his otherwise polished exterior. "I've been brainstorming for the right word for weeks. The best I can come up with is pure. You don't let yourself become affected by anything in this school."

It was a very flattering description of her. It was also very on the nose. "I'll forgive you, Damian Wayne, but only on one condition."

"What?"

"I want to get to know you, and I have a feeling that you feel the same way."

Damian nodded. "It's a deal."

Maybe her Miraculous Luck wasn't so useless after all. Marinette had expected to go the whole year without making a single friend. Now, it seemed that she might make one after all.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #daminette #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Damian Wayne #MaribatMarch2021 #maridami #marinette x damian #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

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