#emotionally stunted head in my hands you know the drill

[posletsvet]

Satoru Gojo and the Infinity That Sets Him Apart

Throught the flashback arc that opens JJK'S second season, the story goes to great lengths to make us sympathize with Geto. We are privy to the inner workings of his mind when he faces personal catastrophes of his youth, and it grants us a profound insight into how his mental/emotional state deteriorates in response to a painful realization that later comes to define his entire life. Gege found a way to turn Geto's tendency to internalize his experiences into a narrative tool, the mechanics of his Cursed Technique becoming an apt metaphor for it, and that's one truly astonishing writing.

But what about Gojo? After all, it's his memories that play out before our eye as he daydreams, and Geto is no longer an active force in the narrative, so the arc should be introduced in the first place to shed some light on Satoru's character and highlight certain aspects of it. However, while the narrative goes out of its way to humanize Geto by exposing his interiority to the audience, it seems to bit by bit deny readers access to Gojo's mind until Satoru is entirely closed off emotionally at the end of Hidden Inventory Arc. From that point on, any reading of his words and actions can be as good as the other since personal interpretation is all that is left to us to try and understand what lies behind the appearances (I guess that's precisely why there are so many widely different, conflicting interpretations of Gojo out there). What process Gojo's character undergoes throughout his past arc is, essentially, dehumanization.

Let's take a look at Gojo as he is in the main, present timeline. Pretty much as any other person in Gojo's vicinity, the audience can only observe him from the outside, always held at an arm's length away from his interior thoughts and emotions. Whenever we do get an insight into his mind, it's mostly for a solely practical purpose of keeping the readers informed about the direction which the fight is about to take, with Satoru's internal monologues consisting almost completely of him dryly strategizing against his opponents.

Even Gojo's design is set to dehumanize him, teasing the audience with how much it conceals and how little it allows us to derive from what we see. Plain black clothes, long sleeves, long trousers, high collar. Barely any skin exposed, scarce detail, completely colourless expression. To crown it all, his blindfold -- we do not get to see his eyes. Eyes mirror the soul, they communicate emotion which our words fail to. Eye contact is a primal tool of non-verbal communication because of how much our eyes alone can give away about our feelings. With Gojo's eyes perpetually hidden under his ever-present blindfold, there's an additional layer of protection, another hindrance to our understanding of his state of mind. A simple piece of cloth adds to the distance preventing access to Gojo's direct perspective, as impenetrable as trying to look through a blindfold would be for anyone but Gojo himself. The same could be applied even to his height: people around him are required to reach up with their gaze in order to look him in the face. Once again, this choice in his design strives to communicate one thing: you cannot meet him at his level, there is a palpable distance between where he stands and where you are. Everything about Gojo feels almost impersonal, evasive, further increasing the extent of his alienation.

There's an interesting connection found between Gojo's technique, his need to cover his eyes and the narrative distance that does not allow us to get any closer to his character. It's precisely when Gojo puts his mind to perfecting his usage of the Limitless that an unbreachable impediment settles between him and the people around, resulting in him and Geto from that point on being forever unable to get through to each other. With his technique taking a toll on his body by becoming more overwhelming to use after such a rapid increase in power, it's also when Gojo starts to wear his shades all the time. And whereas before we were allowed to look past the tanned spectacles and see his eyes, read the emotion in them, now we're denied even that much. It's probably a short after Geto's defection when Satoru switches to a blindfold, indicating how he completely shuts off emotionally. Just as Geto's Curse Manipulation stands as a metaphor for him repressing his feelings till the breaking point, Gojo's mental state is reflected through the physical appearance, too. Him physically distancing himself from everything within the world around him with his Limitless technique sustaining an uncrossable invisible barrier around him and his blindfold hiding his eyes from the viewer is also how his emotional detachment is established on the meta level of the narrative.

Since Geto's defection, Gojo's defenses are breached in the main timeline just once, and that is during Shibuya Incident Arc. It's barely a coincidence that, as the Limitless falls short and the ever-present physical distance is crossed sharply with the Prison Realm reaching Gojo, the emotional distance is immeadiately eliminated, too.

All defenses down and the memories of his youth flooding through the cracks, Gojo suddenly isn't numb to all the hurt of his past mistakes and what it cost him and the people around him; all the ache of losing his best friend not once but twice and being utterly unable to do anything about it still weighs on him. Neither is numb to all of it the reader, not anymore. The narrative 'catches up' to Gojo at this moment. It was an alienating, almost inhumane experience to never get a sight of Gojo's emotions when it mattered the most, at the pivotal events of his life which come to shape him as a character and as a person. We were simply denied that intimacy. But with Satoru's physical body made within reach and his mind suddenly transparent, laid bare, the delayed heartbreak is alive and present as ever. The weakness of his human heart is exposed, but it required crossing the Infinity to get to his heart.

The physical distance is only breached because the emotional one is eliminated beforehand. However, we finally get to catch a glimpse of Gojo's true feelings because something within the world was able to reach him physically, penetrating through his Limitless technique. The two are the sides of the one coin, they go hand in hand within the narrative, ultimately rendered inseperable by it. At the end of the day, the body is the soul and the soul is the body.

I've started writing all this well before the spoilers for the last chapter came out, but what we see in it, at least how I personally take it, speaks in favour of pretty much everything I've been talking about above. It's somewhat notorious how little emotional impact Gojo's fight against Sukuna lands. Until now. Until Gojo's Infinity utterly fails to prevent his body from taking the damage. Once again we gain insight into his interiority the instance he's physically exposed to the world. With Gojo's invulnerability ultimately overcome, the narrative grants us access to his inner feelings and thoughts one last time. Satoru's heart is an aching wound split open one last time.

[pushingdaisies1]

Kinda hate you, kinda love you . . . ♡

(✧ ˚.) PAIRING-> James "Logan" Howlett {A.K.A} Wolverine x Reader >_< (✧ ˚.) SUMMARY -> Being an X-men was a lot for you to sign up for. Well.. you didn't have a chance to deny this safe haven. The school became your home and the people that made up the X-men like a weird little familial unit. You had many reasons for staying as long as you did, but one was more prickly and jaded. The feelings you harbored for a stern and calloused Logan were.. weird for you to feel firsthand. One day, you are stuck overlooking a danger room drill between Gambit and Logan. With the new member of your world-saving team Jubilee by your side, it's too dull to NOT talk with each other. She was a good kid, hyperactive and spirited that's for sure. You talk, and talk a lot you do to the human embodiment of the fourth of July. It makes you think a little bit too hard about yours and Logans... predicament. (✧ ˚.) AUTHORS NOTE -> Hiii!!! This is my first time writing stuff for Logan so - bee tee dubs it may be complete and utter horse shit. I'd like to thank @velvrei for helping me ignite some well-dead thoughts. Genuinely love ur work sm and reading that and a lot more new/old logan content helped TONS. This is linked to the {♡x-men animated series/x-men97♡} series. I do wanna write more for the Deadpool timeline xmen/early 2000s timeline xmen!! But after seeing the masterpiece that is Deadpool and Wolverine, I lowkey just clung to those shows. I love animated Logan!! He is even more emotionally stunted/sassy sad!! (✧ ˚.) CWS (?) -> Logan nd u are sad ppl who don't know how to voice ur feelings!! , pining from afar/one-sided not so one-sided yearning, UHM HURT/KINDA COMFORT??? MAYBE??? I THINK??? , unprompted suggestiveness from logan , mentions of struggling to connect with other ppl/fears of the future (bay bay jubilee my love) , u and Jubilee just kinda bond, off topic idk cajun dialect so..... , and u infodump as a weird suto older sister/mom in her life, this was all very spur of the moment so uhm - not proofread!!! kinda!!!!!!!

The dangeroom was a room a lot of the X-men team spent their time in. To either train for a new threat or for general movement, drills were a common theme. Especially after world-shaking events, which were always somehow a constant, the professor was the equivalent of an alarm clock. Drills this, always having to run down into the war room. You didn't mind the training sessions if it was one-on-one or even with the whole team. Sometimes though, it was almost nagging. 

Though there were little things you'd do to pass this time. If you were made to overlook it or otherwise. Most of the time there didn't need to be supervision within the training center itself. Everyone was on high alert, and off days were few and far between. Logan had been hashing it out with Gambit all morning and wanted to do a specific procedure setting. You held your head in your hands as you sighed at the grown men's demands. Gambit was a professional sweet talker, Logan wasn't when needed. Of course, you complied, understanding the sudden want for more extensive training. When Jubilee volunteered you started to not loathe the idea of sitting in on Logan and Gambit - literally butting heads. 

Jubilee was a nice kid, you felt bad for her sudden entrance into life within the school. The professor was welcoming as always. With your push and her foster parents wanting her to be safe from threats like the sentinels, she was a bonified member.

Being the "newbie" always had its drawbacks. From day one you made sure to have her back, you could relate to her whole fish-out-of-water point of view. Logan saw the way you attached fast to the kid. He was like a vault of thoughts and feelings. Thoughts and feelings he never wanted to bring up or even let alone talk about. But it made your heart flutter just a tad when he sat his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing a thumb against it.

He had stopped you before you were about to retire to your room. In the doorway to your personal, pillow escape he made sure to reel you down to earth. "Give the kid some breathing room. I know you want to help but there's no use for you smothering her."

You were almost baffled. What was he going on about? You were just looking out for her? Deep down, you did know what he meant. He might have not been a long-term X-Men member. But he did know you and the fragments of "memories" you held so dearly close to your chest. You two were so different and yet one in the same. Before you could even argue, he gave you a small .. somewhat comforting pat on said shoulder. "Just a friendly word of advice bub, don't take it so close to heart. Oh wait, that's inevitable." He joked at you with his signature toothy grin. You couldn't help but scoff in surprise and laughter as he jabbed at you with his SINGULAR witty remark.

Logan could be many things. Rough around the edges, even a total asshole when he felt like it. But to you, he was your kryptonite. It was pathetic the way you'd always eventually be pulled to bend at that man's every word. He just did that to you, and you had no answer to it. 

Making your way up to the upper room with Jubilee, you watched with tired eyes as the door to the observation room slid open. Cold - walls and floor head to toe with this sleek metal texture. There were two chairs, right behind the control panel where the training sequence(s) would be initiated. Your eyes were trained on the window as you watched Gambit and Logan make their entrance inside the training room itself. Gambit of course was rapidly shuffling a deck of cards. They were almost flying in the palms of his hands as he prepared them. Logan was of course blabbing his big mouth, in his signature suit "lumbering up" as he would call it. Finally, as you just now sat your bottom into the smooth-cushioned observation chairs, Jubilee was already starting the conversation. Thank god for you as you were still shaking the morning off of you."So what? , we just watch them throw around with each other, or what?" She cracked with a curious glance at the two men down below. You rested your chin in the palm of your hand as you leaned back. "Pretty much, we're here just in case the system doesn't shut down in time. Sometimes it does that."

She paused before she gave you a pointed look, her chunky pink sunglasses almost falling off of her black head of hair. "We're babysitting them!?" She retorted with a sort of faux annoyance. "I mean it's 'something' to do but - come on...." She groaned as she crossed her arms, heavy in on the air quotations. Cutting in, you directed your hand to the control panel. "No no no, not just that.”

Gathering your thoughts, you pointed out each scenario on the deck. You couldn't help but crack a smile at Jubilee's small "ohs" and "ah's". With the development, you two were brought into a nice steady stream of conversation. Hunched in her seat, yellow boots crinkling in this position, she poked and prodded you about your style and so on. it was nice to be looked at with such idealization. Her eyes were huge with wonder as she jumped to questions and searched for answers. Though it was only so nice until the two of you were interrupted by the impact of a card deck. As it smacked against the window, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

Hitting the intercom, you cleared your throat. "So sorry gentlemen! You two ready or what?" You retorted as you leaned over the panel. Gambit gathered back the cards into his hands. "Me? , 'course cher! Any day I would love to stick it to da fuzz ball over der." He remarked with a scheming smirk. Logan growled as his claws immediately sprouted from his knuckles. "I'll show you fuzz ball you pest." His lip curled up almost like a predator ready to pounce.

Jubilee sat back quiet as a mouse as she watched you talk through to the two. "Alrighty alright! Save the pouncing for later." You barked with a small chuckle at the end. You couldn't help but feel buzzy at the way Logan reared his head up. Gambit was too busy swapping cards from hand to hand. But all of Logan's attention was just on you, it was always just on you.

 "Okay, how are we feeling about the ruined city for today?" You asked the two as Gambit started to twirl a card in between his middle and pointer fingers. "Yes yes yes, dat will do just nicely, right Wolvie?" He asserted - training a hard on the hard-headed "foe." Logan's voice was low and gruff as he found his stance. "Don't get so ahead of yourself Gamby." He retorted as he turned back to you in the window. "Start it up doll, before this one here loses all of his spice." He barked with a laugh as Logan jostled his mask on. You rolled your eyes with a faint smile. "If you say so, bee-tee-dubs .. don't kill each other! Please and thank you." You affirmed as the array of buttons were clicked. As the scenery shifted into a torn-down cityscape, foes were already on the two men. The only fun thing about watching over the training sessions was getting to watch fellow X-Men in action. Just not with the risk of losing your life in the process. Leaning back into your chair, you took in a nice breath of air. Peace, for now at least. Jubilee sat up more straight, letting her bright yellow duster-like jacket collect at the sides of her chair. She brought her legs to her chest as both you and she watched Gambit and Logans fighting. You could feel her eyes wander to you in the quiet. You looked directly towards her, a sympathetic smile gracing your face. "How are you feeling?" Your voice was small but warm, comforting almost. This was the first time someone had even really asked her. "I don't know... it's like everything is just changing at once. I feel like a big Rubix cube." She said with a frown as she got more comfortable where she sat. You nodded your head in almost remembrance. "Trust me, becoming an X-men isn't the hardest part. It's living like one." Admitting with a soft sort of comfort, Jubilee was already warmer than before. The training session flew by as you two just talked and talked. She lamented about what life would be like now, what she would and wouldn't miss. How she was stripped of living like a normal teenager. "I mean everyone here has already been so nice to me, but this is just gonna take a lot of getting used to. ", she would lament to you in honesty. You tried to be as insightful as possible. Telling her that living as an X-men will always be tricky. But there will always be the people around here that'll keep you steady. Her ears perked up when you listed off your so-called "anchors." She immediately butted in after you listed off the Wolverine himself, Logan. "That guy? You two seem to be always at each other's throats?" She cracked at you with an inquisitive grin. "Well I mean yeah - he can be .. overly confident a lot of the time." You were almost reminding yourself. You didn't realize how long you spent talking about your scruffy metal-clawed 'friend.' You went on and on about how he combated with you in the best possible ways. How with his time in the X-Men, he opened up your worldview in many instances. He did so much to you and for you. He was almost like your escape in a way, and he maybe shared the same view. You didn't get into the nitty-gritty details of it, 'cause ew. But the moments away from daily life hecticness within the school you and he shared were your favorite. His arms were the sweetest embrace anyone could ask for. But that's what friends do, that's what friends are for.

 Though you always wondered if maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were holding on to nothing. Maybe there was an intimate connection between you two hiding under the surface. But you had a track record of getting your hopes up. You dashed those daydreams away as Jubilee yanked you back down into the now of things. Time flew by as the training sequence ended. Logan was immediately gloating his way out of the danger room. You and Jubilee met the two halfway. Gambit sang your high praises as he lamented about kicking Logan's ass in the drill. As the two grown men bickered Jubilee made her exit known. Since the professor was already summoning them all to the war room. Gambit waved you off with a small wink and another grand shuffle of his cards. Which just left you and logan ... fun. 

He quirked his brow in your direction as he realized your quiet demeanor. “Can you believe the guy? - come on bub you saw me!” He said in astonishment at Gambit's gambit tendencies. You crinkled your nose in a small giggle. If you were seeing straight, you couldn’t help but notice a small dash of a smile on Logan's face once he saw your mood brighten. His smile always found ways to make your knees weak and arms all jelly. “Yeah yeah, dont get your panties in a twist Lo.” You said with a twinkle in your eye. A grin followed spreading almost ear to ear.

His eyes softened ever so slightly with your jokes. He grumbled out his poorest joke yet. “Oh, I’ll show you.” He retorted before yanking you into him. Your back met his chest plate as you felt his collection of sweat. His muscled arms wrapped around your midsection as he whirled you around like a windmill. You ignited with laughter and “yucks” as you felt his sweat spreading onto you. You fought out his hold with a grimace and a sheepish chuckle, wiping your eye. “Christ man, you got all your .. muck on me!”

By now his claws were already dashed away. So his hands were now placed on his hips. He rolled his eyes as he looked you up and down. “Come on, you’ll live to see another day shrimpy.” He claimed with his eyes slowly wandering. “I look like a wet dog thanks to you.” You frowned jokingly, shaking your arms out. “On and on with you.” He remarked once again with his eyes rolling AGAIN soon after.

Closer and closer the two of you got as you both threw phony insults back and forth. Before your lips were inches away from one another. He drawled his quick mouth up and spat back something that would leave your mind in utter… shock. Was confusion the right word?  “Don’t play around with me, dimples. I know you’d like more than just my arms around you.” You quickly gasped out the pocket of air you were holding onto. A long pause was felt throughout the hall before you two darted in separate ways.

“I need to change!” You sheepishly shouted as you headed in the opposite direction of him. He did the same, mumbling whatever under his breath. “Don’t slip and fall!” He coughed out as you rubbed your face in annoyance. “Eat shit, Logan!” , “That’ll be a long time coming!” The both of you remarked to the other in unison. Both of your voices share the same sort of flustered frustration. You raced into the showers as you soon stumbled towards the sinks.

You splashed your face with cold water as your heart was still racing. Your cheeks were burning up let alone from his words. But you were soon able to catch up with your breath. Regaining your composure you looked yourself in the mirror. Gritting your teeth as you looked at the fool Logan made you. The Wolverine could be a hard-headed buffoon. Always on his way to making a snide insult with whichever X-men member was disagreeing with him. But god damn it was he your poison. You hated him and he hated you. That was the thing that kept you steady as you changed into uniform and raced towards the ongoing meeting. You knew that same smile still lingered on your face once you made your entrance into the war room. Able to brush off the team's sudden accusations as you made sure to remind everyone about the issue at hand. The Professor thanked you as he went back to discussing what new threats plagued human life. Your eyes always made their way back to Logans with small lingers. Making eye contact with you, his eye-line was diverted by you as you turned your attention back to the professor. The Wolverine was a fool, and he had already found purchase in your foolish heart. 

ꔫ✉ reblogs/interaction is appreciated <3 part two - ⭐️

[citrustan]

slipping through my fingers [2] (myg)

title: and the hits just keep coming 1.0

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst!, fluff, smut

summary: you lean on your friend for support and an escape, but the reality of your situation keeps flashing before you.

warnings: [there's a prologue and part 1 that should be read before this one!] just some insecurity, some sad vibes, you know the drill.

Taehyung fails to dodge the fifth pillow you launch at him. "Let me explain!" Repeatedly begging you to stop, he crashes into your kitchen counter.

A pillow to his leg.

"Wait! Please!" He's dodging for his life.

Another pillow to his chest.

"You're an angel! Pleas-" Headshot!

"Ough! Not the face..." He pauses to soothe his aching nose.

By now, you're out of energy too. But, there's still a lot of anger in your stomach. You're too guilty and too tired to let it out on the wrong person.

You spent over twenty minutes reprimanding him for hiding Yoongi's fiancée from you.

Finally having a fraction of a minute of peace, your friend sits you down by your dinner table.

He disappears into the kitchen, leaving you to cradle and console your heart by yourself.

You hear a few utensils clashing and see him juggling four things in his hands; your cat mug, his designated frog mug, a bottle of white chocolate liqueur and a carton of what looks like chocolate milk.

Pointing your finger at the tetra pak, you protest, "Excuse you, that's the expensive chocolate milk and it’s for Nao."

He looks at the half-empty carton in his hand and back at you.

"You're telling me Nao drank more than half of this bottle in a day? And you let her?" Taehyung deadpanned.

...

"Yeah." Your eyes wander as you insist poorly.

He ignored you and poured you a glass of the milk.

Sitting across from you, he grew solemn, "_____, I swear I didn't know it was like this." - "But you knew about her?" You asked before he said anything else.

Taehyung couldn't deny it, "Yeah. But I thought she would just be like the others."

Yoongi had others.

All grumpy, you sigh. "The others?"

Momentarily, he froze and exhaled. "Yeah, there have been a few. He was... I don't know. He kept saying he was serious about each of them but nobody ever... stuck around? So, we thought he was lying or something." Taehyung regretted his choice of words.

You want to believe him, but you both know that Yoongi isn’t someone who lies like that. Let alone big lies, Yoongi won't even tell little white lies.

Over the years, you naturally assumed he was dating around, but you didn't know. Nothing was confirmed. You never asked and he never told you anything himself.

"Who all knew?"

"Everyone. But nobody even imagined that they'd be getting hitched." He shook his head in disbelief.

“Obviously. This is Yoongi you’re talking about,” you pause, “But didn’t you notice anything different with them?”

“I’m telling you, _____, we had no idea.” Taehyung cringes after taking a sip of the sweet liqueur. “I think he wanted to tell you first.”

You wish he never had.

"What are you thinking?"

You dip your head in between your palms, “I feel terrible. It’s like I know I want to cry but I’m so emotionally stunted right now, I cannot get it out. It’s like a stuck yawn.”

Taehyung caresses your arm, "Can I do anything to help?"

You shake your head, "I don't think so, Tae."

"Oh! Do you want to watch 'The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas?' Maybe that will help you cry." He tilts his head, eyes filled with hope.

At that, you let out a surprised laugh, "Taehyung, no!"

Basking in the little moment of success (by making you laugh), Taehyung internally pops confetti.

But, the moment was just that. A moment. Your happiness faded away as quickly as it came.

So, he pulled his phone out and placed it in front of you.

Taehyung’s hesitant to ask you this but he does it anyway. “Do you want to see her?”

You don’t know. (You’d rather pretend she doesn’t exist.)

If it weren’t for Nao, you’d have no problem ignoring Yoongi’s girlfriend. Even thinking of the words ‘Yoongi’s girlfriend’ makes you want to end it all.

It’s no secret that you’re still madly in love with your ex-boyfriend.

This situation felt so ridiculous to you, you couldn’t digest it. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening to you.

As a young girl, you never thought it was in the books for you to go through this kind of pain. And, you don’t have a whole lot to lean on. So, Yoongi has always been it for you. He always told you he’d be there for you no matter what.

Even after your breakup, he was by your side.

When you unexpectedly caught the chicken pox from Nao, he took care of you. Even when Taehyung insisted on helping you instead, Yoongi sent him away.

You shared every birthday with him. He’d throw you a small party. Every year, it was a different theme. This year was ‘enchanted garden.’ He always ordered you a custom cake from out of town. It made everything special.

He even helped you open your quaint little bakery. Yoongi was the one who helped you finalize your menu. He tasted everything and even got himself sick because of it.

He stood by you when you got sued by your competition, another old-timey cake shop, for stealing their clients and recipes. He acted as your lawyer free of charge.

Now, you wonder if it was all out of convenience or… an obligation. Had you read it all wrong? Was he simply being polite because you’re the mother of his daughter? Would he stop doing things for you now? Did he ever do those things for you? Or were they simply for your daughter by extension?

Would he be too focused on his wife now?

Even for Nao’s sake, you never once got the urge to know the woman who did the unthinkable.

As a co-parent, you trusted Yoongi. You knew Yoongi would never let just anyone around Nao. If he wants to introduce his daughter to a woman, you knew it was safe. She could be the next Mother Teresa for all you know.

All this blind trust has been earned by him throughout the years you’ve spent with him, you’re not a careless mother.

However, as a woman and Yoongi’s ex-flame, you weren’t eager to know the woman who replaced you. You don’t want to see or meet her. In your eyes, she was able to compel Yoongi to do something he wouldn’t do even after you begged him to. Maybe she didn’t even have to try. She was probably just that perfect for him.

This is apart from the fact that he fell in love with another woman after you while you’re still hung up on him.

You don’t think you can afford to willingly take a hit to your self-confidence like that.

Nao looks up to you. You know you cannot lose yourself when you have so much relying on you.

Taehyung was kind enough to let you get lost in your thoughts.

“No.” You finally answer his question.

You did not want to see what she looked like.

Taehyung nodded once, “Okay. That’s fine.”

Just when Taehyung’s about to put his phone back into his pocket, it rings.

And on the screen pops this gorgeous woman. She looked like she stepped straight out of an issue of Harpar’s Bazaar or even Vogue. You weren’t surprised, you smiled and involuntarily snorted. Taehyung did have a type.

He hurriedly tried to pull his phone off the table, knocking your (thankfully, empty) glass of milk in the process.

“You don’t have to hide her from me, Vincent.” You tease him, using his artist alias. “Is she your new muse?”

Taehyung awkwardly laughed, blatantly ignoring your question.

Suddenly, he changes the topic, “Oh! Do you have to go into work today?”

Your smile drops a little. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

He offered a strained smile, “It’s like I can feel the alcohol in my veins.”

“Heyyy... What’s up with the model babe? Why are you deflecting?” This time you pout.

You hear his phone ring once again. But he immediately declines.

“Taehyung… What’s the matter?” When he refuses to acknowledge you, you grow more concerned.

“You don’t have to stay, you know?” You continue to reassure him.

“It’s not,” he cuts himself off, “That wasn’t my girlfriend.”

Taehyung hopes he doesn’t have to face your inevitable question in line.

“Well, who was that the….” When you trail off mid-response, he knew you had figured out who that woman really was.

The two of you are silent for a moment.

Sullen, you whisper, “That’s his fiancée?”

Taehyung wishes he never came over to your place. He didn’t want to be the one to make you feel this way.

He nods once. Not that you needed that confirmation.

Quickly moving on to your next thought, you question, “Why is she calling you?”

Already on it, Taehyung visibly cringes at the messages on his screen when you push yourself forward to peek into his phone. This time, he doesn’t try to obstruct your vision.

Hyejin (3)

Sorry! I forgot you were at _____’s. It’s nothing important, I just had a question about Nao-chan. Does she like lemon cake? How is _____ doing btw?

Your mouth dropped open.

You don’t even acknowledge the fact that she’s speaking about you so personally; as if you were a friend or even an acquaintance.

You ignore the fact that she’s fucking stunning, owning the most symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing face you’ve ever seen on a grown woman.

You don’t even dwell about how you do not stand a chance against this woman.

The only thing you see is her nickname for your daughter. You squeak, “She calls her Nao-chan!”  

That’s YOUR name for YOUR babygirl.

“Angel…” Taehyung begins but has no idea what he could possibly say to comfort you.

Pull yourself together. You mentally discipline yourself. It takes a minute for you to get there.

Instead of dealing with whatever you just felt, you push it away in an instant and beam at your friend.

“Whatever. Let’s get cheesy naan and shrimp skewers!”

Of course, your faux smile didn’t fool Taehyung, but he went with it anyway.

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡tears are in your eyes by yo la tengo ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡

note: i hope i'm doing this series justice lol the ideas in my head run too wild for me to actually make note of them. please let me know what you guys think!

[utterlyinevitable]

After seeing ur explanation for that anon i really want to see a fic or a hc of ethan as a dad and becca as mom can u please do it??

omg okay ahhh my babys having babies. this is gonna be long and idk if it’ll make sense bc imma jot down everything i know about domestic e&b.  

[just finished and... this is long and broken down into 6 categories........... enjoy!]

Ethan & Becca as Parents

The Pregnancy 

They didn’t plan on having children, it just kind of happened. Becca and Ethan took a day for the news to settle before they jumped into excited, expecting parents mode.

The most exciting part was renovating the condo to make the most perfect nursery and shopping for decorations and mentally planning all the traditions and things they’d love to give to their little family. 

All of the happiness couldn’t mask the struggles of pregnancy. 

Becca hated being pregnant. She was sick and nauseous constantly, and her back and feet always ached. 

Throughout the whole thing Ethan doted on her; holding her hair back and learning how to tie it up in the way she likes, rubbing her back, running out to get whatever she was craving. 

He even made copious amounts of notes about her eating patterns. Enough to keep two of everything in the condo. 

If she was having a restless night, he would too; even if she was restless for non-human-growing reasons. 

They were in this together.

And even when she was huddled over a garbage pail, dribble running down her chin, she never looked more beautiful to him. 

There was just something about all this that made him feel all weird and fuzzy inside. 

When her symptoms barely settled throughout the second trimester she overhauled her entire birthing plan. There was no way she was making it to 42 weeks. She was absolutely miserable. So she made a c-section appointment for 40 weeks. 

She had an entire argument with Ethan one evening (she really was only yelling while he nodded his head). Her main points were:  “It’s my body and the baby will be fine. I was born 6 weeks early and I turned out fantastic!” and  “Once the baby’s out of me I’m still going to have to pee. Omg what if she rips me open!? How am I supposed to use the bathroom without worrying about my stitches?”  

All he kept reiterating was:  “I love you. I trust you and your instincts.” 

Becca felt better as he held her face in his large hands, his calming azure eyes boring into hers and letting her know everything will be alight. 

But deep down she spent the next few weeks since making the appointment wondering if she should have given vaginal birth a try. She didn’t want Ethan to resent her for chickening out of her body’s natural function. 

The Birth 

Becca made it to her c-section appointment. Happily rubbing her large belly and glowing:  “I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore! Never do this to me again.” 

All Ethan did was chuckle. 

He was happy she was getting color back and that her symptoms finally settled enough for her to spend the last few weeks enjoying their daughters kicks. But oh my god was Ethan Ramsey terrified of being a father. 

He wouldn’t tell Becca though. She was emotional and worried enough as is. Any and all his concerns were saved for the short conversations he had with his father.  “Don’t overthink it, son. The moment you lay eyes on your daughter you’ll know what to do. It’s instinct. Biology. That was your best subject in school, wasn’t it?” Alan would joke.  

The surgery went off without a hitch. 

All of Becca’s hatred for the phenomenon of pregnancy vanished the second the nurse placed their daughter on her chest. 

Rebecca was in awe. She made that! This little person came out of her! This little pink person that looks like a plucked chicken with a tiny tuft of brown hair was here and she was beautiful. The perfect combination of her and Ethan. 

The embodiment of their love.   

Dakota Dolores Ramsey was completely unplanned. Unplanned but not unwanted.  

The first time Ethan Ramsey held his daughter time froze. The universe needed a minute to process the broad grin and full heart thumping rapidly from this stoic and reserved man. 

The earth was about to spin the wrong way but then Dakota opened her eyes.

Everything was the way divinity had planned it.  

At Home

Although Ethan and Becca lived a 10 minutes drive from Edenbrook, nearly a straight run, Becca forced him to drive as slow as possible. 

Dakota was asleep and she needed to keep it that way. 

Due to her stitches, Becca was forced to take things easy. No matter how many times she argued with Ethan that she was capable of menial tasks around the house. 

Ethan would not let her lift a finger. 

If Dakota needed a change he’d happily do it. if Becca was hungry he’d make her favorite. 

“You had her to yourself for nine months. Let me take the next few days.” Becca went to retort, all she wanted was to hold her baby for the rest of eternity. She’d never tire of looking at her scrunched up potato face and watching as her features changed every moment of every day. “I promise to share.” “You better,” she kissed him as he tucked her into bed for a much needed nap.

The only thing he was forced to share with his partner was feeding duty - Becca was adamant on breast feeding. A bottle would not touch their daughters lips for months to come. 

That in itself brought its own challenges. 

Most nights Ethan laid in bed with Becca curled up at his side in one arm and Dakota resting on his bare chest. 

Parenting was weird, but an exhilarating change. 

Ethan couldn’t diagnose what he could have possibly have done right in his life to be this wholly happy. 

The Second

Once Ethan and Becca had one child they were both itching for a second.

“You know what say: ‘if you have one you have to have two’.” “Is that so?”  “You don’t want Dakota to have a sibling?”  “I was an only child and look how I turned out.”  “Emotionally stunted and certified loner?” she teased. 

Truth be told, Ethan wanted another. He’s been thinking of giving his pride and joy a few siblings for weeks now. He just didn’t know how to tell Becca. 

Becca complained frequently about how happy she was to not be pregnant, and often about how her scar healed funnily. 

All of the signs pointed to her not wanting another. And Ethan was okay with that. He never expected to have one child. He’d cherish every moment of what’s been placed right in his fingertips. 

He’ll let his soon-to-be wife choose their path. She’s dictated everything else thus far. Ethan was elated she chose him to be along for the ride. 

After Dakota’s first birthday, when they made the decision to have another, they tried desperately to conceive.

“I really don’t want to have to deal with diapers for five years,” was Becca’s main reason for keeping the kids close in age.  “We can try surrogacy.” Ethan offered, knowing how much she hated pregnancy. He didn’t want to push her into anything.    “No. I have to do it. I’ll do it for our kids. But you owe me big time.”  

And 14 months later Caroline Marie Ramsey made her grand appearance. 

And Becca got her first push present. 

The Last 

It’s fitting that four years later Ethan and Becca were blessed with another surprise. 

Her pregnancy with James Jonah was the smoothest of them all. 

Of course that meant something had to go wrong. 

At 34 weeks Becca went into premature vaginal labor. 

Within six hours their baby boy arrived. 5lbs 2oz and looking like an alien. 

Ethan almost lost them both after the fact. 

Becca lost too much blood with the placenta and JJ was so tiny.  

But the Lao’s were fighters and they pulled through. Ethan cried at her bedside once the harrowing 24 hours were up. 

Becca stayed at the hospital for a week, Ethan and Alan bringing the girls to visit every single day. 

JJ had to stay a few days longer and Becca refused to leave until she could bring her son home. 

She went through her first experience with postpartum depression. Becca didn’t think anything could be worse than the mental toll her abortion had on her years earlier. But she was wrong.

She was so wrong. 

All their friends chipped in to help take care of the kids while Ethan devoted his time to helping his wife. The couple went to therapy, sometimes together, other times Ethan sat in the waiting room as Becca worked through her emotions. 

Months later, the parents were sitting at home. Ethan held their son and their daughters were curled on their laps: He muttered into his wife’s hair, “I’d like to have one more.”  “Not with me you’re not,” she scoffed. “We’re outnumbered as is.” 

JJ began to cry and the girls stirred. Dakota mumbling, “Tell the baby to shut up, I’m sleeping here.” 

They couldn’t help but laugh and pull apart to put their whole world to bed.  

Old and graying and spending more time at home with his kids, Ethan wanted just one more baby. Four was a strong, even number. He could have a whole daycare full of them - each one the best variations of him and Becca. 

Becca had spent a large portion of her 30s childrearing and she’s done. Done with diapers and formula, especially. She loves her children more than anything but they’re exhausting. She can’t wait for them to be in school full time and she can have some more alone time with her husband. It’s been so long since it’s been just them too.  

“Don’t hate me...”  “I could never hate you,” Ethan said as he brushed a few strands of hair from his wife’s face.  She swallowed and confidently said, “I want you to get a vasectomy.” 

He agreed without further consideration. She made a very compelling argument.  

Parenting 

Ethan is the doting helicopter dad and Becca is doctor drill sergeant. The kids get away with nothing under their mother’s watch. 

Ethan is very soft and adores his children. The grumpy attending could have a whole gaggle of them. He spoils his daughters rotten, picking up the newest doll and toy they’re obsessed with, and making them promise not to tell mommy. 

The women in Ethan’s life get away with everything and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When the girls were born, Ethan stepped back at work letting the better Dr. Ramsey have her career defining moments.

He took half days to pick the girls up from preschool and would bring them to the park or museums. He’d even try to teach them to cook their favorite recipes on cold, rainy days. He’d tire them out so that he and mom could tuck them in after dinner.

Ethan’s afraid of his son. He’s afraid the tot is going to turn out exactly like him - he’s the spitting image, except that his hair curls like his mother’s. 

Instead of putting JJ in fulltime daycare, Ethan chose part time preschool. The girls were in primary school now and he’s taken a bigger step back from the hospital after the baby was born. 

He devotes all his free time to teaching his son about all he knows and learning all he doesn’t.  

Becca complains about the state of her vagina and stomach all the time. Never in front of the children but often enough Ethan knows the look on her face right before she says the same two lines.  

Her favorite activity is building forts and taking the kids to the beach. 

The holidays have never felt more alive with the full house. Ethan even became a Christmas and Valentines Day lover. 

Becca loved watching him change over the years. Every new first they celebrated with each child, every one of their kids passions, Ethan would adopt them all and make it his mission to be a connoisseur of every facet.

Dakota sat her parents down one day with a serious topic of conversation: “Mommy, Daddy. I’m going to be a fashion designer.” “Will you?”  “Yes. And I need to dress myself.” “As long as it’s weather appropriate, consider it done.”  “And we need to get supplies.” 

The conversation went on for 15 minutes with Ethan and Becca asking questions and Dakota making demands. Once they’ve settled on an agreement on how to make their daughter’s dream happen, Ethan retired to his office. He taught himself the basics of sewing.     

Even with all the struggles of raising three children in a suburb of Boston while balancing very demanding medical careers, Ethan and Becca wouldn’t have it any other way. The life they carved out of all their complications was worth it.  

All of this was inevitable. 

And they wouldn’t take a moment for granted.    

________________________________________

Um... this became bigger than intended... If you made it this far, thank you ♥

Masterlist

Perma:

@rookiemarsswiftie @lucy-268 @binny1985 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble e @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @adrex04 @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @theeccentricbibliophile @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @kaavyaethanramsey @mvalentine @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @lifeaskim @otherworldlypresents @therookie @aylaramseycarrera @angela8754 @fireycookie @stateofgracious

Ethan:

@udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @hutchereverlark23 @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @claredal424 @caseyvalentineramsey @rookieoh @openheartthot @senseofduties @lilyvalentine @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart t @casey-v @ramseyandrys @peaceinmidstofchaos

[violet-witch-6]

Extra scene for “The Third Robin” that got cut for redundancy and pacing, can be read standalone

When one spends an extended amount of time with Batman, one learns to be comfortable with long silences.

Tim knows through second hand anecdotes and one very memorable security tape that Babs sent him in his ‘welcome to the Batfamily’ gift-basket (read: survival kit) that Dick filled the silences with a non-stop stream of chatter, sometimes holding entire conversations without B ever saying a word.

Jason preferred to fill the silences with music. Loud rock n’ roll beats usually, but every once in a while he’d throw in something unexpected. British punk, Taylor Swift, Musicals… Jason was nothing if not spontaneous.

Tim doesn’t use either of these tactics. Frankly, he prefers the silence. It helps him think just as much as it helps Bruce. And anyway, words are extraneous. Who needs small talk when their time would be better utilized thinking over the case separately so that their thought process’ can remain uncontaminated until they pool ideas later in the cave?

Besides, Tim has found that it breeds a specific kind of closeness to just be able to sit in silence with someone without it being awkward. An understanding and vulnerability that comes from immersing yourself in your thoughts in the presence of another person.

And anyway, words have always been Tim’s weapons. He shouldn’t need those with someone he’s close to. Or, that’s the idea anyway.

Tonight is different. Tonight they are not silent because of their mutual understanding and respect for one another’s thoughts, but because Tim is busy willing the Batmobile to drive faster so he can get away from Bruce and into someplace more private.

Once he gets there, he’s not sure what he’ll do. Shut down probably. It’s how he usually handles his emotions.

They pull into the cave and Tim all but jumps from the car, making quick strides to get to his station at the computer so he can type up his report before Bruce gets any stupid ideas like talking about it. Not that Tim expects the old man to ever acknowledge what happened.

He’s not even sure what Bruce would say about it that wouldn’t sound hollow and cheap.

So he speeds through his report in record time and nearly falls on his face because he’s moving too fast in the shower. When he’s finally in civies again and ready to go, he pauses behind the computer chair where Bruce is still hunched over his own report, moving almost comically slowly in contrast to Tim’s breakneck speed.

Tim clears his throat. “I’m going to head out. I’ll see you tomorrow night Bruce.”

He turns on his heel to leave, but at the last second Bruce’s voice stops him. “Wait.”

He considers leaving anyway, but he’s not quite willing to disobey Bruce over something so simple. He doesn’t like doing things in half measures, and his teenage rebellion, if and when it comes, will be no exception. “Yes?”

Bruce hesitates, possibly considering retreat, but in the end, he barrels forward with all his usual social ineptitude. “About what happened—”

“Slip of the tongue.” Tim cuts him off smoothly, stopping what would have been an awkward and emotionally stunted moment.

What he wants to do is scream because Bruce called him Jason. What he wants to do is ask if he’s still not good enough even after he’s proven himself time and again through his detective work. What he wants to do is rage at Bruce for saying out loud what Tim already knew was true.

He’s a placeholder. A prescription balm that Bruce is using to soothe the pain of losing Jason. He’s not Robin. Not in the ways that count, because he’s not Bruce’s son. His parents are still alive and well, wherever the hell they are.

But he can’t yell or get angry because this is what he signed up for. He went in knowing he’d be the third in a line of many, little more than an inconsequential blip in the history of Gotham’s vigilantes, but he’d screwed up and gotten himself attached. Between the success he’s had as a detective and Bruce’s slowly but steadily warming nature, Tim had just started to believe maybe they were more than partners forced on each other.

You’d think he’d be used to disappointments by now, but they never seem to stop hurting.

Bruce twists around in his chair to finally look at Tim, his brows drawn together in a tight frown. “Tim—“

“It’s not your fault.” Tim smiles at him to show he means it, but it doesn’t come out right. He’s gotten so used to his smiles being at least an approximation of real that the perfect display of teeth Janet drilled into his head feels disjointed and wrong. “We’re both tired. It’s probably best if I just go home to get some rest and we forget about the whole thing. Goodnight, Bruce.”

He’s gone before Bruce can reply.

Alfred, however, has faster reflexes. “Before you go Master Timothy, I made a lovely rhubarb pie. I insist you take some home with you.” Tim hesitates. He made it out of the cave and still wants to complete his desperate flee from the manor, but Alfred hasn’t done anything wrong, and Tim just doesn’t have it in him to refuse the old butler.

He’ll make it quick. “Okay, sure.” He allows Alfred to silently lead him to the kitchen, trying not to look like the skittish puppy he is.

Alfred pulls out an already packaged pie for Tim to take, but when Tim grabs it, he doesn’t let go. “There is something I wished to discuss with you.”

He should have known it was a trap. A sweet, delicious trap. “Yes Alfred?” Tim asks tiredly, suddenly missing his bed very dearly.

“I fear Master Bruce has behaved rather thoughtlessly this evening and I want to ensure you are alright.”

It takes a moment for the words to register. Alfred is… checking on him. Strange. Tim swallows past the marble in his throat to reply, “I really am fine. I know he doesn’t… he’s in pain. I can take it.” This time his smile is a little more convincing, if a little wetter.

Alfred looks at him sadly. “If you can take it is not the issue. The issue is that you should not have to.”

It shouldn’t be a miraculous statement, and there is no reason Alfred’s sympathetic words should rock Tim’s whole world view, but of all the things that have happened in Tim’s life, the good and the bad, whether or not he deserves them has never even crossed his mind.

He’s never viewed himself as a victim, or even a child. His suffering just hasn’t been as important as everyone else’s. He’s never thought that was a strange viewpoint until this moment.

For once, Tim’s expression gives away everything that’s happening in his head, and Alfred reads it like a book. “You don’t deserve to live in his shadow. You deserve to be seen as your own person.”

“Am I my own person?” he blurts, like a toddler grasping for any reassurance no matter how baseless. He hates sounding like that, but the dam has been broken and Tim couldn’t stop now if he tried. “I don’t feel like I am. I feel like a jigsaw puzzle held together by sheer force of will and luck that’s going to run out someday. My pieces aren’t mine. I’m not me. I’m… I’m a byproduct of all their sins. Mother’s, father’s, Bruce’s, even Dick and Jason’s. Alfred, I can’t tell what’s me and what’s a reflection. I’m—” He can’t breathe. His lungs ache like he hasn’t had air in several minutes. The panic in his voice has been building and now it’s breaking over him like a tidal wave that’s threatening to wash him away.

Alfred’s eyes are watery with sympathetic pain and the pie lays forgotten on the counter. He reaches out like he might touch Tim or hug him, but Tim flinches violently away.

“I’m s-sorry.” He stutters, eyes wide and horrified at his own involuntary response.

Alfred just shakes his head. “It is I who must apologize. I am sorry for this pain.”

Despite the shakiness he feels in his very core, Tim snorts. “It’s not your fault.”

“Perhaps not, but someone must apologize for what has been done to you.”

Tim freezes. The watery edge of his panic is turning sharp and dangerous. “No, it’s my fault. I’m the one who did this.”

For a moment, Alfred just looks at him. He doesn’t rush to tell Tim he’s wrong—even if his expression makes his feelings clear enough—he just looks at him. “You are stronger than anyone gives you credit for, Master Timothy, but strength has limits. I beg of you not to test them.”

Tim can only nod, glassy eyes reflecting the warm kitchen lights. He desperately needs out and away from this conversation, but at the same time he wants nothing more than to stay, and let the rest of what he’s been feeling break free. He can’t do that though because he’s scared if he does, he’ll never be able to put it all away again.

At length, he croaks, “Thank you,” as sincerely as he can with a voice that sounds weaker and rougher than he’s comfortable with. The words can’t possibly express his gratitude for Alfred in this moment, but he doesn’t know how else to show it.

To Tim’s eternal relief, Alfred doesn’t comment. He only hands Tim the pie, and lets him go.

[artemissarrows]

SOTUS The Series: Patriarchy & Queerness As Redemption

Okay, it’s been a little bit! But I have certainly been consuming a lot of queer content I need to discuss. First up is SOTUS The Series! It’s a Thai boy love (BL) show about an engineeing college that has a super-intense hazing culture. One of the freshman (Kongpob/Kong for short) stands up to the hazers who make them do endless squats and such….and ends up falling in love with the head hazer (Arthrit). It’s a romcom so you probably know where this is going.

I *hope* this goes without saying, but HAZING IS NOT OK and should not be lifted up as a normal part of a university experience. It is abuse, full-stop. One of the yuckiest things about the show for me is how the administration is totally and completely fine with it. People who are invested in the hazing culture (and, frankly, the showrunners) try to make the case that it teaches teamwork and problem-solving and stuff like that. Not really! More importantly, it’s incredibly damaging to participants and there are a lot less harmful ways to teach those lessons, if they’re really so important.

We could just leave it there--on a surface level, it’s honestly pretty enjoyable. The two leads have pretty solid chemistry and are quite believable (at least until the very end, when they’re equally as awkard three years on. But as my partner Mx. Arrows pointed out, they are painfully awkward engineer nerds on top of everything else, so maybe that’s actually realistic. Anyway.) It’s funny. It’s heartwarming. It’s gayyyyy. The supporting friend characters are also kind of fun and I like them.

But there are some other noteworthy things going on here that I’m interested in teasing apart, and which I’m not entirely sure the show intended. Let’s do that! Lots of spoilers after the cut (but again, it’s a romcom, there’s only so many things that can be spoiled). Note that I have only watched Season 1, I know there’s another season.

It’s about the patriarchy.

The more I thought about it, the more it seems reasonable to see the SOTUS (hazing) system as a useful dramatization of the patriarchy. When I say “the patriarchy,” I mean a system of dominance that gives men power over women; SOTUS also privileges older people over younger, straight people over queer people, etc.etc.. Here are some of the ways that we can see this system of dominance playing out in the structure of the hazing system:

The SOTUS system is run by men, exclusively. There are 6 or 7 head hazers, and they are all men

They belittle, berate, and punish their younger charges for doing things like looking the wrong way, singing slightly out of tune, or questioning their authority to mete out dubious punishments for nothing at all

It’s quasi-military, with uniforms for both the hazers and the freshman, and endless drills and the blind loyalty and authority that comes with military order

Women who are not freshman are present in the second tier of hazers, beyond the men. They are ancillary to the men, and their helpers. In particular they are the medics: they ensure that the hazers can assign their punishments etc. while also ensuring that it doesn’t get too out of hand and that no one gets hurt too badly. Without their assistance, the men could not do what they do, and could not enforce this system.

The head hazer, Arthrit, also uses sexism and homophobia as weapons to enforce control and order. Of course, he’s aware that the structure of SOTUS is headed by men. But he also taunts the freshmen in these ways too. At the beginning of the year, the hazers demand that the freshmen fill books with upperclass students’ signatures. In exchange for his signature, Arthrit demands that May, a female student who asks him, give him her number and take her picture. She’s clearly uncomfortable with the interaction; it happens in the lunchroom and she’s one woman who’s the object of the male gaze of 6 or 7 seniors. In that same scene, Arthrit also harasses Kong in a homophobic way. Again to get his siguature, he forces Kong to shout “I like guys!” three times loudly, and then to ask something like 10 male students if they’ll be his boyfriend. (He then doesn’t give his signature.) Mind you, this is something like day 2 or 3 of school in the show.

Arthrit is one repressed dude. More on that later.

It’s Also About Cycles Of Abuse

We’ve established that the SOTUS is all about dominance and control based on gender and other heirarchies--but that’s just the system in one particular point. What happens to this system over time? That’s where we get into cycles of abuse, and how SOTUS harms not just the freshmen who are on the receiving end of the abuse, but also harms the hazers themselves. Let’s look at Arthrit, the head hazer/one-half of the lead couple.

He’s an extremely homophobic and self-hating gay, at least to start with. Per above, he actively promulgates homophobia. He’s also deeply uncomfortable with expressing affection toward men, and Kongpob in partiuclar--though apparently fine with grabbing Kongpob’s shirt when Kongpob stands up to him during a hazing session. When they share their first kiss after Arthrit finally confesses his feelings, Kong tries to hold his arm and hand and he keeps shoving him off. Then they go on another date, where they meet a fellow student at the movies and Arthrit lies and says it’s not a date. (This is not the first not-not date they’ve been on together...this is not at all relatable. Not at all ^_^) Anyway, it takes him and painful time to do that.

He is a seriously repressed and emotionally stunted person, and being the head hazer is a major part of why. As head hazer, he berates the freshman, he enforces order, he snaps at them, he plays games where he makes them humiliate themselves for his attention and benefit. He is comfortable ordering people around. But when it comes to being in touch with his own feelings, he’s hopeless. It takes him forever to realize he has feelings for Kong. He’s deeply confused about it, up to the very second he kisses him. His friend Knott literally has to tell him to talk through difficulties with Kong and not let them stew. He spends most of the show running away from Kong, hiding from Kong, or otherwise finding ways to not open up to him. It would be funny, if it weren’t deeply sad.

Friends, this is classic toxic masculinity. At least his friend Knott has his head on straight and gives some decent advice.

I honestly get the sense that Arthrit is a quiet, introverted, and smart guy, who felt like he was forced by duty to become the head hazer, the one everyone looks up to. Even when he’s with his hazing friends, he seems aloof, apart, and alone. But guess what: he made that choice himself! When he’s sick--because he ran 54 LAPS IN A DAY for a hazing challenge--we see that he’s into comic books, and action figures. We learn that he also gets good grades, so is obviously smart. And even when he talks to his friend--the former head hazer who recruited him--about his feelings for Kong, his friend tells him, “be tough.” (His friend also implies that he hasn’t dated much...no surprise there.) Sigh.

Are we meant to envy Arthrit, feel sorry for him, or both? He’s at the top of the social structure of the school, but he doesn’t seems particularly contented, and in fact seems disconnected. He’s the person who seems to have it all, but has nothing. I’m somewhat curious if others share this reading of him as a discontented bully who longs for human connection.

We can also think about the succession of the head hazers, and how the head hazer before Arthrit chose him, and how Arthrit chose Kong. The one before Arthrit chose him because when he punished Arthrit for speaking out by telling him to greet a banyan tree for three whole hours, Arthrit did it. Then Arthrit chooses Kong because he speaks out and heckles Arthrit. It’s super interesting to me, but I think the thing is to identify people who have strong enough feelings about the system--and care enough--that speak out and therefore demonstrate leadership skills. They then turn those feelings of rebellion back into the system and coopt them. Toward the end of the show Kong starts to feel more invested in the hazing system and I was hoping that he would try to reform it; he doesn’t seem to that much. Kong says that he likes the teamwork and problem-solving aspects of hazing; he could do those things as head hazer and take the abuse out, but he doesn’t. Cooptation.

It’s Also About The Redemptive Power Of Queerness And Queer Love

This says it all.

They’re at a party, and someone asks Arthrit if he and Kong are dating. He says, “so what?” and throws his arm around Kong’s shoulder--and Kong seems pleasantly surprised that he’s able to do this publicly. This is just ugh, so beautiful, and Krist/Arthrit acts it so incredibly well. It’s truly the first time we see Arthrit truly, hugely, bashfully smile, in the whole show. It’s always been a sardonic smile, or a joke at someone else’s expense. But here, he’s just experiencing happiness and joy, even if he’s still quite shy about it and can’t look people in the eye while he hangs his arm over Kong’s shoulder. Queerness as redemption is a trope I wish would become a thing!!

PS, here are some screenshots of Arthrit making fun of Kong’s food habits. Enjoy the fluff <3

[blueplanettrash]

What if Iverson is Lance's dad but didn't want to be apart of his life????

I just want to say right now; I went off track with this. But I loved the idea of Iverson being Lance’s dad. I wrote this quick, it’s bad, I’m sorry. I’m going to go write another story to make up for this now. I hope you enjoy anyway! ❤️

“I think that it’s time that we talked about some stuff,” Shiro said a short time after Sam departed back to Earth. They turned to him in question, it had been quiet after Sam left; the Holt’s didn’t exactly want to talk about much, Hunk was concerned with Lance and Lance himself was too emotionally drained from before Sam left.

“What about?” Pidge asked glumly. Matt stood beside her, gently rubbing her shoulder in comfort.

“It’s obvious that our lack of communication with our families is affecting us, I think that talking about them would help us bond further as a team and give us something to look forward to when we get back,” he suggested, eyes drifting over the team to gauge their reactions.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Shiro,” Allura said, breaking into their circle.

“I don’t know guys, wouldn’t it make us miss home more?” Hunk asked nervously.

“There’s no harm in trying, if it’s not beneficial to us we don’t have to try again,” Matt reassured them as the rest of them nodded in agreement.

“Excellent, I’ll get the mind meld ready,” Coran stated, twirling his moustache, ready to turn and set up the training room.

“No, no mind meld Coran, we’re going to do this the human way,” Shiro said. At that, the rest of the paladins relaxed, heaving out a relieved sigh.

“Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to use the mind meld? That way nobody would be able to hide anything from each other,” Allura asked in honest confusion.

“It’s not about keeping secrets from each other Princess, this is to help each other get our troubles off our chest, we’ll only share what we want to share,” Shiro explained as the paladins gathered around him closer. “Sometimes it’s better just to talk to people close to us to help with our feelings then let everyone just see what we’re thinking about,”

“Any complaints?” He asked the group. Nobody stepped up and Shiro nodded. “We’ll meet in the lounge in a few then,”

“Does anybody want to start?” Shiro asked looking around the circle. After a few moments of no one wanting to step forward, Lance silently raised his hand and scooted forward.

“Well, I have two brothers and two sisters, Mark and Maria are both older than me and Caleb and Sophie are younger than me, they’re also twins,”

“So you’re a middle child,” Pidge huffed with a smile. “It makes so much sense,”

“Shut up,” he pouted. “We live with my mom, grandpa and grandma and my dad stays at the Garrison,”

“Why is your dad at the Garrison?”

“He’s an instructor there,” he revealed somewhat hesitantly.

“Wait, really!? Did we ever have him?” Pidge asked, sitting up straighter. Lance sighed, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

“I really don’t want to talk about it guys,”

“Why? Do we hate him or something? Are you guys not close? Hunk rambled

“No we are, just, when he was working we didn’t seem close, you wouldn’t know that we’re father and son,” he admitted quickly.

“I don’t remember any McClains though,” Keith hummed in thought.

“I applied under my mom’s maiden name,”

“Aww man, that’s not fair, we can’t even try to figure it out now,” Hunk whined.

“Maybe I don’t want you to figure it out,” Lance growled, curling up on himself.

“Back off guys, clearly he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore so leave him be,” Shiro cut in sternly. They sat back, mumbling out apologizes in Lance’s direction but he wasn’t listening anymore.

He didn’t want anyone on board to know who his dad was; pretty much everyone on board was very vocal about their hate for Iverson; especially Keith. He couldn’t exactly blame them but he was completely different when he wasn’t teaching.

Before he attended the Garrison he told his dad that he wanted to keep it a secret. He really wanted to make friends that weren’t just nice to him because he was the Commander’s son.

Obviously, he couldn’t be biased towards Lance either, just because he was his kid. He had heard many stories of people getting away with hideous things just because their parent was a high ranking official in some way or another. He remembered the week or so before he left for the Garrison, talking to his dad on the phone.

“Just because I’m the Commander, don’t think that you can get away with things. I’m going to treat you just the same as any student during class. You’re going to address me as Sir, just like any other student during class, got it?”

“Yeah, I got it,”

“Good,” he paused for a few moments. “I’m glad that you’re coming out here, I don’t get to see you as much as I want to,”

“We miss you too dad,”

Sure sometimes he could get a little hurtful during an assessment, but let’s be real; they were being drilled for the military. Military space travel to be exact, if he can’t take a little heat for something as dumb as not being able to work as a team, how would he deal with taking someone else’s admonishments. He would admit that the little stunt of threading the needle when he should have been taking a safer route was a bit irresponsible.

It didn’t change the fact that the last conversation he had with his dad was him yelling about his failure in the simulator. Usually, he would call him back and talk him through his mistakes after they were done but he was called away on other business; which happened to be Shiro crash landing in the middle of the desert.

He didn’t know what happened to him; it’s not like he kept tabs on Lance all the time. What if he saw him on the bike heading towards Keith’s shack? What if he saw him in the tent rescuing Shiro? What if he thought it was his fault that Lance went missing?

Every question that he asked himself bounced around in his head. What if mom blamed him too? Oh God, he wanted to go home now.

“Lance?” He shook his head and looked over at Shiro who was sending him a concerned expression. “Are you okay?”

“Actually I think I’m going to head in for the night, I’m not feeling too hot,” he sighed, pushing himself up.

“Well, okay then,” Shiro trailed off as Lance walked to the doors.

“Feel better Lance,” Hunk called as he walked over the threshold. He waved back at them as the doors shut before letting out a long sigh and walking back to his room.

It was never easy thinking about home. He missed his house, he missed his family, he missed his friends. It was even harder trying to think about what they were doing. He couldn’t imagine that his dad was taking his disappearance too well; he didn’t think that any of his family would be but he couldn’t imagine the pressure of keeping his post while he was going to be mourning as well.

He tried to push away as many memories as he could to solely focus on finishing the war and getting back home. It seemed that everyone shared the sentiment and point their nose to the grind to help Lotor secure his throne so they could leave everything to him.

Lance was happy to say that he had been wrong about Lotor and when they finally asked if they could go home; Allura and Lotor smiled at each other and dismissed them from their duty.

They weren’t ashamed to say that they had burst into tears at the statement. They always knew that they weren’t prisoners but at the same time, they felt like they had a responsibility to protect the universe when it couldn’t protect itself.

Allura ended up relinquishing the ownership of the lions to their paladins. At first, they were surprised at the turn of the events but she only smiled and said that she doubted that they would let them off the ship without them. Thankfully, he was back in Blue since Keith returned to the team on his mother’s advice.

“What are we waiting for!?” He suddenly burst out in excitement. At that they all ran down to the hangers, suiting up and readying their lions. They shot out into space, hovering around the Castle as Allura prepared a wormhole for them.

“I’m sad to see you go, paladins,” she admitted in the silence of space.

“Don’t worry Allura, I doubt this will be the last time that we meet,” Shiro said happily. The wormhole growing in front of the Castle.

“If you’re ever in our solar system, give us a call!” Lance cheered before ploughing into the wormhole. Just like the first time they went through, they appeared at the edge of Kerberos. Quickly Shiro patched into the Garrison frequencies and relayed their position and to not attack.

Unlike before, the Lions took their time getting back to Earth and the paladins watched in awe as they passed the planets. Being in their own solar system put everything they had just done in perspective. They never thought that they would be going anywhere near another solar system, they never thought that they would meet other intelligent life in their lifetime. They did so much more than that though, they became the figures that everyone depended on.

As the lions flew around each other, happily corkscrewing to the surface, they could see the instructors of the Garrison lined up outside the building. They didn’t have any weapons drawn, they just watched as they gently touched down to the ground. Even though they didn’t patch through, they expected maybe a tank or something to intimidate them or something.

“Is anyone else confused?” Keith asked as the lions crouched down, their maws opening to release their paladins.

“If they try anything, the Lions won’t allow it,” Shiro affirmed, stepping out of Black’s mouth, his helmet covering his head. The rest of them followed suit, lining up orderly in front of their lions.

Tears welled up in Lance’s eyes as he saw his father sternly looking down on them in assessment. It became too much and he swiftly pulled his helmet off and sprinted towards him with a cry.

“DAD!” He called, a faint wobble in his voice. It only took a split second for the realization to sink in and Iverson was bounding forward as well, his features slack in disbelief.

He crashed into the solid warm mass of his dad and clutched on for dear life.

“Lance? Is that really you?” He asked quietly, pulling back slightly to pat at his face as if someone were wearing a disguise to fool him.

“It’s really me, dad,” he confirmed with a small smile. His jaw clenched and his face scrunched up as he pulled Lance into a tighter hug. As Lance’s arms reached around to clutch at the familiar Garrison uniform, they dissolved into sobs. Their lost family had been returned to them and they couldn’t be more relieved.

“Where did you go?” Iverson asked, rocking the both of them gently as they tried to calm each other down. Lance sighed and snuggled further into the hug.

“It’s a long story dad,”

After he had calmed down and the paladins were given a place to rest, as expected the questions started. He didn’t think the first one would come from Keith though.

“I punched your dad?”

“You punched my dad,”

Stories Masterlist

[murphystarr]

not so self assured

a sort of companion piece to chapter 10 of @ch-ch-ch-ch-cherrybomb‘s twin skeletons. features leslie harris, my harris kid, and a lot of self-reflection and some uneaten chicken enchiladas. 

mentions of suicide

The coroner had estimated that Brian had died sometime around 11:30 that Friday night. He had been dead for nearly ten hours before Leslie had found him, stiff and cold, dangling from the rafters, a makeshift noose made out of an electrical cord tight around his neck.

That was six days ago.

No.

Five days, sixteen hours, seventeen minutes and 48 seconds.

She was still pretty numb about the whole thing. Then again, nothing could really prepare you for finding your older brother dead. The paramedics had checked her out when they arrived to set Brian free from his noose and take him to the morgue; they took her blood pressure, put a stethoscope to her chest, shone a light in her eyes, asked her what day it was and her name. They calmly explained to her that she was in shock, then a paramedic who reminded her of her older sister, Morgan, took her to the living room and guided her to the couch, advised her to lie down and put a pillow underneath her legs. She stayed there with her, making small talk while Leslie heard her mother’s screams from the garage, and the faint voices of police officers, asking her father questions that Leslie thought would never relate to Brian:

“How long has he been depressed?”

“Did he say that he had a plan?”

“Has he flat out said that he wanted to hurt himself?”

Hurt himself? No. Hurt other people? Maybe. It really depended on the person.

Back when they were younger, Brian was the kid that future Brian would have loved to pick on. He was the fat middle child while his older sister was an actual pageant princess and his younger sister was a point spot flyer for their state’s most prestigious competitive cheerleading team. He was boxed in and overshadowed by his sister’s accomplishments and his parents’ divided attention. On Fridays, their father went to Leslie’s cheer competitions and their mother accompanied Morgan to the multi-day pageants. They would all return Sunday afternoon with trophies, tiaras, medals, and flowers, usually with the expectation that they were heading to higher and higher things.

The summer that Brian went to fat camp, Leslie’s team, Cheer Extreme Great White Sharks, placed first in their division at Worlds, and Morgan won Miss Virginia Teen USA.

Was Brian depressed? Leslie honestly couldn’t tell. The only thing she could point at was that when Brian was fat, he often parked himself in front of the television with an armsload of food, not moving for hours.

Kind of what Leslie was doing right then and there.

She had made herself comfortable in a hoard of blankets that would make any dragon proud, armored in four-day-old sweats, decked out in a messy bun that hadn’t seen anything but dry shampoo in days, staring at reruns of Family Feud, all while nursing a cold plate of chicken enchiladas that her cheer friend, Tazzy, and her two dads brought over yesterday. She wasn’t hungry, she had only cut out a slice of the dish an hour ago when Morgan begged her to eat something. It had been nearly 20 hours since she ate something, she needed to keep up her strength for the funeral tomorrow.

“You need to take care of yourself, babe,” Morgan had said when she put the enchiladas in the microwave for her. “Keeping yourself away from food isn’t the best thing for your body right now. I’m sure your coaches feel the same way.”

Oh, right. Her coaches. They had stopped by the other day with white chrysanthemums and a card signed by the entire team for Leslie. They uttered the usual platitudes, how sorry they were, how was she holding up, if there was anything they could do let them know, but they needed to know when she’ll be back. The Sharks had a huge competition coming up soon and they really needed her back at the gym.

Leslie missed the gym where she had been training at for the past ten years. Five times a week, since she was four, she was in her own world. Surrounded by her teammates, they tumbled, danced, stunted, jumped, and cheered. Practicing over and over until they could easily perform award winning routines in unison. Leslie found a second home in The Shark Tank over the years, a place where she found refuge from the drama in her family, where she was surrounded by the girls she grew up with, girls she considered to be her sisters, and her coaches: Anthony, Dallas, and Regan, who she looked up to as mentors.

But since Brian died, it seemed that cheer and all desires to return to The Shark Tank had been put on the backburner. She hadn’t brought herself to go through her at-home conditioning drills. She hadn’t even bothered to stretch, something that was vital to any cheerleader, especially to a point spot flyer. She was the focus of the entire routine whenever she and the other flyers went in the air, she had fought tooth and nail for that position, dealt with numerous concussions, conditioned her body and pushed herself beyond her limits to be the ideal flyer. She was the best flyer on the team, the entire team depended on her.

But now, all kind of spirit she could muster up for her team was reflected in her Great White Sharks hoodie, the one that had WORLD CHAMPION pressed on the back in obnoxious, blocky letters.

She wasn’t supposed to be going through this. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Leslie was supposed to breeze through her freshman year at Central High, making her place in student council and yearbook committee. She was supposed to travel with her team to Disney World in June, where they had the opportunity for a threepeat as World Champions. She was supposed to keep up with her photography, having her pictures place in local shows like they had been for the past year and half. She was supposed to look up to Alana Beck as a guide, like she had been since her freshman year started. But the moment Brain let out his last breath, all of that went away. She wasn’t a two-time World Champion anymore, she wasn’t one half of the freshman representatives on the Homecoming court, she wasn’t a member of student council or the yearbook committee or even a photographer, she was just Brain Harris’ sister. She had been his sister at the beginning of the year, but she had worked hard to differentiate herself from him for the past two months, not wanting to leech of his popularity by blood association and the fact he drove them both to school every day.

But Brian killed himself in their garage, next to where they kept their bicycles and his snowboard. He waited until his family was asleep, disabled the alarm, then tiptoed downstairs into the garage, with no intention of coming back out alive. And Leslie wasn’t Leslie anymore. She was just his sister who was listed in the obituary as one of his surviving family members. Nothing she did mattered anymore.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Leslie looked up to find an identical pair of hazel eyes looking down back at her. Morgan must’ve finally taken a shower, Leslie noticed, her hair was damp and skin was flushed rosy red. Her older sister looked down at the plate on Leslie’s lap, frowning slightly.

“Did you eat any of that?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “I’m not that hungry right now.”

Morgan didn’t fight it. She circled the couch and sat down next to Leslie, then began to softly play with her hair. Leslie instinctually leaned next to her, resting her head on Morgan’s shoulder.

“When was the last time you took a shower?”

“I don’t know.”

“Les.”

“Five days ago?”

Morgan just let out a sigh. Leslie closed her eyes. Let Morgan pet her head in a soothing motion.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Not really.”

That was a lie, Leslie had her outfit picked and had laid on her desk two days ago. Black scalloped dress with a black cardigan, black pumps and sheer tights, even black pearls to go in her ears. The pearls had been from her grandmother, a gift to celebrate her starting high school. Leslie had never predicted that she would have to use them so soon.

Physically, she was ready. Emotionally? Not a chance in hell. She wasn’t ready to face all of Brian’s teammates and friends, her dad’s clients and colleagues, her mom’s book club friends and old sorority sisters from college. She wasn’t ready to see some of her teammates who had texted her a few days ago that they would be at the funeral to support her. She just wanted to stay in bed, isolate herself until everything was normal again, press some sort of button that would skip the entire grieving process, exterminate every emotion she was feeling that arose when she saw her brother’s body hanging from the garage ceiling last Saturday morning.

She wanted to disappear.

“...gonna be there.”

Leslie must’ve tuned out again, only coming back to hear the tail end of Morgan’s announcement.

“Who’s gonna be there?”

“Mr. Murphy. He’s coming to the funeral tomorrow.”

That made sense, he and her dad worked at the same law firm downtown together. They had known each other from their days rushing Pi Kappa Delta. It was natural that Mr. Murphy would be there to support his friend during this time. She had once heard that Mr. Murphy and her father had to wrestle in mud pit during their time pledging, only Brian had told her later they had to do it naked.

“That’s nice of him. Are any other Murphy’s gonna be there?”

“I’m not sure about Mrs. Murphy, but I’m pretty sure Zoe might be there.”

Leslie nodded. She liked Zoe. They used to dress up together and play make-believe when they were younger, and Leslie taught Zoe how to do a backflip on their trampoline. They spent a lot of time together in the summer, when Leslie didn’t have cheer and Zoe didn’t had guitar lessons, usually swimming in Leslie’s pool or riding their bikes down to the park to play on the swings. She hadn’t seen Zoe since last winter break, when they went to Colorado for the annual “Harris-Murphy Skiing Trip / Disaster”. Morgan chose to stay back in Chicago with her boyfriend for the holidays, and Brian had decided to torment Zoe, snapping her bra and mimed jerking off whenever she passed by. But Leslie and Zoe made the best out of that week, making friendship bracelets out of colored string and making snowmen outside of the timeshare.

“That’s good. I like Zoe.”

Neither of the Harris sisters had to bring up the fact that Connor Murphy wouldn’t be attending the funeral. Even if he wasn’t in rehab, he wouldn’t want to show up within three miles of the service.

During that same ski trip, he wasn’t any nicer to Connor either. She vaguely remembered him trying to shove Connor off the ski lift when they were high off the ground, but Connor had gotten revenge by dunking Brian’s head in the toilet. Leslie remembered silently cheering for Connor during that trip, Brain wasn’t any nicer to Leslie as well. He had stolen her Nintendo 3DS and wiped her save file of Ocarina of Time, “just because”. So when she saw Brian’s hair soaking wet, running off to tattle, she couldn’t help but snicker.

Was she a bad person for still thinking that was funny?

She didn’t bother to answer that question, instead choosing to lean in closer to her sister. She then heard something buzz. Morgan fished her phone out of her pocket, swiping it open.

“It’s Eli. He’s gonna swing by in an hour and pick me up to get dinner. You wanna come with us?”

She just shrugged. She liked Morgan’s boyfriend enough, but she didn't think she could handle a sympathy dinner at the moment.

“Not really.”

“Are you sure? He invited you.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

Morgan just let out another sigh, typed out some words to Eli, then sent the text.

“Okay, I won’t push you. But can you promise me you’ll try and eat something tonight?”

“I’ll try.”

“And will you take a shower?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Thank you.” She kissed Leslie’s forehead, gave her a last squeeze, then got up, ready to head upstairs.

“Oh, hey, I found a cute picture of you and Brian on my phone. I sent it to you a while ago, I thought you’d like to see it.”

“Okay, I’ll look at it.”

She waited until the thump-thump-thump of Morgan’s footsteps trailed off upstairs before fishing for her phone. She thought it was somewhere in her blanket pile, but she eventually found it between some couch cushions. She turned it on, and sure enough, between thousands of notifications from Instagram, GroupMe, and Snapchat, she found a text from Morgan, sent about an hour ago. She tapped on it, revealing a picture of her and Brian last June at Orlando. It was just after Leslie had gotten off the mat from Finals at Worlds, and she was somehow sitting on Brian’s shoulders. She think Morgan might’ve forced Brian to let her up there, but she could barely remember anything just after the performance from all the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She remembered hitting a solid routine, no one had fallen or slipped, and just an hour later she heard her team’s name was being called as two-time champions.

She was in her uniform, decked out in a full face of makeup with blue and silver eyeshadow, her team’s colors, what seemed like five sets of false eyelashes, hair teased to the Heavens in a high pony, and the biggest smile on her face she had ever seen. She could see that she had picked out gray rubber bands on her braces, a choice that she had made at the orthodontist’s just weeks before. But what really stood out to her is that Brian was wearing a Great White Sharks T-shirt. She recognized that shirt, it was the shirt that the team gave to parents and siblings when the girls made the team every year. She knew that on the back it said LESLIE “BIRDIE” HARRIS. Brian was giving a smirk to the camera, flexing both of his arms while Leslie had her arms in a high V. It was a picture that her team’s Instagram would have loved to have posted a few days ago when they announced their support for Leslie, instead of Brian’s Sophomore yearbook picture.

But Leslie continued to stare at the picture. She didn’t know what to think. It all looked so… fake. Sure, Leslie looked like a model for a Great White Sharks’ Barbie doll, but the fact that Brian and Leslie could be civil for a moment to take a cute picture together was strange. Brian didn’t take cute pictures with Leslie. He stole her epsom salts way beyond when football season was over and would hog the upstairs bathroom to soak when Leslie was sore after three hours of conditioning at the gym. He didn’t show up to support her at her competitions. He didn’t even seem to care that Leslie was already being scouted by colleges as a freshman. He didn’t even seem to care about Leslie.

So why was Leslie sobbing on the couch, ears burning red and ugly tears cascading down her face? Maybe it was because when they were younger, he would hold her hand while they walked anywhere together. Maybe it was because he taught her how to play Legend of Zelda and would read the guide out loud to her because she couldn’t read yet. Maybe it was because he took care of her when she lost her very first cheerleading competition and held her while she cried. Maybe it was because she was grieving for the Brian she knew, and mourning for the relationship that they could have had.

But Brian had killed himself.

Leslie managed to calm herself down enough to reply to Morgan with a heart emoji, save the picture on her phone, and set it as her new phone background.

She was mourning her brother, but not for the brother she had lost five days, seventeen hours, fifty-seven minutes and 21 seconds ago. The one she lost what felt like forever ago.

And she didn’t know how to feel about that.

[sunlightdances]

draw me a map that i can hold (part 2)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jenna) Rating: T Author’s Note: This is a sequel. You should read the first part, here. This part takes place sometime after 12x03. Assume the reader and Dean have been seeing each other off and on for two-ish years.

Dean sees her before Sam can let him know that she’s here. It’s late, and he’d been out checking out a report of some demon signs not too far away.

She’s curled up on the couch in the library, a blanket thrown haphazardly over her legs. Sighing, Dean crouches down next to her and can’t help the slight upward tilt of his lips as he takes her in. Her hair is a little longer than he remembers and a little bit darker, too, but she’s still the same person that can make his heart beat faster just at the sight of her.

They had agreed on a long distance thing months ago, but he thinks he was kidding himself if he thought he would be too busy to miss her. He feels guilty, too. She shouldn’t be sitting around waiting for him all the time. He kind of hates himself for doing that to her, no matter how often she insists that if she didn’t want to be with him, she’d be gone.

He reaches out and gently touches her cheek, waiting for her to wake up. She rouses slowly, blinking at him a few times before a slow smile spreads across her face when her eyes land on his.

“Hey.” She whispers. She scoots a little bit closer to the edge of the couch, her hand coming up to close over his where it still rests on her cheek.

“What are you doing here, Jenna?” He asks, and she sighs.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” She asks, her voice scratchy from sleep.

“Jen—“ He sighs, rubbing his free hand over his face. “You know that’s not it. It’s just— you don’t exactly live around the block.”

“Sam called me.” She says, her hand moving from covering his to grip his wrist. “He told me about your Mom.”

Dean sighs again. “Fuckin’ Sam.”

She laughs, the sound like music to his ears. She looks at him for a minute, her eyes soft. “Really. Are you okay?”

He puts a smile on his face, though he’s aware it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine.” He pulls his hand back from her face and moves to sit on the edge of the couch, her body making room for him automatically. She looks so at home here, and he kicks himself for making her drive all the way to the Bunker. “You look good.” He tells her, his voice a low rasp.

“I look like I drove five hours and didn’t sleep at all last night.” She says, but he sees the blush high on her cheeks, and he grins, loving he can still make her react like that.

“Thanks for coming.” He tells her quietly. “You should sleep in a bed - this couch is no good.”

She stands and he tries not to watch her as she stretches, but — well. It’s been awhile since he’s seen her, and he misses her. He walks her down the hallway towards his room, because now that she’s here, he can’t stand the thought of her sleeping anywhere else but with him.

They don’t really talk while they both get ready for bed. She borrows one of his shirts and a pair of boxers, and he grabs some sweatpants out of the drawer for himself. When he’s dressed, she’s already tucked in on one side, her eyes half-lidded.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, frowning at her. “That drive looks like it really wiped you out.”

He gets in beside her, sighing at the feeling of the cool sheets against his skin. He reaches out an arm and she rolls into him, her head coming to rest on the junction where his neck meets his shoulder, her arm sliding around his waist. It’s like no time has passed at all since the last time they were like this — curled around each other so tight they couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other started.

It was after Charlie died, and Dean was in bad shape. He went to Jen in a moment of vulnerability, and she spent a week in the bunker with he and Sam before she had to get back home.

It was the shortest week of Dean’s life.

Jen sighs. “I’ve just been a little overworked lately. I’m alright.”

Dean hums, but he doesn’t know if he believes her.

“What about you? I don’t really buy your tough guy act.” She says, smiling knowingly at him.

He sighs, his free hand running through his hair. He’s— he doesn’t know how to describe the mood he’s been in. He’s not depressed, not really. Well, not any more than usual. He’s just been— in a funk. He’s been feeling antsy, like he’s looking for the other shoe to drop. He won’t deny he’s worried about his Mom every second. He knows she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, but it feels like without her around, he starts to wonder if she was ever here at all. If he didn’t just dream her up because he was craving that kind of motherly connection.

“I— no offense, but I’d rather talk about literally anything else.”

Jen rolls her eyes, but snuggles closer. “You’re emotionally stunted.”

“You knew that, though.” Dean says, smirking. He inhales, her scent driving him half crazy. Vanilla, something fresh and clean and something uniquely her.

“How’s Sam?”

“He’s— he’s okay. I think. He’s worried about me, you know.”

“And you have no idea where your Mom even is?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not a clue. She checked in with me once. That’s it.” He can hear how bitter he sounds, and he hates it.

“Hey.” Jen turns onto her stomach, propping her head up on one hand. “You’re allowed to be upset, you know.”

Dean scoffs. “I don’t get upset.”

Jen tilts her head, giving him a look.

“Okay, so I’ve been upset. But I’m not, not right now. I just— I’m frustrated.” He looks down at her, touching her cheek gently. “Happy to see you, though.”

She blushes, and it’s so endearing he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. He feels like a high-schooler with a crush. “I missed you.” She admits. “I know it’s not fair to tell you that.”

Dean swallows heavily. “I missed you too. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”

The space between them is closing rapidly, and Dean’s eyes shut involuntarily when he’s close enough to see the little flecks of gold in her eyes. When their lips meet, he sighs, something inside him unravels. He pulls her closer immediately, desperation fueling the kiss. She makes this noise against his mouth and it’s pretty much the hottest thing he’s ever heard, so he feels like he has no choice but to pull her tighter, practically laying on top of him.

A crash from the hallway has Dean tensing, and they both freeze.

“That can’t be good.” Jen whispers, and Dean scowls.

“Stay here.”

Dean gets off the bed, his jaw set and shoulders tense as he grabs his gun and slips out the door, heading to the library. It’s quiet, and that’s what sets him on edge so soon after hearing a loud noise like that. There’s no reason for anything to make that much noise inside the bunker.

“Sammy?” He calls tentatively, waiting for his brother to reply.

“In here,” Sam whispers back, and Dean heads closer to the library. “Did you hear that?”

“I thought it was you.”

“Would I be here if it were me?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Who could have even gotten in here?”

Sam shrugs. “Could be Cas. Maybe he’s hurt.” Sam continues to move down the hallway, and Dean follows.

When they get to the library, there’s a few books on the floor, but nothing seems to account for the noise they heard earlier. It makes Dean uneasy, and the thought of some creep roaming around the bunker while Jen is here makes him even more on edge.

There’s no one around as far as he can tell, and he grows angrier by the minute — he hates not being in control, not being able to feel like he’s safe in his own home.

“Um, guys?” Jen’s voice from behind him has him whirling around, gun raised, and he sees Sam do the same. “Friend of yours?” She asks, standing next to Garth of all people.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dean snaps.

“Sorry!” Garth says quickly. “Tripped over someone’s bag in the kitchen. You guys should really be more careful—“

“Garth, not now.” Sam says. “Arm out, you know the drill.”

Sam goes over the checks with Garth while Dean goes to Jenna, grabbing her elbow lightly. “You okay?”

Jen rolls her eyes. “He didn’t scare me. In fact, he knew my name.” She grins at Dean, and he’s annoyed that he feels a faint blush spread over his cheeks.

“So I mentioned you once or twice. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh huh.” Jen is grinning, smug.

“You were supposed to stay in my room.” He says, pointing at her. “And you,” he points at Garth, “are supposed to call before you show up so we can let you in.”

Garth makes a show of looking offended. “I did call, but your phones went to voicemail, and I got worried, so since I was in the area, I thought I would stop by. You know, you really should have a moat or something around this place. Anyone can get in.”

Dean glares at him so hard he starts to worry he might actually break a blood vessel, until Jenna gets his attention with a touch to his arm.

“Relax,” she tells him, “And go put your gun away. Jesus.”

.

.

Jenna is tired, but she’s doing her best to hide it, as the four of them sit in the library with some coffee, catching up. Garth has been getting back into hunting again. Dean’s still kind of freaked out from the thought that someone had broken into the bunker to hurt them, or worse. He’s able to relax though, finally, when Jenna leans her head on his shoulder, clearly struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Go to bed.” Dean whispers to her, as Garth tells Sam about some job he helped out on last week. “You’re barely even upright.”

“Shut up.” She says, no heat behind her words. “I like meeting your friends.”

Dean snorts. “I have, like… 4 friends, and two of them are you and Sam.”

Jenna shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You love them, and they love you. That’s all that counts.”

Dean’s heart stops and restarts because hearing Jenna fling around that four letter word so easily… it’s almost too much. He’s not stupid, he knows she cares about him. He cares about her too, more than any other woman he’s ever had in his life. That’s why she’s still here, after all this.

Jenna touches his face affectionately before she gets up, yawning. “See you guys in the morning.” She says, casual, and she pats Sam’s shoulder as she walks by. Dean smiles, winking at her as she goes. She rolls her eyes, and he chuckles softly to himself, thanking his lucky stars that she’s still here.

He stays up with Garth and Sam for a little bit, the alcohol making him feel more relaxed as they talk a bit about what’s been happening since the last time they saw it each other. They stay away from any touchy details, like their Mom, and Dean refuses to talk about Jenna. Garth knows she’s important, though, obviously - if she’s staying at the bunker, she must be, he says.

“Sorry again for freaking you guys out earlier. I’m gonna call it a night. You have a couch I can sleep on?”

“Better than that.” Sam says. “We’ve got a ton of spare rooms. Come on.”

When they leave, Dean drains the last of his beer and decides to head back to sleep, too. When he gets back to his room, Jenna’s curled up on one side, but her eyes flutter open when Dean shuts the door. “Sorry.” He whispers. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Wasn’t really asleep,” she says, groggily. She makes room for him on the side of the bed closest to the door, and Dean practically groans when he slides under the covers to find them nice and warm. “Cold?” She asks, coyly.

“Don’t start; it’s like three in the morning.”

Her laugh is musical, and Dean thinks again of the words she said to him earlier. They love you. Dean’s always had a hard time believing he was good enough, or deserving enough of anyone’s love. He wants to believe it; wants badly to think that the things he’s done have no bearing on him being worthy of love, but it just doesn’t add up.

He’s his father’s son, after all.

You’re also your mother’s son, he thinks, idly, and tries to shut his brain off. It’s not healthy. He concentrates on Jenna, running his fingers through her hair lightly as her head rests on his chest.

“How much do I have to pay you to make waffles for breakfast?” She asks, her voice scratchy from lack of use so late at night.

“I don’t want your money. I could think of a few other things, though.” He says, grinning, not even opening his eyes.

“I bet you could.”

He hugs her tighter to his chest. “Have I mentioned I’m really glad you’re here?”

She hums. “Not in so many words.”

Dean smiles and bends down to kiss her, groaning softly when she instantly opens for him, her tongue curling around his in that way that makes him see stars. “Wait, wait. You need to get some sleep.” He tells her, exercising all the restraint he can gather not to roll her underneath him and take her.

She scowls, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re too noble for your own good, you know?” She chides gently, and he grins.

“I’m going to remember you said that the next time you call me an asshole.”

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything, just burrows further into his side, her warmth lighting him up from the outside in. “Tomorrow we’re going to talk.” She says, and he freezes. “Calm down. I just think-- you have some stuff you’re keeping inside, and it’s not good for you. I want to help.”

Dean kisses her temple. “You’re helping. Just by being here, you’re helping.”

Her hand creeps up his chest until it’s lying directly over his heart, and as their breathing evens out and they both fall asleep, Dean wonders if he can really have this for the long haul, or if he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 .

When Dean wakes up, the spot beside him in bed is cold. He has to tamp down his initial instinct to panic, and remembers that she’s here, at the bunker, and nothing is going to happen to her.

After a trip to the bathroom, he hears laughter coming from the kitchen, and heads in that direction, a smile already growing on his face as he hears her when he gets closer. He comes around the corner and stops in the doorway before they can see him.

Jenna’s got on leggings and slouchy socks and one of his flannels on, with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons only partially done. Her hair is tousled and she’s got a mug of coffee in her hands as she stands at the center island with Sam and Garth, laughing at something Garth is saying.

Dean watches the way she talks and chatters with them easily, and his heart tightens when Sam gives her a smile before filling up her mug before she can hold it out, like he’s reading her mind. Seeing the way she is with his brother, with his friend… it only makes it so much clearer to him that she’s supposed to be here.

“Morning,” he says as he walks fully into the room, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Hey. Coffee.” Sam says, pushing a mug in his direction. “I heard a rumor there was going to be waffles.”

“You two are conspiring against me.” Dean says, looking between Sam and Jenna. He sits down next to her, squeezing her shoulder absently. Then, quietly, “sleep okay?”

“Slept great.” She says, smiling at him. “So. Waffles.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I see what I’m worth to you.” Despite his reluctance, he gets up and starts rummaging through the cupboards for what he needs to make waffles. He’s almost done with his first batch when a soft voice from the doorway breaks rhythm he’s in.

“Room for one more?”

Dean turns at the same time Sam does, the two of them ever in sync.

“Mom?”

She smiles, a little tremulously, and before Dean can say anything, Sam is guiding her to a seat, introducing her to Garth and to Jenna. Dean’s confused. Where has she been? Why hasn’t she called? Is she done pretending she doesn’t want to be part of this family anymore?

He can feel Jenna’s eyes glued to him. He wants to say something, do something, but he doesn’t know where to even begin.

“Dean?” Jenna asks, quietly, while Sam and Garth are talking to his mother on the other side of the table. “You okay?”

He nods. “Fine. I’m fine. Here,” he hands her a plate full of waffles, “Eat.”

She frowns at him, but doesn’t push, and he’s grateful. He feels nervous, anxiety churning in his gut until he loses his appetite completely. He wishes he could be more like Sam - ready to forgive, ready to just sit next to their Mom and fill her in on what she’s missed. But how can he forget the look on her face when she left them?

How can he forgive the way she basically told him to his face that he isn’t good enough? His insecurities don’t show themselves physically often, but this must be one of those moments, because he’s acutely aware of Jen’s hand gripping his own tight under the table, and her eyes flitting over his face. He tries to plaster on a smile, but knows it isn’t sincere.

“I was hoping I could bunk with you for a few days while I’m in between jobs,” Mary says, and Sam meets Dean’s eyes briefly.

“Yeah,” he says, when it becomes clear that Dean isn’t up for conversation. “Yeah, you don’t have to ask.” Sam assures her, a small smile on his face. Dean feels an outburst coming on, and he knows he has to get out of there before he says something he’ll regret.

“I need to go get started on some research.” He says, the scrape of his chair on the tile floor blistering loud even to his own ears. He leaves the room before he can see the look on anyone’s face.

Jenna watches him go, a frown on her face that hasn’t really gone away ever since Mary showed up. She’s never met Sam and Dean’s mom, obviously, but Sam had filled her in when she first arrived at the bunker what happened. It was… wild, of course. Hard for her to comprehend. But she knows one thing - Dean Winchester never thinks he’s wanted. He’s harder on himself than anyone else, and his self esteem is fragile, even for someone who appears cocksure on the face of it.

“I’ll go,” she says quietly to Sam, who’s also watching the doorway that his brother just disappeared through. “It’s nice to meet you, Mary.” She says, sending the woman a warm smile. Whatever’s going on with Dean, that’s her first priority, but she knows this can’t be easy for his mom, either.

She heads down the hallway to the library, chewing on her bottom lip as she tries to figure out the best approach. Dean won’t want to talk about it, given that he avoided it even last night, but she meant what she said. It’s not healthy for him to keep that stuff buried.

“Dean?” She calls from the doorway, and he sighs, knowing she was going to follow him, but hoping she’d wait a few minutes.

“Over here.” He says, sitting up in the large, overstuffed armchair so she can see him. “You didn’t have to--”

“Oh, shut up.” She says flippantly, and he smiles despite himself. He should have known she wasn’t going to take his bullshit. “I would ask if you’re okay, but I know you hate that, and I also know you’re going to lie, so.” She makes room for herself in Dean’s lap, turned sideways so her legs are dangling over the armrest.

His arm goes around her automatically, his free arm resting across her knees. “I didn’t know she was coming.”

She snorts. “No kidding.” Her hand absently finds his jaw, scratching against his scruff lightly. “Really though, are you okay?” Her eyes are wide and imploring, and even though he doesn’t want to talk about this, he knows he can’t deny her.

“I’m… no. Not really.”

She looks so worried. He’s suddenly angry at his mom, because where is the girl who was laughing with Sam and Garth over waffles just a few minutes ago? Why does his mom just get to show up and change the entire mood of the day? “You’re allowed to be upset,” she tells him, echoing the same words she said to him the night before. “You’re allowed to be angry.”

“I’m not-- I’m not angry. I’m… I’m confused. And it sucks, what she said before she left. I didn’t tell you about that part.” He says, and she tilts her head in invitation. “She said some stuff about not knowing how to fit in anymore. And I get it,” he rushes to clarify, “I do. But she said she misses us. How we were when we were kids. I can’t help that. I can’t do anything about that. We’re right here, right in front of her, and she doesn’t want to be here.”

Dean feels like a hundred pound weight has been let off him after he gets the words out. He hasn’t said what he’s been thinking, not even to Sam.

“Dean…” Jen starts, “You’re always thinking about everyone else. Putting everyone else first. I know that must be especially how you feel when it comes to your mom. But you know what?” She turns his face gently towards her, and he can see the fierce love in her eyes. It floors him. “You have to take care of yourself. You have to put yourself first, and realize that even though she’s dealing with something, it doesn’t mean she can shove you aside.”

Dean’s throat feels tight, and he wonders idly if it’s always going to be like this - Jenna seeing him at his most vulnerable and knowing exactly what to say. “I don’t know how to tell her that.”

“You just have to talk to her.” She whispers. “Just try.”

He takes her advice. After sitting in comfortable silence with Jen for awhile longer, he goes searching for his mom. He finds her in the bedroom she claimed as hers when she first came home with them, and she looks up at him warily when he knocks. She looks guilty, and Dean feels a tugging deep down in his heart that tells him he needs to find a way to move past this. Life is too short - Mary Winchester is an excellent example of this - and the life they’re in… he may never get another chance to live life with his Mom by his side.

They talk until they’re both hoarse, bitterness creeping out on his part and guilt on hers. They hug, and they laugh a little, and they cry.

He tells her about Jenna.

He knows she seeks Jen out and probably spills her guts about how Dean talked about her, because Jenna looks way too smug when they’re alone in the kitchen later, her with a mug of tea as he cooks dinner. (She asks to help him, but bless her heart, the woman could ruin a can of Spaghettios. Dean does the cooking.)

“Okay,” he says, turning around, “Let’s hear it.”

“What?” She asks, all faux innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You look like you want to gloat about something, so let’s just get it out of the way now.”

She laughs, a sound he’ll never tire of hearing. “Stir your soup.” She chides, but he feels her come up behind him as he rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove, her arms circling his waist from behind.

“Your mom loves you.” She whispers, and Dean’s eyes briefly slide shut at the tone of her voice. He knows his mom loves him. He knows that. It’s just… hard for him to accept, sometimes. “And you want to know what?” His hand starts to shake, because he knows what she’s going to say. This moment feels enormous, feels like it’s been both a long time coming and something he never thought would happen, and he’s stirring soup. “So do I.” She murmurs, punctuating her words with a kiss through the fabric of his shirt to his shoulder blade.

He turns around slowly, arms going around her, and hugs her tight. He can’t say it back, not yet, but he hopes that she understands how much he feels it, stronger than he’s ever felt for any other woman in his life.

“Jen…” He breathes, his voice rough.

“Don’t say anything. I just want you to listen to me, to hear me, and know it. That’s all.”

“I don’t deserve you.” He says, his voice wobbly. “I’ve done-- you know what I’ve done. You know who I am, who I’ve been--”

“Do you really think I would be here right now if I was unsure of you?” She pulls back, planting her hands on her hips. Her eyes are fierce, and he loves her. “I’m with you, whether you can accept that or not is your problem, you jerk.” She says, and he laughs, tugging her back to him so he can kiss the breath out of her.

“We eat in here!” Sam’s voice, whining, breaks them apart, and Dean has to tear his eyes away from Jenna, who’s blushing and burying her face in his shirt.

“Shut up.” Dean says, but Sam’s smiling, and so is he.

Everyone piles in the kitchen for dinner, Garth getting ready to hit the road, and Dean takes a minute to pray to whoever’s listening that he can keep these people safe. He can’t go through much more heartache without losing himself for good.

“You okay?” His mom’s voice is quiet on his left side as she looks at him, concerned, and he looks back at her, smiling gently. His eyes find Jenna’s on the other side of the table as she chats with Sam amicably.

“I’m good. Really good.” Dean says, and for the first time in a long time, he finds that he means it.

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Confrontation

Beautiful Disaster - Chapter 3 (Previous Chapters)

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: Ash tries to get some answers from Johnny as to how he acquired his injuries - it's a lot harder than she expects.

Fanfiction.net

A03

Ash wasn't even fully aware of what was happening since her eyes locked onto the horrific injury. Vision blurring with unshed tears as she stared in abhorrent shock at the slit in his green jumper and the blood pooling around it. Some of the blood drenching it is dry, dark and clinging to the fibers of the shirt but also way too obvious that some was far too fresh. Johnny dodging her hand as she tried to help him must have injured him further…and that killed her.

This whole situation was outright horrifying.

It had to be a dream or some kind of demented nightmare for who on earth would hurt him? Johnny would never even fathom hurting another soul; so gentle and kind to everyone he met - what cruel, heartless person could actually stab him?!

…just what the hell happened…?!

Ash had grown completely unaware of how she was practically hyperventilating; eyes blurring with tears as she stared at the obvious stab wound Johnny had acquired…

The worst part was he still refused to tell her what took place tonight…

"Oh God, Johnny…Oh my God!" she screamed, hand moving to cover her mouth in the sheer horror of what she was witnessing. Something inside of her chest shattered at the reality she was being faced with and yet, Johnny refused to clarify whatsoever.

"It's alright! I'm alright! Everything turned out fine!" Johnny muttered, trying fruitlessly to pull away from her but found he didn't have the energy; only able to scoot up a bit further against the cold tiles of the wall. Part of him wished to flee, but Ash had already seen the wound and it was too late to hide it now.

Ash pushed her hand forward, ignoring Johnny flinching at her action but not caring in the least, as she touched the stained cloth around the wound she still had yet to see in its brutal entirety. Anxiety steadily began building in her gut; all too aware of the amount of blood staining his shirt and the fur underneath.

Just so much blood…

Lungs filling with frigid air; chest a gaping wound as she continually stared at it; confronting the reality that this indeed happened to Johnny - this wasn't a nightmare but brutal reality.

Yet, the questions still lingered like a horrible overcast shadow - Who did this? Why would anyone hurt him? How could this have happened to someone like him? Someone who had never hurt anybody…

Absolutely none of this made sense and Johnny tried to hide it from her; pulling away and treating it as if it was NOTHING! That he wasn't stabbed and possibly bleeding to death and something inside of her snapped.

"What the hell do you mean you're alright?!" something in Ash finally broke; the words came out choked and raspy but she found out she didn't fucking care. All she wanted was answers and dammit, she wanted them now.

"..."

"How can you possibly be okay?! You call this fine?!" the voice that came out of her mouth was so incredibly raw; the pain etched in it made Johnny flinch back a bit.

"..."

"...and what if it hadn't!? WHAT?" Ash continually shouted not even giving him time to ponder any sort of response..

"I-I don't…." Johnny tried to speak but Ash didn't let him finish.

"I'll tell you - you would have died, Johnny. That…that tomorrow, you'd never show up for work. I-I would gonna call your phone and you don't answer. T-T-That I'd be watching the news and find out my best friend had been killed and found dead i-in some ditch or dirty alley somewhere…Is that okay to you!?" Ash yelled, voice breaking and eyes misting over as she stared angrily at him.

Johnny grew completely silent; his chestnut eyes falling from her drilling gaze.

"This is not okay, Johnny. It's not. You're not… B-But before I argue with you anymore, I-I need to call an ambulance. You need to go the hospital!" she muttered more to herself as she reached into her skirt pocket to retrieve her phone when suddenly Johnny's hand was on hers and effectively blocking her from her task.

"NO!" he shouted and Ash's quills prickled on end…she had never heard Johnny shout like that and apparently, he hadn't either by how surprised he was when it came out.

"I-I'm sorry Ash…I…B-But, no…I-I-I can't go to the hospital." Johnny continued as almost an afterthought, pulling in on himself; his arms wound tight around his waist in a fruitless yet desperate attempt to keep his wound out of sight and out of mind for her. Needless to say, it didn't work.

A few moments passed before Ash found her voice again.

"Heh. W-Why not? In case you haven't noticed - you got fucking stabbed!" Ash said a lot more calmly than she felt at the moment. Her heart was beating a million miles an hour and her head was aching something fierce. None of this made sense and the horrific nature of what exactly took place tonight was driving her out of her fucking mind and now he refused to go to the hospital?!

A part of her questioning if any of this was really happening…

"Ash, please…I-I can't. Alright?" Johnny avoided her gaze the best he could but all it succeeded in doing was for her to keep drawing her eyes to the bloody stain in his jumper his hands didn't bother to hide anymore. The crimson leaking into the green staunchly contrasted and one thing for sure, Ash would never associate those two colors with Christmas ever again…

"...Why the hell not?" Ash asked steadily, doing her best to stay calm in this hellish situation.

"I-I…"

"Why not, Johnathan?" she growled, using his full name as a last resort.

"...because I can't bloody afford it, Ashley!" he growled back while using the same dirty tactic on her.

Ash's eyes narrowed at the use of her full first name (the ones her parents would use to especially ruffle her quills) and context but it worked for a moment, she had to give him that. All she wanted to know is when she became the one being disciplined in this situation.

Yet Ash wouldn't be silenced, "C'mon, you have to have some kind of insurance or something! Hell, even Moon has those that need it on that one program of his."

"...Ash…I'm bloody broke. I have nothing, alright? Nearly every cent I make is going to my dad's high-end lawyer - if I miss just one payment - just one - he'll drop my dad as a client, and…I-I can't let that happen. I just can't…"

"So, let me get this straight - you've been stabbed yet won't call the ambulance - will you at least call the police? Because dammit, Johnny, I'm not stupid - someone did this to you and they're still out there! What's to say they won't do it again?"

Johnny turned his face away; gaze steadfast off to some far off point before mumbling out, "I can't call the police..."

"...why the hell not? What if they're still looking for you and want to finish the job? You want those maniacs on the street?"

"I can't call the police because I don't want my dad to know! If the police find out, word will get to him…I know it will."

"Heh. I hate to put a hitch in your plans, but your dad is going to notice especially when you show up looking like this!" Ash didn't mean to yell, she really didn't, but she couldn't help it. Looking at Johnny's battered and blood smeared face broke something precious in her.

"I-I'll just tell him I was busy with work. I can get away with that since it's not really a lie. I just won't go see him until I've fully healed." Johnny shrugged and Ash's countenance fell.

"...does he have something to do with this?" It was like a light went on in her head; recalling Johnny telling her his father's extensive criminal history. How many years he'd been the leader of a gang that worked with a seedy under-network of criminals to steal vast amounts of cash and other goods. Johnny's father was almost like a kingpin - it shocked her how his son turned out so squeaky clean and not a bad bone in his body with a father like that. His mother must have been one hell of a good woman…

It had been long drawn out minutes but Johnny still hadn't answered the question and to Ash, that was an immediate 'yes' whether he wanted to admit it or not. Sometimes Johnny's silence was more telling than him speaking - she could read his eyes better anyway. The boy wore his heart on his sleeve.

"Johnny, why don't you want your father to know?" Ash asked; thinking perhaps a different tactic was in order if she wanted him to keep talking.

"..." Johnny remained silent.

"Look, if whatever happened tonight was somehow the result of your father's involvement in any way - this isn't your problem. What's the problem with telling him about it?"

"...Ash, my dad very may spend the rest of his life behind bars…" Johnny sighed and it wasn't news to her but the way he said it with his shoulders slumped and the saddest expression on his face hurt her like hell. "Yet, with this lawyer, he could possibly be out in as little as ten years - and…I want that. I-I want my dad out of that place. To have some kind of future…He's all I have left and I…I want to bring him home." he whimpered the last part; tears filling his chestnut eyes and it broke her heart in two.

"..." Ash didn't know what to say so she remained silent.

"If I told him what was happening - hell, even if word got out that I got me arse kicked by anybody - I have no doubt in my mind that my dad would break out of that prison again to murder whoever did it." Johnny muttered and Ash was surprised by Johnny's use of profanity, but seeing how emotionally and physically battered as he was right now - it seemed well warranted.

"The wardens and prosecutors already warned us that if he tries that stunt again…it's automatic life without parole…" his teary eyes finally met hers and the pain lacing them shocked her to her very core, "Ash, my dad would die in prison…I can't let that happen…I just can't." Johnny finished with a sigh, a shaking hand lifting to wipe at his face; flinching when he touched his swollen flesh and Ash was so tempted to pull his hand away so he didn't further hurt himself but she didn't.

Ash froze - staring as Johnny as if for the first time.

Realizing now just how selfless this guy was - always thinking of others and scarcely of himself. It hurt that as open as he was with her, he never bothered to tell her any of this; that for as close as they were in and out of the theater, he never mentioned the demons he was secretly battling.

On the tip of her tongue, she wanted to argue, to rebel against the harsh realities he told her. To tell him to call the police and ambulance to get him more help and catch the assholes that hurt him, but a part of her knew Johnny wouldn't allow it. Didn't want to go against his wishes and rupture this relationship she had with him - refused to ever let that happen…

It left Ash with only one choice…

"Fine. Since the ambulance and even calling the police is off the table - let me help at least clean up your wounds." Ash offered and for one of the few times tonight, Johnny met her eyes.

"Oi, Ash, you don't 'ave to. These are my problems - not yours."

"...I want to. Now come on." Ash offered a shaking paw which she just noticed had a few splotches of his blood staining her fur. It bothered her immensely but she ignored it for now to keep her offer open.

"...A-Ash, I…"

"Please." the words felt so foreign on her tongue, "I want to help you, Johnny…Let me help you."

The offer of her hand extended; Johnny's eyes flicking from the proffered hand to her face and back again as if trying to figure out of here was any ulterior motive but there was none in those crystal blue eyes.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he'd given her a stiff nod before taking her hand.

[quarkie-blog1]

pawnshipping (oﾟ▽ﾟ)o Also hiiiiii

Thanks for the ask! And HAIIIIII! XD

Some answers may be based off a hypothetical AU (since I felt like there wasn’t enough interaction between the two in the anime…)

who is more likely to hurt the other?Physically, probably Yugo. I honestly think that Yuri wouldn’t want to get punched by Yugo, because it’d hurt.

who is emotionally stronger?Yuri. He needs that as a solder. Though Yugo is resilient,I don’t think he’s prepared to commit something like murder as Yuri would.

who is physically stronger?Probably both. Yuri can do awesome stunts, and Yugo seems like he has good stamina and strength.

who is more likely to break a bone?Yugo. Riding a vehicle is a sport where everyone can crash and get hurt. (Please don’t…)who knows best what to say to upset the other? Yuri seems better than emotional manipulation, so I’m going to say him =D.

who is most likely to apologise first after an argument? Well then… in the case of pawnshipping, I like to think both are equal in the relationship, but Yuri probably is better at leading the relationship (simply because Yugo is a little more clueless about reading the atmosphere sometimes). So I think Yuri would take the initiative.

who treats who’s wounds more often?In a peaceful life, Yugo probably gets hurt more often due to bike rides. who is in constant need of comfort? Both seem rather resilient, so I would say neither is “in need of comfort”, but they would do it for each other anyway?

who gets more jealous? Hm… probably Yuri? From the anime, with how Yugo was rather hospitable to Yuzu, I think Yugo’s learnt to share nice things with his friends.

who’s most likely to walk out on the other?I would say Yuri. As a soldier, I’m sure he knows that he can’t have everything in life and there are times when one needs to make hard decisions. (not to say that Yugo isn’t mature for that)who will propose? Well… I mentioned that I feel Yuri leads on the progression of the relationship more, so maybe him?

who has the most difficult parents?Pass. They have no parents, right?

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?I think both? Both don’t seem to be bothered about expressing themselves in public. Obviously at first it would seem a bit awkward, but I’m sure when they work out when the other likes holding hands it’ll become like natural reflex. who comes up for the other all the time? Both? Though Yugo might do it unconsciously. (I hope I understood this question right…)

who hogs the blankets? I’m going to say Yuri, though I suppose Yugo doing that unconciously is also convincing. I say the former, because I think Yugo is used to not having the luxury of a warm blanket. So on a cold night, Yuri would probably need the warm blanket more.

who gets more sad? Yugo, since he is definitely more expressive of when he is sad. Based on Yuri’s duel with Yuushou, when he’s upset he always seem to “bounce” back up by himself.

who is better at cheering the other up? Since both know the harsh reality of things don’t always go well, I think both are on equal levels. (And same to Yuto as well….)

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?Yugo probably would make less offending jokes, whilst I imagine Yuri would make a lot of jokes just to rile the other up (for fun… what a sadist). So I think Yuri would be able playfully slap back.

who is more streetwise?Yugo. While Yugo didn’t need to be an actual soldier, he’s had to survive on the streets of the City. He’d have to be practical and save money for that d-wheel. Some of Rin’s “common sense” would have also have to be drilled in his head. And lastly, in orphanages, I would like to imagine that Yugo would also look after the kids there, and he’d know of how to protect them from danger?

who is more wise?Academically, Yuri. In terms of practicality, probably both. In terms of being socially wise, Yugo. (I don’t blame Yuri, since being a academia student and carding people numbs your emotional senses. Or perhaps he’s less sensitive to people being sad or bothered in general, like a natural-born sadist.)

who’s the shyest? Yugo. Yuri seems to have no problems with being honest about his words (based on his duel with Yuya) LOL.

who boasts about the other more? I think they would be proud of both… in a weird manner. Yugo: Let me tell you!! That guy is just awful. He never gets my name right, and … (continues on with rant)Yuri: Yugo… is exhausting to talk with… not just because he’s energetic but also he’s too impulsive.Yugo: … but… he’s one of the best that I’ve duelled before. Yuri: however, I can’t deny that he knows when he needs to act mature, and certainly one of my favourite opponents.

who sits on who’s lap? LOL. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think 14-year-old boys are into that. Maybe a more fitting question would be who would be sitting at the back of a vehicle? Yuri for sure, since Yugo would wanna try piloting that helicopter/car/truck/submarine/gundam that they’re riding on.