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thalenteninela · 2 months

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UKZN OT Curriculum :( or :)

Standing on the edge of becoming an OT practitioner, I ask myself am I ready for what lies ahead!

Join in with me in this reflection as we discover if my years in UKZN have been fruitful, or whether it has been a waste of my time, hope you will help me ask for a refund for all my tuition funds, each semester is like R50 000 so if this pays-out we would be filthy rich guys!

For a good narrative on OT visit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MjPVrXWtQrs

UKZN OT department is on a mission, to become a dynamic and socially responsible training service and research facility that provides an Occupational Therapy Programme that is internationally competitive whilst being relevant to the South African context and being a facility that prepares students for excellent OT Practice. Still, how far are they to this goal, this blog is redefining, I might get rich, and my lecturers might lose their jobs.

With only 4 months left into becoming an OT in either a hospital, special school, community setting, clinic, insurance industry, children’s home or facilities for the elderly, is it fair to expect UKZN to have been able to prepare us for any of these.

South Africa has a need for OTs who are well positioned for impact and redress of injustices caused by the inequities of the past (Naidoo & Van Wyk, 2023). Deshini our UKZN associate professor shows support of what Chantal Christopher, our community module lecturer supports and promotes; we call it up stream thinking. In a situation where we notice a lot of people drowning in the river, one of us tries to rescue the people as they float, whilst the more critical, moves upstream to go and kick the person who is throwing the people into the water, this upstream action involves critical thinking and critical action, has UKZN prepared me for that?

For further reading on Deshini’s study visit: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1155/2023/4965740

Training in UKZN has been transformative, I often say that students in the OT programme go through; ‘evolution’, it’s a difficult process but once you reflect on the journey and where you are coming from, you realise the evolution. The growth and strides I have made in the UKZN OT programme are remarkable, I often think about how after every block the Thalente I go back home as is so grown and different to the Thalente my family sent to varsity. For that the UKZN, programme deserve a round of applause; I have been to Albert Luthuli, I have been to Newlands Park and now I am in Cator Manor, Cator Crest and Denis Hurley, I am continuously exposed to different levels of care, from Central hospitals to the clinic running behind the Dalton creche, and in all these places the learning is ongoing. Learning not just about OT theory and practice but also the lived realities of people. I am a feminist in nature, its only through the inspiration of the likes of Chantal that I realised that. I am a devoted Christian I value love, respect and being off service to others, it is through the activism and advocacy of my Academic Leader Dr Mpanza, you may have heard him recently speak on the radio, that I have discovered this.

So, you get it now, I am proud to be part of this institution, I am learning a lot about this beautiful profession and discovering a lot about myself through the OT curriculum.

Disclaimer: this is not an every day feeling, you just caught me on one of the good days 😊

You might be wondering, does this mean I am ready for community practice?

Honestly, I wonder the same

If my experience in community block is anything to go with, I have been struggling a bit with working with the MDT, I easily lose my role to the shadows of others, doing this for the first time, Maybe UKZN has failed me in the lack of exposure to work in the MDT, the lack of exposure to outpatients as well. All I have been used to is seeing clients to do assessments for 2 days and going home to plan intervention and implement it on the 3rd to 4th day, but now in community I have 60 minutes to do all that, it is a lot you guys, trust me! And it involves thinking on the spot.

But I know best to be patient with my evolution as it continues in this block.

In interaction with one of the comm serve therapist, I asked them on they comment on the OT curriculum and if it has prepared them for comm serve, one of them said, ‘I’ve learnt more in the last 6 months than I did in 4 years of uni’ they explain they remark even further: Not that the curriculum is bad but it’s that we were taught the basics, and expected to have everything fall in place, which doesn’t always happen. Which is true, like how we are taught in specific packages but are expected to integrate everything, its not that easy!

Study by Deshini has emerging themes of that OTs in PHC should be able to implement intervention in resource constrained settings, this is UKZNs biggest advantage, our training enforces cheap problem-solving techniques, in one of the clinics I visit a UKZN comm serve is making splints out of a bucket and is making it work.

We need to be able to plan and implement intervention in different settings, which again I think would come easy because in our training we are exposed to different settings and being trained in KZN a diverse province overburdened with inequality, means we get a real exposure of different contexts and realities.

One of the expectations of graduates is that we also be resilient and persevering, and no offence but our curriculum does that the best, with no study breaks before exams, with 20 pages case study, presentation, demo, video exam, assignments, we have really gotten tough as steel.

Our curriculum has had its short falling in failing to encourage reading from early years, like how I only found out in 3rd year where to find OT books in the library, UKZN has produced good practitioners but have failed to encourage theory developers. The theory of our curriculum is weaker compared to the other 8 universities, which means we trained to be good practitioners to the theories developed by your UCT students.

The curriculum does not hold a focus on the structures of the Department of health, and other departments because as an OT you need to be well connected. These are some of the things we are somehow expected to know despite never being taught.

UKZN curriculum has not been able to completely satisfy my hunger for more knowledge, but it is good to remember that it is the same department that has created that hunger in me, and isn’t that what they supposed to do in the first place?

Let me know in the comments section, remember we might just get rich.

For anyone wanting to join UKZN

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abishekmuses · 6 months

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Sorting It Out Inside

Ok so you want to write online and use it to become rich - of all the people online (millions probably), why do you think you need to do this? what I'm asking is - why does the world need one more guy writing stuff on the internet? I think I have a unique viewpoint - my experiences, background put me in a unique perspective. Hmm what do I mean by that? I guess the sheer contrasts that my life embodies - I've always been identified as smart - and yet I've made life choices that are run-of-the-mill, classic idiot-choices. I was born in a lower middle class household in South India and through a series of scarcely believable life events, I made friends all over the world, speak with a clipped accent and now, work for a Norwegian company. I make more money than most people in my country dream of making and yet for most of the last 3-4 years, my experience has largely been that of low grade anxiety, fear about my future, hedonism, fatigue, drug-use, escapism, bouts of mania followed by shame and self-doubt - well you get it. I'm being a little too harsh on myself - there were moments of bliss, joy, satisfaction, adventure, learning etc as well but that only serves to emphasise the point I'm trying to make about the contrasts.

I am particularly prone, as an individual, to delusion, distraction, solipsism, dissociation and fantasy. I have a mind that is extremely suggestible, albeit quick and flexible - I suffer from a lack of context and perspective. Recently, thanks in no small part due to my commitment to yoga and my decision to stop trying to have my way with life (in this kind of forceful, anxiety provoking manner), I have found some space within myself - a space that helps me notice my behaviour patterns, emotional triggers, violent biochemical responses etc without being taken in by them .

This has allowed to me to institute a modicum of sanity in my life - it is precisely that modicum of sanity that is even allowing me to perform this very exercise of self-indulgent pontification - I would have probably been staring at a youtube video otherwise.

Back to the contrasts,

I used to be a devout Hindu growing up. Gave it up because it wasn't fashionable enough - became a reductionist, hardcore atheist. Tripped on a bunch of drugs that blew my whole model of reality to smithereens and was left having to pick up the stray pieces of my psyche for years - discovering "spirituality" and yoga in the process. For the lack of simple terms to describe it, let's say my models of reality are a LOT more fluid now than they used to be. I pray but I don't know to whom. I bow down in reverence and awe on practically a daily basis. I shed tears of gratitude very often and do yoga sadhana practically every day. Again, just saying this to highlight the abundance of perspectives I've inhabited and the contrasts that I've been able to experience and live out. I am often called "confident" and "courageous" - not entirely untrue assessments either - I can talk to strangers with absolute ease and have no problems but I also know it to be true that I'm a very fearful, self-doubting, anxious, people pleasing, attention seeking person. Another contrast that I'm making more sense of as I go along. I have experienced profoundly rapturous states that, by themselves, justify the enterprise of living on earth. I have experienced desolation that felt permanent and immutable. I am familiar with the ways of Ancient India (not as dry philosophy; as a living tradition with continuity and soul) and have partied with the best of them in Europe. I've had foursomes and I've slept with beautiful women. I've made desperate and ungainly attempts at sexual gratification resulting in embarrassing rejections and soul crushing vortices of self-hate and shame. I've imposed myself on girls sexually and doubted my attractiveness a million times.

I've inspired people, repulsed people, supported people, destroyed people's emotional equanimity, taught people, learned from people, betrayed people, cried for people, cried over people, cried with people, laughed and danced and sang on the streets, done drugs with strangers and sang hymns from the Vedas.

I think I can write on the internet and make myself a good living while offering something of value to those struggling with the same ills that I did (and probably still do).

The world is evolving rapidly and we are being confronted with some pretty new problems - kids apparently are losing their shit mentally - and it's because of too much phone-time and not enough social interaction, apparently.

I want to use my experience to be a voice of comfort, guidance and awakening, if I can. If i'm being presumptuous in this assessment, reality will duly give me a check in the near future.

Ok I think I'll go to sleep now.

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lazyliars · 4 years

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/rp

Before I get into it, I want to state that is EXPLICITLY an analysis of the Characters, and is not intended to touch on how the cc’s played them in a meta sense unless specifically stated otherwise.

Also, this is technically a part two to my other post, which took a more in depth look at Techno and Phil’s reactions to Tommy’s death. It’s not necessary when reading this post, but I don’t address their reactions here.

So. The question must be asked.

Are we [the Syndicate] the baddies?

Yes.

The End.

Why are the Syndicate the baddies?

They got damn logo is a wither skull.

The End.

That's not how this works.

Yeah, yeah. You’re right.

The Syndicate's goals as an organization are not inherently bad. They seem to have good intentions behind them, and the focus on the freedom of it's individual group members is important to remember when talking about it; It is not a government. There is no hierarchical power system. No one is forced to do anything against their will, or surrender any of their rights or power to remain a member. It is not a government.

I also want to address Techno and Phil backing Ranboo into a corner – I see them getting a lot of flack for this, but I personally do not think it is relevant to the greater discussion, or necessarily representative of any contradictions within the organization. It was clearly played for laughs, and after they back off they clarify to Ranboo that they won't force him. Then later when Phil and Ranboo are alone, Ranboo feels safe enough to express that he felt like he was pressured into it, and Phil assures him he is allowed to leave whenever he wants; He is not being forced to do anything, and he is not being coerced or blackmailed.

None of the Syndicate members have done any wrongs against each other in the context of the Syndicate, OR gone against any of the Syndicate's core principles.

That, said, holy shit are they the baddies.

Listen, there's trying to telegraph a meaning or message to the audience and then there's having your logo be wither skulls on blackstone. That is straight out of the skit I keep referencing, seriously.

Okay, but, they laughed at it! It was played as a joke, just like the Ranboo thing!

The Ranboo thing was improv, the Syndicate's headquarters were planned – the artistic choices that they made reflect on what role they want the build and the organization inhabiting it to play in the future storylines.

Wither Skulls kind of have some CONNOTATIONS. Techno is an English major, I don't think he chose the most threatening imagery possible on accident, and then joked about the way people would interpret it just to stir the pot. This reads as hugely intentional.

And beyond that, the jokes they make during this part aren't “haha yeah, we look bad but we're actually good!” they're “you can tell by looking at these that we're the good guys wink wink, this is good guy stuff right here :)” It is a joke about how they are definitely not the good guys. This isn't even a case of unreliable narrators, this is one step down from flat out saying the meta intent.

But okay, I hear you, I'm talking about things that haven't happened yet. The Syndicate hasn't used any Withers, they could be an aesthetic choice. Lets look at what they do in practice.

So, they barge into private property, assess Snowchester's right to continue existing based entirely on their own ideals of what Freedom is, and then only once Tubbo assures them that they have no standing leader do they grant the place their approval to, and I gotta stress this part, continue existing.

In my Quackity meta, I already talked about how Government in the context of a M1necraft RP cannot be compared to IRL Governments on a one-to-one scale. They don't serve the same purposes or have the same type of power. What I didn't talk about was Agency in the context of m1necraft governments.

In an irl government, if you are born into one, you can't really leave without committing a massive overhaul on your life, which can be expensive and difficult, if not impossible for many people. Even in a “benevolent” government, the simple physicality of where you were born can prevent you from leaving it easily.

The same hurdles do not exist in the Dream SMP. People who join M1necraft governments choose to. They want to, either at the beginning when they form one, or later on when they join up. So far, no Government has just Sprung Up and forced the current residents of an area to become dependent on them, except maybe the Eggpire, who's status as a government is... shakey.

And even when people want to leave or separate from the government, they have been historically able to do so without any trouble or any effort from said governments to stop them. Jack Manifold emancipated from Manberg. Fundy and Quackity both left to start new nations. In all cases they were allowed to do so without any attempts on the part of the governments to stop them, either through force, or institutions preventing them from doing so.

The most anyone has lost when leaving a government is their house, which is still usually their property anyway, and is something that is easily rebuilt elsewhere and is inconvenient to move anyway.

The only exceptions to this might be Schlatt exiling Wilbur and Tommy - but even then, they weren’t trying to leave, they were trying to get back in, and of course the original L’manberg revolution, where Dream attempted to force L’manberg back into the Dream SMP, which wasn’t even a government at that point in time.

I don’t consider Phil’s house arrest an example of a government forcing someone to stay a citizen - that was treated less as a matter of a citizen wanting to leave the country and more as a threat to national security. Still pretty fucked up, but it’s a different issue.

What I'm saying is, If Tubbo wants to create a government out in the middle of nowhere, threatening no one, forcing no one to join either through force or desperation, and allowing people to join willingly because they want to, then he should be allowed to do that.

The Irony of the Syndicate, a group of people consisting of some of the richest, strongest people on the server, going around and enforcing 'Freedom' that entails no one person having more power than any other, is absurd.

It shows an extreme lack of self-awareness and/or self-righteousness, as they seem to think that they deserve to be the ones who decide what constitutes a government.

Snowchester is a small independent nation - they shouldn’t have to live in fear of being obliterated if they don’t walk on eggshells to meet an arbitrary standard decided by people who’s only authority on the matter COMES FROM THEIR PERSONAL POWER. No one elected them! No one chose them! They were not “approved” by the server at large to enact this kind of law.

The Syndicate are not a government, but they are an unsupervised power structure exerting their ideals on a land that did not ask for them. Like, These people have invented an actual Authoritarian-Anarchist faction. How the hell did they manage this?????

Back on topic.

Tubbo shows them the crater left by his nukes. The reaction is oddly positive – the nukes are fine by the morals of the Syndicate, apparently. I'd argue that they come across as more impressed than anything else; they seem to respect Tubbo for having gotten ahold of “real” power.

(There's a few good memes out there about “We can excuse nuclear weaponry, but we draw the line at Government!”)

So. By the Syndicate's standards: A single person or group of acceptably equal persons with weapons of mass-destruction are only worth “keeping an eye on” because they might provoke other people.

Like, I consider Project Dreamcatcher to be one of, if not the most morally ambiguous thing Tubbo has ever done, largely because it was all on his own initiative. He holds some culpability for The Butcher Army and Phil's house arrest, but they weren't his ideas and he was mostly following Quackity at that point.

And Phil tells Tubbo, IMMEDIATELY AFTER SEEING THE NUCLEAR CRATER:

“Looks like you've reformed a little bit Tubbo, I'm proud.”

And it's fine. Crimes against nature? Fine. A sign of healing in fact!! Tubbo is having a sweeeelll time and he definitely didn't make these nukes specifically in fear of being attacked by these exact people! Tubbo is doing great. Tubbo is doing fine. Tubbo. is. FINE.

Anyway.

I don't think this presentation of the Syndicate was an accident. Looking at the greater lore of SMP right now, after the Egg is done, their list of enemies is slim, and considering that they seem solely invested in taking down governments, that leaves maybe Snowchester, Kinoko Kingdom, and Eret and the greater Dream SMP.

Snowchester has not been shown to be corrupt, evil, or have any intent to go down that route. The most ambiguous thing they've done is, again, is the nukes. Other than that, it's pretty much your average cottagecore snow village.

Kinoko is presented in an even more morally 'good' light, Karl having founded it specifically for his Time-travel library purposes, which are currently being treated by the narrative as a selfless act, if not downright heroic.

Eret is also a fairly 'good' aligned character atm. He's been on that redemption grind since the og betrayal, and doesn't seem keen on backtracking. He's actively tried to leverage his position as king to make things better, and hasn't been quiet about that. He was also 'validated' by Tommy*, a character who has been described both by his allies and enemies as “the hero,” so take that as you will.

What I'm getting at is, all of the current potential enemies for the Syndicate aside from the Egg, are currently being cast as 'good,' and if they were to be attacked, they would undoubtedly have the moral high-ground, unless something drastically changed.

The only potential shakeups I can think of is are a Dream escape and/or a Wilbur revival, both of which could draw the Syndicate's attention and ire, depending on how things go. That said, it's just as likely that either or both of them would join the Syndicate – Dream still has that favor, and Phil and Techno both seemed to think Wilbur would've agreed with their blowing up L'manberg.

Both of those characters are currently **villains – the fact that they're both prime candidates for the Syndicate is a huge indication of the direction it's going to go as the plot moves forward.

((*I know some people are gonna come at me for painting Tommy as the “deciding factor” of what is morally good, so lemme just stop you there. I'm not talking about Tommy somehow having the 'right' to decide who is and isn't good, and definitely not the right to decide who should and shouldn't be king. I'm saying that Tommy, a character who the narrative treats as, if not a good person, then a person who is trying to be good, was in support of Eret, a character who has also been trying to be good.

Eret doesn't gain the moral highground because Tommy said so, he gets it because a character who the narrative treats as trying to do better, acknowledged Eret's earnest attempts at doing the same.

**I'm referring to Wilbur here as a villain because Tommy seemed convinced he would be if he were to be brought back. There is always the possibility that he's wrong.))

So, to summarize this: I read the Syndicate as being intentionally positioned as future antagonists, if not outright villains of a future arc. They are NOT a Government but their goals are contradictory with their means, and it is important to keep in mind that they plan to enforce their own brand of freedom on people who did not grant them either the authority or permission to do so.

So, uh. Can you tell I loved these streams? They were seriously so good. I kept switching between Ranboo and Techno's POV's trying to keep up with everything. I still have to watch Niki's!

All in all, I'm super, super excited for whats coming next, egg stuff, Syndicate stuff, Tommy stuff, all of it.

#dream smp #tubbo #the syndicate #c!techno critical #c!phil critical #dream smp analysis #lazytext

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nocherryblood · 3 years

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Real quick: I wanna rant about the day I got my autism diagnosis.

To start off, when I entered the building, I felt uneasy from the offset. It was an extremely cramped little clinic, with a very... 'posh' and curt receptionist, who told us nothing about when we would be seen and just instructed us to "sit and wait". ...We 'sat and waited' for at least a good half-an-hour before the psychiatrist (?) suddenly appeared and called us over.

We followed him down the stairs (I'm pretty sure the building used to be an old house before it became a clinic), one of which had a huge hole in it and we had to skip over. It was practically two seconds away from falling apart.

The assessment room itself was pure white, completely silent, and filled with bright yellow lights that hurt your eyes. So, I was already very uncomfortable.

As soon as the guy starts speaking, I can tell this isn't going to go great. Now, I don't mean anything unkind by this, but... his accent was very thick, making it hard to understand his words. Then he told my mother to leave the room, and the assessment began.

...Okay, they seriously haven't updated these tests in years, have they? Right off the bat, you can tell these tests were made for a child.

They were things like: rearranging colourful foam shapes to create a picture, reading a storybook and making up the words, pointing to a kids' picture and identifying what the people in the picture are doing, and even things like LITERALLY BEING GIVEN BABY TOYS TO PLAY WITH SO THEY CAN "OBSERVE YOU PLAYING".

The only thing that was actually somewhat more adult-oriented was the questionnaire where they ask you how your social life is, and how school is going.

Even then, though, you're made to feel stupid. You're asked questions like "what is friendship?", "what is love?", etc. I remember reading back on my diagnosis papers afterwards, and they'd written something like "(name) has trouble understanding concept of love and friendships", when that's just completely untrue.

What the fuck am I supposed to answer with? I think I had answered something like "love is when two people form a special bond with/develop strong affection for each other. They find happiness in each other." I also gave some examples of how people who are in love might kiss or hug each other to show that love.

...So apparently, that means I don't understand love...? What the fuck was I mean to say then?

Another thing I hated is the way they took things completely out of context. I said to the guy that I often have a nervous smile when I see something that looks gross or squeamish. It's just my natural reaction, and many other people do it. So you know what HE interpreted that as?

This is paraphrased, but it was something like this: "(Name) has inappropriate reactions to certain situations. For example, they would smile when they see a cyclist get run over."

... WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I'm autistic, not psychotic. As soon as I read that line, I burst into tears. How do we go from "has a nervous smile when seeing something squeamish" to "enjoys watching people get murdered"!?

And remember, this document that has all this stuff written in it, is what future colleges/unis and employers would see when they look at my profile.

It makes me feel horrible.

And not only that, but by the end of the assessment, I told the guy about my OCD and how it affects my daily life. So, you know what he told me? "I don't think you have OCD, you're just autistic. I've done this for 12 years. Trust me, I know!"

...Sooooo, an entire family history of OCD + several other doctors and mental health professionals telling me I definitely DO have OCD is... not more reliable than your "superior" judgement? Yeah, I just wanna remind you that you've only known me for less than an hour.

By the end of the test, I was ready to just walk out and cry my eyes out. I was treated like a kid, patronised and made to feel stupid ON CAMERA (yes, they record the sessions), forced to sit in a room with a man who I couldn't hear and made me feel deeply uncomfortable, and told that I don't have OCD despite having all the evidence to suggest I do, therefore letting me know that the guy didn't believe a word of what I said and thought I was lying.

...So don't get me wrong, I'm glad I got my autism diagnosis, I just wish I didn't have to be ridiculed first to get it.

#autism #actually autistic #rant #aspergers #autism diagnosis #mental health

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clouds-of-wings · 2 years

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Ok this is pretty rambly and I don’t feel like making it into a more structured text, so proceed at your own risk but, but I decided I really don’t like the end of BCS. It’s the predictable “pedagogic” end, where every lie is revealed, every crime is punished, all the evil-doers repent and everything is set right. It doesn’t fit the realism of the show. The way Saul dramatically reclaimed his birth name, the chanting in the prison van... it’s overblown and sentimental. Nacho and Gus had big speeches too, but they were justified by the story (Nacho needed to make the Salamancas think Gus wasn’t their enemy, plus it made sense in context that he needed at least catharsis before his death - and Gus was trying to upset Lalo and throw him off balance) and taught us additional things about their characters.

I guess they were trying to please as many people as possible with the ending, and it seems to have worked - plus BB ended pretty similarly - but it just doesn’t feel right to me. BCS was so understated. Why change that now. I guess a lot of people like that justice was done and everything was tied up so neatly, but for me, at that moment, the show changed from a story for adults to a story for children. Like they gave the ‘moral of the story’, crime doesn’t pay and you end up in jail. A more ‘real life’ ending would have been more satisfying.

I also feel like the narrative punishes Kim needlessly. There is absolutely no reason why she should stop being a lawyer and date an uninteresting man. She realizes that she and Jimmy are “poison” together, so she leaves him, fine - but then why not work as a lawyer in a different town? And a lot of her character development over the course of the series was about her learning to go directly after what she wants instead of jumping through hoops endlessly - doesn’t her existence in Florida undo all this? I guess she might be punishing herself, but I feel like she’s too smart and level-headed to punish herself in a way that doesn’t accomplish anything for anyone.

If she doubled down on her efforts to represent underprivileged clients, that would be the kind of repentance I see as typical of her - sort of like when she and Jimmy threw beer bottles off their balcony and she cleans up the shards before work the next morning. Kim’s life in Florida is more as if she walked through the shards barefoot to punish herself. It’s counterproductive and pointless.

We always see Kim try to improve her life and only suffer through unpleasant situations when it’s unavoidable. When Howard put her “in the cornfield”, she worked without complaining because she had to, not because she was punishing herself, and she was trying her best to get out of the situation by calling all her contacts and securing a great new client. When she got into the car crash and, apart from breaking her arm, also inconvenienced her clients, she didn’t become self-destructive, she objectively assessed the situation and drew practical consequences, referring the oil guy to another firm. I don’t see her punishing herself needlessly, especially for years. I get the idea that she’s “so afraid of doing harm she isn’t doing good either”, but I can’t really see her being in this state for longer than a few days. She just isn’t shown to be a martyr earlier. She’s shown to be able to endure bad situations when it’s necessary, but not to punish herself.

From my perspective, the entire show has been about creative solutions, do-overs, the main characters finding ways to turn bad situations to their advantage. That it should end with Jimmy in jail, the most predictable place for him to go, is a disappointment to me. I’m not opposed to him having a redemption arc, but I don’t feel like this one is in tune with the rest of the story. It also kinda came out of nowhere. The show spends years showing his corruption to the point where he will poison children and rob cancer patients, and then his old, uncorrupted personality just suddenly comes back up to the point that he is willing to sacrifice everything? It feels unearned and like the “safe” ending.

#better call saul #bcs spoilers #by now i just want to get this out of my drafts #i'm open to disagreements but plz don't just comment 'u didnt understand the show lmao'

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darlingpeter · 4 years

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i’m asking you to stay.

this is the third (and perhaps final?) part to my pre-movie!eddie series. in this one, eddie and the reader finally find the time to get intimate with one another. as always, this could be read with the rest for full context but could also be read well on its own!

pairing: pre-movie!eddie x reader

warnings: fluff and smut (oral sex f!receiving, protected sex)!!! - please only read if you’re 18+

length: 3,703 (i got a little carried away)

part one - part two

You and Eddie weren’t able to meet up and go on what you’d consider to be a date date for over a month.

The two of you were able to cross paths for coffee or lunch some days, spend an hour or so chatting and catching up, and then part with a quick kiss. You loved spending whatever time you could with Eddie, but you missed the kind of closeness that came with being alone together. The way that your first date ended made it pretty clear that he wanted you as much as you did him, and you wanted so badly to just find a supply closet somewhere and pick up where you had left off, but for the time being, you were content with his thigh pressed against yours as you sat on the same side of a diner booth and holding his hand whenever possible.

But then he had to leave the country for a story that he was working on. For three weeks.

You kept in contact the same way that you had been, texting each other as often as you could and continuing to send things everyday on twitter that you knew would make each other smile, but the distance definitely made you miss having him close.

He felt the same way, which was made clear by a voicemail that he left you with a week left in his travels. He was very clearly drunk, the cacophony of voices and sounds of passing traffic making it clear that he was standing out in the front of a tavern. “I can’t wait to be able to kiss you again.” He slurs, which is met with a few groans in the background. His local friends must have been trying to dissuade him from giving you a ring. “Shut up, you guys,” His voice is distanced from the receiver before he comes back close again. “I just think it’s really fucked up that things were goin’ so well before I had to leave because I like you a lot n’ I don’t want you to like, think that I’ll forget about you or anything because I actually miss you a lot. I can’t stop thinking about you. ‘S that stupid? I feel like that sounds kinda stupid.” There’s a pause, and then Eddie laughs. “Forgot tha’ this is a message n’ you can’t answer me--” a car horn honks twice. “Fuckin’-- ‘m coming, ok? Jesus, I gotta go. G’night or morning or whatever time it is in San Francisco right now I don’t remember, but I’ll see you in seven short days, gorgeous.” He hung up.

The first time that you heard it, your heart bloomed in your chest. The next day you texted him about it, and he was embarrassed and quick to apologize, but after you told him that you were feeling the same way, you made plans for when he got back.

Finally, the day of his return rolled around.

His flight came in later in the evening, so the two of you agreed to meet up at your place for drinks. A few hours before his flight was due to land, you were bustling around your apartment, straightening things up and doing a bit of cleaning that needed to be done in order to make you feel comfortable welcoming him into your space. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you imagined him doing the same thing before your first date over at his, which calmed your worry that you were going overboard with the whole ordeal.

When you heard him knock at your door at about 9PM, you did a quick assessment of your place and took a quick glance at yourself in the mirror hanging in the living space. This was by no means a formal date, and although it was agreed that there was no expectation to go all out for this meetup, you tried your best not to feel insecure about the t-shirt and pajama pants that you were wearing.

That unease immediately vanished when you opened the door and Eddie was positively beaming at you on the other side.

“Hey,” He said, his voice soft and slightly breathy, and his cheeks were pink like he had practically ran up the stairs to get to your doorstep.

“Hey, you.” You grinned, stepping aside so that he could step into your place. He took the same glance at his surroundings that you gave to his place, and for a moment you were anxious, but that feeling subsided when he fixed his warm gaze back on you.

Before you could make some remark about how you had tidied up, Eddie was moving forward the few steps that separated you, grabbing your hands where they hung at your side and leaning in to kiss you. You leaned into it, looking up at him as you separated. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He admitted, his voice soft, and you beamed up at him in response, leaning forward to pull him into another.

His hands released yours so that he could grab at your waist and pull you flush to him, and you cupped his stubbled cheeks in your hands, sighing into his mouth when he nipped at your bottom lip. He broke away to bite at your neck, and you laughed, running your hands down his chest and over where his nipples were hardened under the fabric of his shirt. “Do you want that drink or do you want to cut to the grand tour of my bedroom?”

You could feel him stir in his pants from how closely you were pressed together, and if that wasn’t any indication of his answer, the excitement and lust behind the look that he fixed you with certainly was. With one more quick peck to his lips, you took him by the hand and dragged him in the direction of your bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, knees spread. You stood between them as you began to lift the hem of your shirt, he gently swatted them away. “Let me do that.” He reprimanded softly.

He pulled you into his lap, knees on either side of his hips in a position reminiscent of the one the last time things got heated between the two of you, and butterflies swirled in your stomach in anticipation. You lifted your arms to help Eddie as he pulled off your shirt, and once he saw that your breasts were bare underneath, he let out a groan that sent a spark down your spine. “So fucking beautiful.” he murmured, staring up at you with dark irises. His hands smoothed up your ribcage to cup your tits, squeezing them softly with a groan as your nipples hardened against his rough palms.

Hands planted on his chest, you pushed him back to lie on the bed. You reconnected your lips briefly before he broke away to give a small, surprised “oh,” as you began rolling your hips over his covered crotch. He moved his hands down to grab the flesh of your ass to help guide your movements against him, and when the ridge of his zip caught your clit just right though your pajama bottoms and your panties, you panted out a desperate whimper against his lips.

“I’ve been wanting to hear you make that sound for me since I met you in that coffee shop.” Eddie confessed, his voice low. Heat flooded to your core at his words, and while he had you dazed, he picked you up and placed you gently on your back on the bed. You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his toned torso and broad chest. You smiled up at him as he popped the button on his jeans, and he fixed you with a puzzled look. “What?” He asked.

“Is there a ranked list of the hottest journalists in the United States? Because I feel like you would make the top 5.” You mused, and Eddie barked out a laugh as he pushed his pants down his equally toned thighs.

“Top 5? That’s a little generous, don’tcha think?” He struggled a bit to get them off from around his ankles, and once he did, he was left in a pair of tented briefs.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Ed. You’re a stud.” You stretched out a leg so that you could poke him in the side with your foot as you complimented him, but squeaked as he grabbed you by the ankle and pulled your ass closer to the edge of the bed.

You giggled as he got between your legs, placing his elbows on either side of your head as he kissed you sweetly. “You don’t have to woo me, angel. You know I’d want to get my mouth between those pretty thighs even if you were telling me I would come dead last.” Grinning, you brought your hands up to cup his face as he gazed down at you, his stubble rough on your palms as he mirrored your expression. “Now, can I get these pants off of you?”

“Please.” You breathed, and you almost started laughing at how quickly he grabbed at your pajama bottoms, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband of your pants and your panties so that he could pull them both down in one go. You lifted your hips to help him, and after they were tossed aside, Eddie got down on his knees between your legs. You felt suddenly self-conscious as he smoothed one palm over the outside of the thigh of the leg he had placed over his shoulder. Prepping yourself up on your elbows, your face grew hot as he took in the sight of your bare pussy for the first time, which was undoubtedly already dripping wet. “Eddie, you don’t have to if you don’t—“

“Sweetheart, I promise that I want to. I really really want to.” He wet his lips and turned his head to brush his cheek against the inside of your thigh, the slight burn of his whiskers against your sensitive skin making you hiss. “Please, let me.”

You sat back on your elbows, heat flooding to your core at the intensity and the lust in his eyes. “Ok,” you breathed, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

The first contact of his tongue on your folds had your eyes fluttering shut with a moan. He circled around your labia with the flat of his tongue a few times, and the first time he delved into your slit he let out an appreciative grunt against your heated flesh. One of his hands was holding your hips down, and the other rubbed circles against your clit as he licked into your dripping core and made your hips tick up into his mouth.

“Oh fuck, Eddie, please,” you whined as two of his fingers began teasing at your entrance at the same time he suckled at the bundle of nerves. To your dismay, he took to kissing the inside of your thigh instead, and your brows furrowed. “Eyes on me, gorgeous. Come on.” He coaxed your eyes open, and immediately you felt the weight of his gaze on you. There was something playful lurking behind his lust-darkened eyes, and the intensity of his stare had heat coiling low in your belly. Keeping his eyes on you, he drew his tongue flat in a slow drag against your clit as he pushed his fingers inside of you, and your mouth dropped open in a gasp as your body took in his thick digits. You reached for Eddie, running your fingers through his hair as he began to suckle on your clit at the same time he pressed at the spongy spot on your front wall.

It had been too long since you’d had anything other than your fingers or a toy to help you get off, so when he began massaging that spot inside you that made you see stars, you couldn’t hold back the shriek that left your lips, your back arching as he drew you to the edge. “Eddie, I’m so close,” you flat-out whimpered, meeting his blown pupils from where he was between your legs. He only intensified his actions, seeming to relish in the sounds that he could coax out of you and the slick noises as he worked your pussy. You tumbled over the edge in no time with a loud keen of his name, your body trembling as pleasure sang in your veins. Eddie kept at it, drawing your orgasm out for what felt like blissful minutes before you were shaking with oversensitivity, tugging gently at his hair to get him to stop. “Oh my god,” you laughed breathlessly as he drew out his fingers from your dripping center and stuck them casually in his mouth. “No one has ever eaten me out like that before.”

And Eddie grinned from between your legs, his mouth and chin glistening wet. “You deserve to have your pussy eaten like that hourly, sweetheart.” He responded, and the gravelly tone of his voice gave you goosebumps. As he stood from his position on the floor, you moved yourself onto your still shaking knees to pull him into a deep kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue. His hands moved to your ass, pulling you so close to him you swore he could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

When you gently cupped his cock through the front of his briefs you felt a wet spot against your palm and Eddie sharply inhaled, pulling away from the kiss. “You want me to return the favor?” You asked sweetly, gently squeezing him through the fabric, and his length throbbed in your fingers.

He gave a nervous laugh, taking you by the wrist and giving you one more tender kiss. “As much as I would love that, and I would love that, I gotta take a raincheck. I wanna be able to last when I’m inside you.” You let out an audible whimper at his words, and then gasped as he gave a playful smack to your ass. “Get on your back, baby.”

At his soft command, you did as you were told, laying back against the soft pillows of your bed with your knees spread. You watched as Eddie fished for a condom in the pocket of his discarded jeans, and once he retrieved the foil packet, took off his briefs. His thick cock was hard, the pink head shining in the lamplight. It was gorgeous, and you told him as much as he settled between your legs, knees propped wide and thighs braced up against the undersides of yours. He blushed and then let out a groan as you took the warm weight of him in your hand, stroked him gently, and ran your fingers over the ridge of his cockhead. He swatted at your hand with the condom packet, and you squawked in surprise. “What did I just say about a raincheck?” He reprimanded, his voice comically high, and you rested your hands on the bed by your head with your palms facing up in surrender as you laughed.

With the condom rolled on, he rocked his hips forward, running his covered cock through your slick folds. He hooked one of your knees in his elbow and planted his hand on the bed sheets next to your waist, shifting your hips and opening yourself up further to him, and when he looked up to meet your eyes, he looked almost giddy. “This is still ok?” He asked.

“Yes, Eddie. Please.” You breathed, and with your express consent, he used his free hand to guide his cock so the blunt head was pressed to your center. He pressed into you steadily and easily thanks to your previous orgasm, but you still whined high in your throat at the burn as your body accommodated the girth of him. Your fingers gently circled your clit to ease the moment of discomfort, and you reached down the slightest bit further to stroke lightly at the base of Eddie’s cock.

“Oh… oh fuck,” He grunted once he was seated fully inside you, working his hips in short thrusts as you got used to the feel of him. “You feel so good.” You reached up for him, grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him down into a searing kiss. When he started to thrust forward more forcefully, you gasped into his mouth and grabbed at the taut bicep of the arm hooked underneath your knee.

He adjusted himself to sit higher on his knees, and the new angle that he maneuvered your hips into made warmth coil low in your belly. “You’re right on my g-spot, oh -- my god.” You moaned brokenly. Encouraged by your wanton squeals, Eddie fucked into you harder, the sound of your ass hitting his hips filling the space of your bedroom.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this.” Eddie hissed, enamored with the blush coloring your cheeks, the swell of your kiss-bitten lips, and the tears brimming in your eyes. “Split open on my cock, taking me so well, angel. So fucking tight around me.” You whimpered at his praise, legs starting to shake around his abdomen. “You close, baby? Tell me what you need.”

“I’m gonna cum, Eddie! Please, keep-- just like that.” You babbled, hand falling to grip the sheets as Eddie’s fingers replaced the ones working at your throbbing clit. Between the tight circles that he traced around your bundle of nerves and the brutal pace that he continued to fuck into you with, your orgasm rolled over you blissfully, surging through your veins and causing your eyes to roll back. You were so lost in your release that you barely registered Eddie pulling out of you before he had his face between your legs again, rolling his tongue over your clit and fingers slipping back inside to stroke at your g-spot and draw out your orgasm as long as he possibly could. You let out a sob as your high crested and your body began to tremble through the aftershocks, eventually having to reach down and grab Eddie by his hair to pull his face from your core before it became too much.

He grinned up at you, planting kisses on your abdomen and the tops of your thighs as you caught your breath. You broke into a tired laugh as soon as you came back to yourself. Gently, he guided you to lay on your stomach. He straddled the back of your thighs, his heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. When he took himself in hand and pressed back into you from behind, he moaned lowly. Your body sang with oversensitivity, and you let out a whimper as he thrusted shallowly, his hands spreading your cheeks so that he could stare down to where your pussy was stretched around the girth of him. “Is this ok?” Eddie asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes, fuck, give it to me. Use me.” You moaned, your cheek pressed to the bed and your hands gripping the sheets of the bed tightly. He made an unholy sound at your go-ahead. He planted a hand against your shoulder and the other against your hip, bracing his weight against you and pinning you to the mattress as he leaned forward to rut into you hard. You clenched your pelvic floor around him, rocking your hips in the slightest bit that he could to meet his thrusts. Eddie grunted out praise of your body, your pussy, and of how good you were from him until he let out a pornographic moan, burying himself in you as deeply as he could as he emptied himself into the condom. He thrusted shallowly a few more times as he rode out his own release before he pulled out, slipping off the condom and tying a knot in the top. As you turned onto your back to look up at him, he held it up with blissfully glazed eyes and a questioning look on his face, and you laughed. “There’s a garbage can in the bathroom.” You told him, and his face lit up comically. He got up from the bed and you watched his broad, sweat-dewy frame disappear from the room.

After a minute or so had passed, Eddie slipped back in the room comically, holding a glass of water. You smiled at him as he placed the glass of water on the nightstand. He then flopped on his back next to you on the bed with enough force to bounce you off of the mattress the slightest bit, making you squawk out a laugh. He pulled you into his arms, kissing you deeply as he pulled your leg to rest over his hip. “That was…” He trailed off, a blissful look on his face.

“Yeah.” You grinned, running your fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck. He placed his head against your sternum and hummed contentedly, and you laid like that for several moments unencumbered by the rest of the world.

“Don’t forget about that water. Hydration is important, and you did invite me over for drinks.” He broke the silence with a quip, tracing patterns onto the muscle of your outer thigh as you laid together. You considered breaking away from the snuggle to reach for the glass, but you weren’t that thirsty and your tired muscles had begun to settle into the softness of the bed and of Eddie’s embrace.

“Maybe the drink we were talking about could be coffee. Over breakfast?” You ask coyly, and Eddie practically beamed up at you, kissing you sweetly.

“I’d like that a lot.” He hummed, burying his face in your neck and littering kisses along the underside of your jaw. The hand that he had on your thigh drifted to your ass and gently squeezed, causing you to roll your hips forward into his. “And I can think of a few things that we could do to pass the time.”

taglist: (which is open! pm me to be added!)

@howlingbarnes @maybe-mikala

#eddie brock x reader #eddie brock one shot #eddie brock smut #venom #venom x reader #my writing #eddie brock imagine #eddie brock x reader smut

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dameferre · 3 years

Note

can we see a snippet from the "penpals!" courferre one :0

of course! i will warn you this will. most likely never see the light of day BUT it’s based off of ‘the year of secret assignments’ by jaclyn moriarty, a... kind of ridiculous book i bought at a charity shop at like. age 10? or something

basically these three sets of teenagers are assigned pen pals at a neighboring school, and hijinks ensue, with one set of penpals giving each other secret assignments (hence the title), the other set of penpals being a girl who writes to a guy who uses a fake name (that plotline ends horribly, it would not have done so in my fic lmao)

one finally one set of penpals (a boy and a girl) decide to start having practice dates, so the guy can hone his skills and ask out a girl he likes, and the girl can critique his form, and... i mean i think we all know how this goes.

anyway, it’s half in letter format, half actual writing the story. here’s a snip! (under the cut because i. couldn’t help myself)

Official Assessment of the Second Meeting By Chance executed by The Lord of Flowers, Combeferre, henceforth referred to as the Subject, as reviewed by Courfeyrac the Ravishing, henceforth referred to as The Operative.

NOTES

When the Operative (and Guest) approached, the Subject smiled very nicely. It was a sort of surprised, warm smile that lit up his face. Did the Subject practice his ‘oh I was hoping to see you and I’m so glad I have’ smile in the mirror?

The Subject did a very good job of consoling the Guest, and as it turns out, the Subject’s height is not as offensive as previously thought, as he holds an umbrella perfectly.

The Subject was much more relaxed this time, and funny, and his hair fluffed a little in the humidity which was adorable. He had a great way of explaining things to the Operative without being patronising, and teased admirably. The Operative spent a good 80% of the walk laughing, but upon writing report can’t remember a specific instance of hilarity. The Subject should have more memorable jokes next time.

Overall, great work Combeferre. You’ll have Feuilly falling over himself to get to you in no time.

Yours,

Courfeyrac the Ravishing

Courfeyrac,

You seem to be losing your touch; that last review lacked the mildly insulting bluntness I’ve grown so accustomed to. Does this mean we’re becoming friends?

Anyway, I’m now, as you would say, ‘balls-deep in tech week’ and halfway through my descent into the deepest pit of hell. The entire production is an original script written by a friend of mine, named Jehan Prouvaire, who decided to rewrite the final scene this weekend. They’re my friend, have been for years, but even I wanted to murder them slowly. The cast is hard at work trying to learn the scene, while I had to stay late last night redoing all the cues.

The worst part of it is, the new ending is fucking fantastic, so we can’t even stay mad at them.

It’s exhausting. Literally exhausting; I got three hours of sleep last night.

Anyway, I’m writing this as a way of avoiding calculus homework. Not that I wouldn’t write to you if I didn’t have calculus homework, but it is harder to just ramble on about my life now that we’ve met in person. I don’t think I ever would have told you about Feuilly if we had met before we started writing. There was something in the anonymity that made it easier, like writing into a diary. I hope you don’t take this as an insult- what I mean to say is that now that I know you, I want you to like me. And by extension, I want you to know a lot less about exactly how lame I am.

Anyway, I wanted to say I won’t be able to make a meeting by chance this week, though I know telling you that ruins some of the fun. If I’m around next week, which is really looking less and less likely every time an actor misplaces a prop or mic pack and I am forced, once again, to weigh the pros and cons of murder, I’d be happy to accidentally run into you on my way home from school.

Side note- Avi(my brother) comes home next week, which lines up nicely with Mom’s birthday and means he’ll be able to see the show. It’ll be nice to have him back. I think you’d like him; he’s the attractive one in the family, and the extrovert. He’s also a mechanical engineer who medal-ed in track when he was my age. Basically, he got all the good genes, but he’s too nice to admit it.

Anyway, calculus beckons.

See you on the other side, Combeferre

p.s. Only you would practice a smile. Mine was genuine, I swear.

My Dearest Combeferre,

FIRST DAY OF PRACTICE STARTS TOMORROW HELL YEAH

I mean, yes, technically the other guys on my team have been practicing for two weeks but I have sadly been out of commission. BUT NOT ANYMORE BABY THE BITCH IS BACK

This will help distract me from the pain and yearning as I wait a whole week to see you again. I’ll be wistfully wandering the moors before Saturday, mark my words.

I’m also fascinated by the idea of a brother who’s you, but more attractive. Does it hurt to look at him directly? Do strangers fall in love on the spot? Is he officially considered a menace to society because he’s caused traffic accidents and ruined weddings by walking past at the wrong moment?

Someone should put a stop to him before things get out of control! No man should wield such power.

The idea that you, of gorgeous cheekbones, perfect hair, jawline, and eyes and face in general, notorious multi-tasker, valedictorian and walking encyclopedia, not to mention polyglot, could think someone else got the good genes means either you are humble to the point of actively lying to yourself or your brother is a minor deity.

Courfeyrac, I can hear you saying, flattery really isn’t necessary.

But it is! Enjolras, who I’ve mentioned before and is my best friend in the whole world, is gorgeous to the point of being inconvenient to look at. I’m a notorious flirt, I know this, and I’m good at it, but we’re not even in the same league when it comes to making people question their sexualities. He walks into a room and you can see half the people inside mentally decide they’re bi-curious. He’s also a raving lunatic and antagonistic asshole, which he openly accepts and takes pride in, but try to tell him he’s attractive and he looks at you like you’ve just suggested he’s got wings or a tail. So what I’m trying to say, I think, is that I’m used to people not realising how good looking they are. And bludgeoning them with compliments is my way of dealing with this.

Anyway. Getting sidetracked.

I’m flattered you use me as a method of procrastination! I’m gonna make myself a button that says ‘more interesting than calculus’ and wear it with pride. Also, is writing to pen pals not mandatory at the Academy? We’re given a half hour block during the study period. When we first started, Enjolras said the whole thing was “infantile and outdated and a waste of time”, but at this very moment he is on page six (6) of his latest aggressive correspondence to his mystery R, even though I saw what R sent him last time and it was, I shit you not, an envelope that was empty except for a tiny (approx. 3 centimeters long) rubber chicken. For context, the one before was a thorough analysis of wage inequality written entirely in pig latin.

I hope one day I meet this person, even if immediately afterwards they steal my kidney or turn me into a newt or whatever minor trickster gods do these days to pass the time when they’re not torturing my best friend.

Anyway, gotta go, stay sane, don’t kill anyone unless you really have to, and if so lemme know and I’ll help you get rid of the body. I know a guy.

Courfeyrac

p.s. I already like you, idiot.

#this little wip exercise is bad for me it makes me want to keep working on all of these lmao #elle writes things #elle answers your questions #anon #courferre

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thatblondeperson · 4 years

Note

So I learnt from that Tim Drake Guy's tumblr that Steph is a bully and abusive with Tim is that true. I ask since I know you seem to agree with a lot of the thoughts expressed on that blog. Can you help me find some examples of Tim/Steph comics. I was going to get YJ but the same tumblr blog says it's bad

So I want to preface with some very solid advice I've learned from being in fandom. It's really hard to learn anything from any blog because so much of it is opinion based, that the line between headcanon and canon gets far too muddied too often, and there's also always going to be biases that come from very personal spaces. It's important to take everything that every blog says ESPECIALLY in the DC fandom, with a very large grain of salt because half the fandom really doesn't actually seem to source their information with anything other than out of context panels, shitposts, or their own perfect ideals of what they want to gleam from the pages of each comic. It's all interpretive, and I'm sure that sounds a little bit petty, but I'm adding myself in here too because I have my own opinions separate from others, despite my firm ideology in staying as close to canon as I possibly can.

As far as that blog, I actually strayed away from them because I no longer agreed with a lot of what was being said. It got to the point where it was getting very unnecessarily negative all the time, and I want no part in this ship war that drives practically every bit of drama in the Tim fandom. I think that there is a lot of merit to some of the opinions on that blog, and they're clearly an expert on Tim in many ways. I knew them personally, so I can attest to that. But I think they also read only what they WANT to read on every page, and I think that makes for a lot of gaps where misinformation can leak in. That got filled with a lot of straight up wrong assessments of Stephanie Brown, and unfortunately that blog was already prime traffic for antis to spew unnecessary hate, so once the blog itself got on board, I tapped out.

No, Stephanie is not an abuser or a bully. I think tumblr throws around the word abuse far too casually. At most, Steph teases Tim, but never to a malicious or purposefully hurtful extent. She pokes at him, just like you would with a best friend. He barely even protests. A simple "Steph..." every now and again, but he even teases her back often and jokes with her. She's not an abuser, in fact, she herself is a victim of severe abuse in her childhood. Her flirting at the beginning of her and Tim's relationship is a bit intense, but she's 15, and doesn't know how to catch his attention. Her boyfriend was clearly way older than her and did not treat her well, her father abused her mother, and she was sexually harassed by her father's friends. She's never seen a healthy relationship to know how to act. Once they get together, she mellows out and is actually very compassionate and kind with Tim, and especially supportive.

A lot of haters throw around all this terrible stuff she did.

They say she stole Robin from Tim. He stepped away from the mantle, and she thought she caught him cheating, and Bruce opened up the opportunity for her.

They highlight a time when she almost blew Tim up. Bruce told her to do something drastic to force Tim to be a better Robin. Should she have thought it through? Yes. But she was young, and still desperate to prove herself.

Steph is a loose canon throughout a lot of her appearances. She doesn't always think before she acts, and that is one of her major flaws. She gets into trouble often, and that causes a lot of tension between her and Tim, often from him becoming overprotective of her.

Steph starts out fairly cynical in the beginning and softens up over time. After the explosion stunt with Tim, she does get her act together and she goes through a fantastic character arc where she really improves upon herself. She becomes a beacon of hope, but she really already was one. She's always been a source of light for Tim. She's a constant tether for him throughout their relationship, and she constantly bringing him back to reality. I think their dynamic is really great, and it does hurt me a lot how often she gets dragged through the mud now. It's tumblr, what can you do?

It's also interesting to me how often Steph is called out for being the unhealthy one, and they never talk about how Tim was the shitty boyfriend way more often:

Kept his identity from her but didn't respect keeping hers private

Kissed her when he was dating someone else at the time (he's actually kinda known for subtle two-timing, but this is hardly brought up by fans)

Essentially stalked her for a while

Often told her she needed to stop being Spoiler (overprotective nature yes...but still)

Interesting how the relationship is only toxic because of Steph. Hell she even gets shit for getting upset that Greta straight up tried to kill her in Young Justice, because they think it was selfish of her that she was desperate to learn Robin's identity. Yeah sorry...murder vs wanting to know your crushes name? Which is worse?

I'm also not going to sit here and demand that everyone love Steph. It's ok that people don't like her, I could give 2 shits, but if they're gonna spew hate, I'd prefer it be rooted in truth. Some of what I see written about her is just so so wrong...there's a trend in anti culture to even write her as Tim's rapist which YIKES. That's so beyond a healthy amount of dislike for a character.

Anyway, comic recs!!!

Detective Comics 647-648. (First appearance of Steph/Spoiler with classic "love at first brick" moment.)

Robin 57-65 (First date issue which is the cutest thing ever. Robin does a little flip at the end because he's so happy. And the chronology of Steph being pregnant which Tim was supportive of the whole time. Super sweet)

Robin 100-104 (Steph gets sick and Tim brings her soup. Lots of cute domestic moments, and you get more into Steph's past)

Robin 111 (more about Steph's past with Tim being super supportive, also the infamous piano issue which is a personal favorite of mine)

Robin 116 (very cute moments after Tim forgets his bday and everyone, Steph included, surprises him)

Robin 119 (supportive bf Tim, strikes again)

Robin 120 (Steph being an amazing supportive gf)

Batgirl 8 (Steph's run, where she and Tim collide again for the first time in a long time. Awkwardness and tension ensues, Tim tries to make a move)

Red Robin 10 (more crossover, very fun. More awkwardness and tension)

Convergence Batgirl (Not the best run, but a nice bit of closure for the pre flashpoint universe. Very sweet and wholesome.)

There's way more that I could list but I'm awful with issue numbers tbh. I know the stories, but I don't have the catalogue memorized. Better people than me have probably made a masterlist of TimSteph comics lol

I don't think you should let any blog turn you away from any particular series. I think if you wanna try out the new YJ, go for it!! I'm very cynical to anything published post 2011, but YJ is the only thing I've consistently read that's NEW, in years. I find it fun. Is it the best? No, not by miles, and it gets stuck with a lot of nonsensical filler often. But it's still a very cute and fun run.

I hope this ask gave you a lot of good info! I also recommend the very long post that should be just below this that goes into a lot of fandom misconceptions about Stephanie brown with more picture examples to highlight everything. Thanks for the ask, anon! I hope you have a lovely time reading these comics and hopefully many more!!

🖤💜❤😊😊😊❤💜🖤

#TimSteph #stephanie brown #tim drake #robin iii #robin iv #spoiler #batgirl #red robin #dc comics #batfamilly #batfam #personal #ask tbp

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socialcasualty · 4 years

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thismcrning:

✩ ↷ ヽ it was so easy to lean into any kiss tj were to give him . even with the other male’s hands on him like they were, silas still felt the romance swirl inside of him . he even giggles for a split second thinking about how they must look to other people — and also how silas just can’t find it in him to care . then tj does something oh so cute … he turns around and crouches down, catching the smaller boy off guard for a moment . the once soft eyes turn excited, growing wide and staring at his boyfriend for only a mere second before his little feet leave the ground and he is being carried away on the back of his boyfriend . silas carefully wraps his arms sweetly yet tightly around tj’s neck to hold on, skinny legs wrapped around his sides to be held by his boyfriend’s longer arms . this right here was what silas lived for in their relationship — the way tj could bring out the child in him in an instant . it was a simple action but one that made silas so, so happy no matter how he was feeling . he was probably so light compared to other things tj had done, which was a blessing, giving silas leeway to lay fully on the other boy while upon his back . the grin on the smaller boy’s face is clear as day to show his happiness at how tj is carrying him on his back down the block and back to the house . suddenly, his arm stretches out and he points in the direction tj has started going . ❝ onward ! ❞ silas calls out a little too loudly .

ah, but tj had told silas to tell him about his day, didn’t he ? well, let’s just hope tj is ready to hear a mouthful . silas, with arm wrapped nicely back around his boyfriend’s shoulders, begins . ❝ hmm … well my day was okay . i had class today and i had to do groupwork with this girl who always tries to clown me for my keychains— ❞ he starts with his eyes rolling up to the sky in thought . ❝ at least, i think, ❛cause she constantly plays with them and asks me about them with really obvious questions . i can’t really read her . ❞ he then produces a small shrug and his eyes fall back onto the side of tj’s head . ❝ work was good though . the kids are learning the alphabet and we talked about the letter b today . ❞ silas then shows that grin from before and pinches tj’s cheek very lightly when he says, ❝ you know, like, b is for … boyfriend . ❞ after giggling, silas wraps his arms around tj once more, tighter this time, his cheek now resting on the back of tj’s head . his eyes soon close . ❝ we have a kid moving up next week and i am not looking forward to it … i’ll miss them . but they are also kinda bad … too smart for our class now . ❞ then a sigh comes from his nose . ❝ how about you ? ❞ silas then asks . ❝ i missed you lots, ❞ he repeats . ❝ how was your day today ? did you get some practice in ? what time is your next basketball game again ? ❞ silas piles question after question upon tj, but it is his way of showing his pure love and affection .

☆ﾟ*・ﾟ taejeong feels his boyfriend’s arms wrap around his neck for balance and he’d hold his little hands if he could ;;;; still, he kept his own hands holding the back of silas’ thighs, keeping him secure on his back. and at the other’s exclamation, he followed with a chuckle, jumping a little so silas would feel the impact, and started to walk down the road back to the their house. silas could always get him sporting the silliest smile on his face, no matter when or how---- he didn’t even have to try, and he’d get the tallest of the two smiling, ridiculously in love. that was one of the reasons taejeong didn’t bother to hide his feelings for the other, ever since they started hiding behind trees and locking each other’s lips in heated kisses. why would he lie ? yes, it wasn’t news taejeong had his share of situations regarding their relationship but his feelings were always left cristal clear. tj thought that since he doubted himself so much, there was no point in making silas doubt yet another part of him. he wasn’t the most reliable or efficient guy around, he knew so, but he would never the other doubt his feelings for him. it took him a while to say the four letters but anyone could see how, even when they were just fooling around like the two young souls they were, tj’s eyes carried love whenever it’d meet the other’s gaze. so it wouldn’t be now, that he finally gets to call silas his, that he’d begin being shy about the exciting familiar sensation he’d get whenever he was close to him. turning his face sideways a little, tj asked softly, “ kiss. ” before paying attention to silas’ recall of his day.

as he walked, he smiled fondly at the sensation of silas’ chest vibrating a little as he talked, and being able to feel it ever so slightly since they were so close. to the mention of someone upsetting the other, taejeong furrowed his brow, paying attention to where he stepped but also turning his a little to the right to catch a glimpse of silas’ expression, assessing the context. was he upset? because if so, he needed to help him feel better again--- stopping his wonders midway, silas changed subjects and tj made a mental note to tell him exactly what he thought of the situation. chuckling a little at the mention of the word boyfriend, taejeong nodded his head a few times in agreement---- yes, he was the boyfriend. slightly cooing, he heard the other explain he’d miss this kid that’s moving up classes and almost involuntarily, tj’s lips curled in a little pout. “ awe, i’m sorry, baby… hopefully he’ll do great on this next class, huh? ” he tries, his steps a little slow, almost as if he was trying to have as much of that moment he was sharing with silas as possible. “ i hope you get so see him around there, too? also… ” he started, looking back at him as his faced turned a little to the side once more. “ i love your keychains. ” he could already see their place a few steps ahead but still, he kept holding silas, determined to only let him go once they were headed inside. smiling at the sudden burst of questions from his other half, he replied just as excitedly, “ we had a day off today, baby. we met on that court we hang out and just had burgers after--- my next game is in two weeks. you know who’s coming to be my personal cheerleader ? ”

#baby this sucks ok it probably makes no sense #☆ﾟ*・ﾟ teaching me how to finally feel free { taejeong / silas }#☆ﾟ*・ﾟ interactions { taejeong }

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walker-journal · 4 years

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Seeking Sanctuary (Bex + Adam)

Participants: Bexley Ochsenstein (Spellcaster by Envy), Adam Walker (Hunter by Tapir)

Context: Two very unlike people encounter each other at the temple, and voice mutual doubts in a discussion about the nature of faith and identity.

Content Warnings: Religious Idealization, Discussions of Sexism and Transphobia (civil discussion), Mentions of post-traumatic stress and military conflict

Faith for Adam was a complicated subject. You’d think that knowing for certain that demons, life after death, magic, and souls existing would make faith easy. Adam technically knew the answers to alot of questions your average believer struggled with. There was no dread mystique to supernatural evil when your parents had taught you which tentaclely organs the laser beams came from. But that was exactly the problem.

Adam had grown up with Hell and all your worst nightmares simply being objective fact, an everyday reality that needed to be fought with tactics, technology, and sacrifice.

But although Adam was well acquainted with the forces of darkness, the supposed other side of the equation was very noticeably absent. Where was the Light in all of this?

Being a practical dude, Adam would’ve normally just dismissed tangential stuff that didn’t help you in the trenches, as Dad had...except...Adam had also warded off plenty of spooks with sacred symbols and watched with his own eyes as holy water burned undead killing machines to sterile dust.

What was the creator smoking? Fuck if Adam knew.

Adam turned his gaze from absently contemplating The Ark whose displayed scriptural scrolls dominated the front of the synagogue. There weren’t alot of people here today, but Adam found a familiar face in the pews nonetheless.

“How goes it Odelia?”

Prayer was something Bexley had never really gotten the hang of. She knew all the prayers to recite during Yom Kippur and Passover. She had memorized the passages for her bat mitzvah, and she had memorized enough to get through Temple. But when it came to personal prayer, when it came to sitting in Temple alone and staring up at the alter and around the pews, Bexley had no idea what to do. She hadn’t figured it out in her twenty years of life, the disconnect from her faith a struggle. It was something her parents had noticed, but never pointed out, because Bexley tried-- oh did she try-- to connect with the world the way she knew they wanted her to. And it wasn’t that she didn’t want to or couldn’t, but, rather, that she felt so outside of it.

She was not born in the right body. Though the Torah made no mentions of people like her, the bittersweetness of it still tunneled her vision of it. How was she supposed to connect with something that wanted to pretend she didn’t exist?

But she wasn’t here today about that part of her. She was here today about the part of her that kept exploding things. Breaking them. Nell’s pot still sat heavy on her mind. It was a ridiculous thing to be kneeling in a pew about, but here she was. She wanted whatever it was to stop. She wanted to have some sort of control over it. She was practically begging for the help when a voice cut through her mind.

“Adam?” She turned to look over at him, startled slightly. “I-- sorry. What’re you doing here? N-not that you can’t be here! I just...you don’t really seem the type to just...come to temple... “

Adam was generally inclined to agree with that assessment. Between dating a woman who had a Beanie Baby collection of demons and committing more degrees of murder than existed in any legal code, the Hunter was pretty sure Bex was being overgenerous with his being allowed in here.

“Last night’s DIE party was the kind you need to get sanctified after,” Adam asserted as he plopped down unceremoniously in the pew in front of Bex. “You should come sometime.” he wheedled playfully. “Make sure you have plenty to repent for on Saturday.”

But after a moment Adam paused, the mischief of flirting with a lawyer-dude’s girlfriend fading. Dark brown eyes looked over Bex again, this time without lewdness or jest.

“How’re you holding up Bex,” Adam asked quietly with more intentionality than the previous address.

As Bex looked at Adam, she tried to pinpoint exactly what it was that Nell saw in him. Maybe it was something she couldn’t see, because all she saw was a rather lewd frat boy, who sometimes had that far away sad look in his eyes. Maybe that was really just the persona he wanted others to see-- Bex could relate to that. The happy, chipper girl she pretended to be in public for her parents wasn’t who she was at all, and her being here right now sort of proved that. She had to look away from him, furrowing her brow and smoothing her palms down the front of her dress. She always tried to look nice when coming to Temple.

“I don’t think those kinds of parties are really my style,” she answered quietly. Took a moment to look around to make sure there wasn’t anyone too familiar in here with them. But it was relatively empty today, with only a few people milling about and the Rabbi making rounds before disappearing back into his office. Her eyes settled back on Adam and he had that sad look again. He even used her right name.

“I’m fine,” she said curtly, “just...getting used to being back in White Crest. Kind of a whole different world out there than it is here, you know?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s the real reason you’re here, Adam? Repentance also doesn’t seem up your alley.”

While Adam had been trained to deceive and achieve invisibility by fulfilling others assumptions, he wasn’t so far gone that Bex’s directness couldn’t still get a rise from him. Adam blinked and his face became briefly uncertain, as if the Hunter had flubbed a line in a script and broken character in front of an audience of one. “I’ve gotten in over my head,” the murderer admitted after a time.

“I’ve been trying to just tough it out,” the Hunter continued, referring to the abuse and torments of a demonic cult in the tone someone else might’ve used for minor health difficulties. “But I’ve running on fumes for so long now that like...eventually you’ve got nothing left. No more second winds, no just pushing on through,” the athlete explained.

“I’ve never like been close to really hitting that wall one other time before,” admitted Adam in memory of when his power and faith had shattered on Lyssa’s peak. “I’m uh, not liking my chances here.”

Adam encompassed the synagogue’s interior with a vague sweeping gesture that implied that perhaps the soldier wasn’t so much seeking redemption as reaching anything to keep from plummeting off a cliff.

“Do you prefer the world out there Bex?”

Bex looked at Adam and listened to his words. Whatever he was going through, it seemed rough on him, like it was wearing him down. Sands blasting down his walls and carving them away, smoothing them away. Eventually, they would become nothing. Just like hers. She felt a pull at her heart and she had to look away to not totally give up her shiny exterior. Cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes.

“Don’t you have like, people to help you?” she asked. “You know you don’t have to go it alone. That’s sorta the point of community.” She gestured to the area around them. There were so many other people he could’ve gone to bother, why did he have to choose her? Still, a sense of curiosity pulled at her. And empathy. She knew what it felt like to be at the end of your rope. Her hands wrung together.

“What, um-- what happened? If you don’t mind me asking. Are you okay?” Was he dying? Did Nell know? She paused at his question. “I...prefer the world that I know I can interact with. It’s easy to...pretend to be something there.”

“There is someone helping me”, Adam admitted, “and I’m thankful I’ve got her help on this, but uh... “ The Hunter ran a hand across the back of his neck. “That’s kinna the problem y’know? Worried I’m just going to drag her down with me.”

Bex seemed to genuinely inquire about his welfare, which was kinna touching. As always, Adam had to weigh the difference between the necessary lies and giving the other people enough of the truth as he could. “There is a group in town that I think are into some really dangerous stuff,” was definitely a criminal level of understatement. “But I need evidence and to catch them in the act to make a citizen’s arrest,” Adam concluded. It was technically a lie, but as closest to the spirit of the truth as he could manage without going straight into Twilight Zone territory.

It was dangerous to say out loud. But as much as Adam hated to admit it, against an adversary like Ma’al these hallowed walls were probably studier than any military bunker.

“Why do you wanna pretend Bex? What makes this place hard to interact with,” Adam asked slowly, kinna intuiting what she might mean in his gut, but not wanting to jump to conclusions here.

“Is it Nell?” Bex asked, blurting the words before she could stop them. She paused, recoiled and bit the inside of her cheek. “Sorry. Not to sound weird, but I met Nell on campus and then we got talking and she sort of told me about you guys.” She burned to ask Adam if he knew that his girlfriend claimed to be a witch, and wondered what his faith-- their faith-- would have to say about that. She wondered a lot of things about Adam, actually, and Nell was one of those things.

“I think...if she didn’t want to be helping, she would say so. I think worrying about that is pointless.” Not that Bex knew Nell super well, but from what she’d seen of her, Nell didn’t seem the sort to do something out of obligation. She shifted, and leaned back.

“Whatever you’re up to, it sounds illegal and dangerous, and I’m studying law, so maybe don’t tell me what you’re doing,” she pointed out quietly, giving another wary glance around. She scratched her knees awkwardly.

“That’s...complicated, I guess,” she mumbled, furrowing her brows. “I want to pretend because...maybe one day I can’t stop pretending and it’ll be real. I know this might seem strange, Adam, but the world isn’t kind to people like me. Out there, in here--” she gestured around them, “it’s all kind of the same.”

“Oh,” Adam mouthed, feeling like a dumbass. Adam was typically immune to embarrassment or society anxiety, one of those side benefits of being conditioned to ignore fear and pain that might trouble therapists. Normally Adam would only grin and make lewd implications at the prospect of women talking in private about him. It’d never bothered him before, but for some reason the thought of Nell specifically doing so brought on a precarious uncertainty. “Yeah you’re right, I know you're right,” Adam repeated, “but still…” Knowing something doesn’t mean it can’t fuck you head anyway.

“Don’t you think we need to do illegal and dangerous stuff sometimes?” pointed out the vigilante.

Adam watched Bex’s face as she explained, his expression softened by a touch of awkward compassion but not comprehension. “Look I uh...can’t pretend to know what it's like,” he admitted. “This world is pretty dickish to women and I’m definitely not innocent of that, but there’s gotta be somewhere, or somebody, that can feel like a safe place y’know?”

“But still...what?” Bex prodded. She didn’t mean to pry, but she was curious by nature. And she began to develop a sort of friendship with Nell, so concern wrought itself through her face as she watched Adam. He always seemed so typical, but for some reason, up close like this with him, he seemed somewhat...different. There was something mysterious about him, about the way he talked. The things he hinted at. The casualness of his attitude, and the ruffling of his brow at the mention of Nell. Bex looked back down.

“No, I don’t,” Bex said, repeating the mantra in her head that her parents always told her. Be good, be polite, be strong. She tried her best to follow those, but she didn’t get them all the time. “My family is pretty strict about that stuff.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle hollowly. “I was kinda hoping that’s what I’d find here,” she admitted quietly, “but no one ever answers me.”

Adam let out a long exhale between his lips as he tried to scrape together some words to describe a gut feeling. Visceral stuff didn’t tend to lend itself to explanation very well, but here goes: “I’ve mostly ever done casual relationships,” Adam began. “I can’t do halfway stuff like...I’m not wired that way,” admitted the young fanatic. “Either it’s just a fuck.” Adam put a hand on one side of the pew’s back. “Or you care enough about them to give up everything,” Adam’s hand shifted to the other side of pew, perhaps indicating that the Hunter’s conception of intimacy was either a roll in the sheets or devotion to the point of self-sacrifice.

“Nell and I are trying something new for both of us,” Adam posited,”I care about her, but also don’t want to go so all in we can’t find a way out,” the Hunter said, perhaps talking about two things at once. “But as I said, not so great at halfway.”

Bex’s desolate mirth at divine silence gave Adam pause. His dark brown eyes flicked up to the synagogue's arched ceiling, as if checking to see if any angels happened to be fluttering about the eves.

“When I was on tour in Saudi Arabia,” the young soldier began after a while, eyes still contemplating the interlacing triangle mosaics. “One of my squaddies was this dude named Hasan. I was a dumass...ok dumbasser.. teenager and didn’t know shit about Islam and my Arabic was terrible,” Adam continued. “But like, we were on patrol together alot so we talked about stuff. One day we were looking at this camp full of bodies all ripped apart and shit,” the Hunter continued with conversational casualness, neglecting to mention that he and Hasan were not patrolling the wastelands against their fellow men.

“Hasan prayed over them before we bared what was left and I asked him later how he could possibly feel close to God out here, with all the blood and fucking torn up meat all over the sand. I was kinna messed up and lost my cool,” the Hunter confessed numbly, as if assuming that Bex would rightly judge him for this unacceptable lapse of composure on the battlefield. “Hasan just said that even here, even in this, Allah is not absent, We are no farther from his presence, evil is just distracting us from it.”

Adam’s lips creased into a rueful smile, “we talked more after that, he told me about this sage Rabia who was like this zero-wave feminist who went into the desert to chill with God and do survivalism.” The Hunter’s tone indicated that he himself might have considered going full wilderness anarchist on multiple occasions. “She was super smart and kind to the people who went out there to learn from her, unless they were offering marriage in which case she told them to fuck off,”

Scholars might’ve contested this summary, but Adam had learned about Sufi mysticism from Hasan in between filling hordes of Alghouls full of silver buckshot, so perhaps parsimony was forgivable.

“Anyway, Rabia’s whole deal I guess was that she found that like..mosques, patriarchy, the state and all that shit pulled her farther away from God,” Adam continued in the manner of someone who’d emotionally connected with what his brother in arms had described, even if neither of the young warriors really had a handle on the deeper theology. “Love was where she felt God. Love for herself, love even for the sand and all the scorpions, the joy of just being alive.”

Adam’s eyes finally left the ceiling and found Bex’s face. The young man scratched his temple in a sudden fit of bashfulness in the wake of reminiscence. “Ok uh, I dunno where I was going with that but...I’m shit at this...but I guess uh.. like ...maybe a temple is wherever you feel closer to God, even if that's a desert or even just a state of mind.”

“I’m still trying to find my temple,” the fallen Hunter admitted.

As Adam talked, Bex listened. Really listened. She’d had no idea he was a soldier, or that he’d been on tour. She’d gone to Jerusalem once with her parents, and her mother had looked down at her and told her to be on her best behavior, because she was already wrong for being in the temple of their God. She remembered the harsh look her father had given her as they’d entered and she was wearing a dress and her favorite shoes and he’d scoffed. Maybe that was where her disconnect had spawned from.

Adam’s story broke her heart a little.

Bex couldn’t even imagine the pain of seeing so much carnage. Her sheltered life had let her grow up in relative peace. Death was not a part of her life. Shame was, though. Shame and guilt. She could relate to him on those things, even if it pained her to admit that.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” she finally said quietly, “that you went through all that.” She’d judged him preemptively, but he was perhaps suffering more than most anyone else in this Temple. “You know, for a frat guy, you’re pretty wise,” seh tacked on quietly with a tease. Perhaps now she could see why Nell liked him so much.

“I don’t know Nell that well yet, but it sounds like you really care about her. I definitely can’t give relationship advice, I’ve never even been in a real one--” she gave pause, stuttering over her words. Frank, her current “boyfriend” was a cover, and she’d just given that up, “--until now! But...what I’m trying to say is, I think it’s okay to not know. I think figuring it out together is kinda like...the point, you know? Of being with someone like that. Of trying new things.” Things she only wished she could try, could have. He was looking at her with those bashful, knowing eyes and she had to look away.

“This place scares me,” she admitted quietly, “White Crest.” She rubbed her arm, pulling into herself. “My parents always kept me so locked away, even when I lived here. And now I’ve been back for almost two months and already I feel like this place is trying to change me, take me away from the person I’m supposed to be.” She looked up at the ceiling, mirroring his movements from moments ago. “I guess I just wanted answers.” The ceiling told her nothing, and she looked down to meet his eyes again.

“You and me both, then,” she answered his last statement, the same sort of broken admittance ringing in her voice, “Guess we’ll just have to keep searching, huh?” Because there had to be something better than this, for both of them.

Adam stared at Bex for a moment at her condolence, stunned, as if genuinely not understanding why a story of battlefield carnage had elicited that reaction.

“Well uh,” a red blush crept up Adam’s neck as if Bex’s compassion had unmanned him more then any debauchery or public streaking ever had. “It’s not ...I didn’t mean it like..” the Hunter insisted as if associating the long war with suffering was something unthinkable. Perhaps it was even literally unthinkable, an emotional descent Adam didn’t think he could survive.

“It’s an honor to serve,” Adam insisted quietly. Even disgraced, powerless, and at the edge breaking, the Hunter couldn’t abandon what was killing him.

“You’re pretty understanding for a church girl,” Adam answered back to the praise he didn’t deserve, the crease at the edge of his soft smile hinting at a deeper more serious compliment underneath the playful plaudit.

If Adam intuited something off about how abruptly and awkwardly Frank entered and left the conversation, he kept his peace.

There were things Adam wished he could tell Bex about White Crest, about why her fears were valid and his gut feeling that this city was in a liminal space between Earth and the fathomless unknown. But preserving supernatural secrecy was one of the sacred charges his ancestors had passed down, and Adam couldn’t bring himself to break it even when it seemed they’d abandoned him.

Besides, Bex seemed worried about White Crest killing her spiritually, while Adam had his hands full trying to prevent much more literal death in vamp infested graveyards.

“Yeah guess so…” Adam stood as if he were about to go, but paused, mulling over Bex’s words again. Locked up? Take her away from who she was meant to be? Aw shit. Uneasy vibes compelled Adam to speak even when his brain warned he should stay the hell outta this. “Hey Bex, like if its ever too much,” he began slowly, “I know people you stay with. On the other side of the country, or the Holy Land even.” Mom never turned away guests in need...well, human ones.

“Sorry if that’s pushy,” Adam ameliorated, “and you can tell me to fuck off. But like...offer open.”

His embarrassment was almost immediate and Bex couldn’t help but roll her eyes a little. He might’ve had a seeming heart of gold, but he still tried to apply certain standards of masculinity to himself. She supposed some things would never really change. Still, it didn’t discredit anything else he’d said, or that he’d done. “Well I did,” she answered, “mean it like that.”

At that, Bex snorted. “Church girl?” she chuckled, shaking her head. “Seriously? That’s what you think of me? Geez, I kinda hate that. Maybe I was right before, pretending I could solve my problems myself instead of coming here.” She was mostly teasing, but there was some truth to it. She hadn’t entirely found her purpose or sense of self within her faith yet, even as hard as she’d tried to. She had books about Jewish spiritualism-- Kabbalah as it were-- but after her parents had found the first one, their anger had made her never want to open one again, despite her curiosity for them. Despite what little she had read about it giving her a connection she’d never felt before.

His offer, however, was sudden and abrupt and not at all what she’d expected him to say. She blinked, confused, before softening her expression and shaking her head. “That’s real sweet of you to offer, Adam, but I could never take you up on that.” Her parents would never allow it. They’d brought her back here specifically to keep her close, and she had a feeling she wasn’t going to be let out of their grasp for a long time now.

Her expression fell again, as he stood and started to make his way out. “You know, Adam,” she said, a bit quieter now, “you’re a good guy. I can’t tell you what to do, but I think maybe letting people see this side of you more often might be nice.” She gave a gentle smile. “I’ll see you around. Tell Nell hi for me.”

#seeking sanctury #para #ptsd tw #sexism tw #transphobia tw

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bubblebuckys · 5 years

Text

𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

chapter warnings: none, i think, but don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything i should add

word count: 1.6k

a/n: just letting you know, this is a written chapter, and it's unedited. taglist is opening. reblogs make me happy

series masterlist —— main masterlist

The line rings a couple more times, and you’re sure James isn’t going to answer, but just as you prepare to press the little red button before you can get sent to voicemail, the line connects and a gravelly voice rings in your ear.

“Sweetheart?”

Oh wow, his voice.

Your breath stalls. His voice. Oh, wow. James hadn’t been at all enthusiastic when you asked if he would ever send you a picture of himself. You let it go immediately because you knew how being unsure of your looks felt. It had taken a while to be comfortable taking a selfie, and then another while to post any. You also knew how it felt when people tried to convince you you were pretty. You knew you were pretty. But other people online, strangers especially, could be assholes.

But over the months, you had left subtle hints that James had nothing to worry about. You liked him because he was funny, smart, compassionate, and sweet.

His voice was just another plus.

“Y/N?” James asks, his voice now unsure compared to before when it had been a mixture of excitement and curiosity.

Your head shakes and you breathing resumes. “Hey! Hi.” Clearing your throat so you don’t sound too excited, because, yeah, that totally works, you continue. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t answer.”

His low chuckle sends a thrill down your spine. “Sorry. I was watching a movie and didn’t want anyone to hear us.”

“Oh,” you frown. “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting time with your friends?”

“Nono!” There’s a clatter and a slight thumping on the other end. “We live together and they kinda dragged me into a movie night. Trust me, you’re saving me.”

“Well, what movie was it?” you laugh before another question comes to mind. “How many friends do you live with?”

There’s a pause.

“Like, ten.” Another godsent laugh rings through the speaker. “Usually.”

“Usually? Ten?”

James inhales sharply. “Uh, yeah. We live in a pretty big place together, and some have their own place but stay over sometimes.”

“Like a never-ending sleepover. Sounds fun.” You think. You’d only ever been to one sleepover in your life and it had ended for you when you began crying for your mom to pick you up early.

“Sometimes it is. But other times we bud heads a lot.” Despite the words, there’s a fondness in his voice that reveals the annoyance that may come with living with so many friends add to happy memories. “Like tonight, one wanted to watch Star Trek and Clint wanted to watch Mean Girls or something.”

“Mean Girls?” Your ear practically perk up. You could enjoy Star Trek, but—Mean Girls.

“You know it?”

And you would have laughed this question off had he said it sarcastically, because who doesn’t know it, but James’s voice pitches a note higher in surprise, and whatever he had been doing that made background noise ceases.

Just to be sure, you laugh. “Who doesn’t?”

James stays quiet.

“James—” a pause, and you whisper, “I don’t know your last name,” before continuing with a stronger voice. “James Just James, are you telling me you’ve never even heard of Mean Girls before tonight?”

“. . . James Just James has not,” he admits. He’s embarrassed, but amusement seeps into his words so he knows you’re partly teasing, thank god.

James once confirmed to you indirectly that he lives in New York and, now that you hear his voice, has a strong Brooklyn accent. So you’re assuming he at least spent his childhood in Brooklyn, and you refuse to believe anyone who’s spent so much time in the country hasn’t at least heard of the movie unless they’re living without technology, which is impossible because you’re on the phone with him and he tweets with an iPhone.

“So what movie did you guys settle on?” You take a sip from the drink James bought you, frowning a bit because you know James was right about the cramps and now you feel a little guilty. Then you laugh as you begin reaching for your laptop where you have your movies stored.

A sigh sounds from the line, and you get the feeling that James knows what you’re doing. “Star Trek won.” And then something that resembles a whimper leaves him. “You should be honored. I like those movies, but I chose to talk to you, and now I’m taking this abuse.”

You bite your lip. “Do you want to go back to your movie night with your friends?”

The question holds extra weight than it normally would. It’s an attempt to find where you stand with him and an out.

“I really don’t.” His voice was already deep the second you heard it, but it drops a few octaves. For what, you’re not sure, but it is definitely appreciated. Maybe he did it so he got his point across, but it doesn’t have his desired effect. He just said he wants to talk to you in a voice that has you feeling twenty degrees hotter.

Your brain buffers and you lose track of what you were doing, so you hum. “Cool.” What had you just been talking about?

Internet Explorer level speed and alertness.

It isn’t until you feel the cold liquid of your drink that had tipped over and was slowly leaking onto your thighs and bedsheets that you gain awareness.

“Shit.” Even then, you move through figurative molasses before shaking your head and rushing to pick the drink up and move over to assess the damage.

It’s only a small spot on your comforter, your pajama pants taking most of the spill, and most of what’s left of the drink is the strawberries and ice.

“What’s wrong?”

And because you’re still not completely back online yet, you say, “I wet the bed. And my pants.”

Internet. Explorer.

The extra twenty degrees are back, but for all the wrong reasons, and along with it are chills at the horror of what came from your mouth. You face twists at the odd blend of stimulus on your body.

James’s laughter reverberates throughout your cramped studio apartment, and you groan. “That’s not what I meant.” But you’re sure he doesn’t hear you over the sound of his own guffaws.

You like how he sounds laughing this joyfully, but damn the context.

“I—” he nearly chokes on his own words, and what started as a laughing fit has now turned into a mix of laughing and fighting to breathe. Finally, he coughs one last time and inhales deeply to obtain whatever air he lost. “I’m sorry. You what?” His voice is shaky on account of trying to repress any lingering giggles he still has within him.

You sigh and squish your cheeks to keep your own smile down. “I spilled the drink a bit.”

He laughs lightly for a couple more seconds at your admission. “How?”

“Uh.” And now you’re sweating. How do you say your voice makes me weak without sounding like a creep? “I was distracted.”

He lets loose the remaining laughs he had held back for your benefit. And now you can’t hide your own smile, and soon enough you chuckles join his.

As he’s catching his breath again, you make your way to you dresser to pull out another pair of bottoms. “Hey,” you call because you left your phone on speaker on your bed. “Would you like to watch Mean Girls so you’re not the only person in the world who doesn’t know about it anymore?”

“How?”

You jump back onto the bed, grabbing hold of your laptop in the middle of your rolling. “You have FaceTime right?”

“Uhh . . . I think I have it,” he mutters.

You’re first worries when you first met James was that he had actually been an old man. You want to roll your eyes. No, no. He wasn’t an old man, but he sounded as technologically inept as one.

“It should be an option on the call screen,” you help, clicking on the movie and pausing before it can begin. “I really can’t believe how you even knew about Twitter in the first place.”

“My friend said I made too many bad jokes and needed to find a way to share them without actually saying them. My other friend showed me a video on it the next day.” He sounds distracted as he looked for the aforementioned option. “Found it. But, would you be able to see my face?”

“Only if you want me to,” you assured quickly, setting your phone on the makeshift stand that you had placed on your windowsill. You aimed it at an angle that would allow James to watch the movie with you. “I won’t be looking at my phone, and you can flip your camera so only whatever’s in front of you is showing.”

A second later, there’s a vibrating beside you and you only peek at the screen for a second so you’re sure your finger is on the right place to answer the call.

“Hey,” you greet, again, to make sure the sound’s alright.

He laughs when you poke your head into the camera’s line of sight when the lack of response worries you. “Sorry, I was getting comfortable.”

“Okay, are you sure you want to watch this movie? Or did I pressure you to say yes?”

James hums his affirmation. “I want to watch it. Clint said it was a comedy.”

You smile, giddy at finally talking to him, instead of messaging, even if it was on the phone. First date, pops into your head without your say, but you brush it off. It wasn’t a date. Even though you always thought staying in to watch movies together would make for a cute date.

You press the spacebar at his okay and watch as the Paramount opening begins.

< two-and-a-half —— four >

taglist: @marvelshit99 @jhangelface0523 @willowtree42095 @moshymosh @a-book-pressed-rose

#Polyonymous #social media au #avengers social media au #bucky barnes social media au #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barness x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

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solesurvivorpaigeargot · 4 years

Note

Instinctssss

WIP Sampler Basket

[Summary on this one is a re-write of Hancock’s first affinity dialog, within the context of his and Paige’s relationship. I shall post a snippet. EDIT: I attempted to put a read-more in this, but something fucky is going on with Tumblr’s dash rn. Apologies for the long post]

The cork came loose with a satisfying pop, and Paige found the now-opened bottle being offered back to her.

“Everything... okay?” Paige quested gently, hand wrapping around the glass neck. She didn't take a drink though, watching him curiously. Next to him, she saw him both in profile and more head-on in the reflection of the dirty mirror as he turned his attention back to the bag to rifle through its contents. His affect had changed-- he'd been on a grinning high when he handed the whiskey over, but now? His brow furrowed down over dark eyes, and the smile had turned into a pensive, flat line across his face.

“Yeah, yeah, it ain't the bad kind of talk. Just... what went down. I know it was a bit ago, now, but... I guess I just wanna say my piece and get it off my mind. When I sent Fahrenheit down there, I figured someone was gonna end up with a bullet in their head. I didn't like it-- that sorta dictatorial shit, ain't usually my style-- and you got caught up in the middle of it.” He scoffed, shaking his head as his hand emerged from the bag with a tin of mentats between his forefinger and thumb, the other three fingers curled around the long end of an inhaler for jet. “Hell, you managed to talk Bobbi down.” “Wasn't easy-- it could have gone either way; she tried to trick both of us.” Paige noted, finally knocking back a swig from the newly opened bottle-- damn if that wasn't a blast from the past. The taste was different, of course- two centuries of aging tended to have an effect, but she could still recognize the base flavor, and the nostalgia went well with the burn when she swallowed.

“And most folks woulda blasted her brains out for that-- Fahrenheit was ready to, on my say-so.”

Hancock departed from the bureau, snagging the armrest of the nearby chair and noisily dragging it across the patched floor until he could pitch it back, turn it on one of its wooden feet, and plonk it down near the bed before letting himself down into the seat with all the grace of a ton of bricks getting dropped off a roof. He splayed out, elbows out past the armrests and his legs kicked all the way out; heels on the floor and the toes of his boots pointed up and out.

“Guys like me use their sway to do that kinda harm, to folk who don't deserve it... makes me sick.”

Paige had followed after him, bottle in hand, to eventually pass him and put herself down on the edge of the bed. She didn't speak-- she didn't need to. He wanted to talk; all she had to do was listen.

“... hell, that sorta bull's the whole reason I became mayor in the first place.” He continued. “Some ass named Vic ran the town for I don't know how long before that. Guy was scum. Used us drifters like his own personal piggy bank. He had this... goon squad he'd use to keep people in line. Every so often, he'd left them off the leash; go blow off some steam on the populace at large.”

The memory made him angry; he couldn't stay slouched in the chair. The chems he'd picked up got stashed in some pocket inside his red coat as his body came up and pitched forward, and he gathered in his legs to brace his elbows on his knees, hands gesturing along as he recounted the leadership he'd replaced.

“Folks with homes could lock their doors, but us drifters, we got it bad. There was one night, some drifter said something to them. I don't even remember what, but they cracked him open like a can of Cram on the pavement, and we all just stood there. Did nothin'.”

Paige had heard stories like his before-- not exactly the same, of course. No, her stories came from before the bombs fell, when she'd been working public defense-- a lawyer for those who couldn't afford defense in a court of law. Working for those at the bottom of the ladder? Fear was the driving motivation of most things. Fear for life. Fear for family. Fear for oneself. It drove a lot of good people to do terrible things-- all because they were trapped at the bottom of the heap.

She recognized the edge in his voice. It was angry... and ashamed.

“Outnumbered and outgunned, sometimes nothing is the only thing you can do that doesn't get you killed.” Paige noted, softly. “You can't blame yourself for that.”

He scoffed. “You're right... but it was still spineless.” He rebutted, shaking his head. “I felt like I was less than nothing. Afterwards, I got so high, I blacked out completely.”

His eyes closed for a second, as if reflecting back to that exact moment. Maybe he was.

“When I came to, I was on the floor of the old statehouse. Right in front of the clothes of John Hancock. John Hancock, first American hoodlum and defender of the people.” He paused a moment, possibly second-guessing telling the story but going on anyway. “I... might've still been high, but those clothes spoke to me, told me what I needed to do. I smashed the case, put 'em on, started a new life; as Hancock.” The name was practically growled out-- there was weight to it for him, even now. “After that, I went clean for a bit. Got organized, convinced Kleo to loan me some hardware... Got a crew of drifters together and headed out into the ruins, started training. Next time Vic's boys went on their tear, we'd be ready for 'em.”

“Guessing that was one hell of a negotiation with Kleo.” Paige posited with a faint smirk. “You try to charm the bolts off of her?”

He blinked, and actually let out a faint laugh that interrupted the gravity of the story he'd been telling. “You'd be surprised how quick she warms up to someone who knows how to work munitions into sweet talk... plus she didn't have any love for Vic's crew-- not that it's my story to tell.”

“Still, it's smart; gather up support, make allies, get armed, fight back... Vic may not have been the British Empire, but sounds like you got the right kind of inspiration going.”

“Right?” There was a note of relief, at being understood. “Same wavelength-- justice for the oppressed.”

“So you got a militia together.” Paige encouraged. “What came next?”

“We waited for the next time they were gonna go through and raise hell-- night of, we all got loaded, let Vic's boys get good and hammered, and burst from the windows and rooftops where we'd been hiding. They never even saw it coming; we didn't have to fire a shot. We didn't have to, but we sure fucking did. It was a massacre. Once we'd mopped up, we strolled right into Vic's quarters in the statehouse, wrapped a rope around his neck, and threw him off the balcony.” He straightened up, recovering from the slouch he'd been holding for the majority of the story so far and letting his hands hang between his thighs. “And there I am, gun in hand, draped in Hancock's duds, looking at all the people of Goodneighbor assembled below. I had to say something-- the first time I said 'em? They didn't even feel like my words: Of the people, for the people... it was my inaugural address. Became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor that day. And from then on, I vowed I'd never stand by and watch. Ever. Again.”

Paige was quiet for a moment, considering the story, sensing it as he looked to her for some kind of assessment or reaction-- or maybe just an opening to ask questions.

“Vic woulda shot me for not killing Bobbi.”

He blinked. Another beat of quiet, as he considered that.

“... yeah, he woulda. Or worse-- you're too pretty to just shoot...” He made a face, not elaborating on that particularly disgusting thought. “You got a point, though. I ain't Vic... just didn't like that what I did made me feel a little closer to him; sitting up in the statehouse and deciding someone's gonna die who might not have fully earned it. Getting innocents caught up in the crossfire who definitely didn't.”

“You were worried you'd become him... is that part of why you decided to go with me? Climb back down and remember what it was like to look up at the balcony, rather than stand on it?”

“I ain't really the ponderous type.” He reminded her, picking up that smirk of his again. “When an instinct takes hold, I listen. This time around, instinct said I should join up with you... seems it was a good one.”

“Maybe your instincts are just a sucker for a pretty face.” Paige suggested with a sly smile of her own before kicking back another swig of her whiskey. “Or is it just girls with hardware?”

“That would explain why I bet on Kleo.”

#wip #meme #writing sampler #Paige #Hancock #kaybrandchaos #Ask The Author #long post

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neokollection · 5 years

Text

Reaction To Their S/O Feeling Ugly While Pregnant

NCT 127 [Minus Win & Haechan]

A/N: Bc this is a genuine fear of mine Long btw, so buckle up.

Taeil:

You leant over the counter of the sink, your swollen stomach pressing uncomfortably to the cool tile- The urge to pee suddenly overcame you and the mascara wand in your hand faltered, brushing your eyelid by accident. You held a breath, before carelessly dropping it into the sink, your hands on the counter as you took a moment to collect yourself. You’d already been agitated after waking up with a sore back, and now you couldn’t even complete the simplest of tasks.

You went to the bathroom, taking your time as Taeil was still asleep.

Facing yourself in the mirror once more made a lump rise in your throat. You hated having to see yourself more than you already had too- You felt ugly and fat, face bloated and eyes wetting. You sat on the toilet lid, holding your face in your hands as small sobs and sniffles escaped you. You tried to stay quiet, not wanting to wake your sleeping husband in the other room-

“Hey...?”

He seemed to be awake already though... Soft footsteps padded across the tile from the ajar door. You ripped a wad of toilet paper from nearby, using it to blot at your eyes and cheeks.

“W-What’s wrong?”

He squatted down in front of you, his hands placed gently upon your knees before he reached on up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Nothing,” you assured, wiping your nose-

You didn’t want him to look at you, you must have looked even uglier crying.

“Baby,” he crooned gently, placing his cheek upon your thigh affectionately momentarily before he drew back.

“You can tell me-”

“I just...” you sighed, “I just feel so ugly.”

His eyes were wide, mused hair would have made his face almost comical if not for the context.

“No- No!” he shushed, “Nothing about you is ugly-”

Even with puffy eyes, smudged mascara, messy hair, and a few pounds extra he saw you as his perfect angel.

“You’re beautiful,” he assured, reaching up to cradle the lump of your stomach as he rose to his feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Johnny:

You retched into the toilet bowl- It’d come to the point, you couldn’t even have a simple night in without feeling sick, rushing to the bathroom. A light knock sounded upon the door. Johnny.

“Love?” he called gently, “You okay?”

“Just a minute,” you answered back, catching your breath as you sat against the nearby wall.

Oddly enough you could feel his presence still there and it was comforting, the shadows of his slippers beneath the door reminding you he was waiting for you just outside. You flushed the toilet, which Johnny took as a notion that you were finished, opening the door slowly. You quickly wiped at your mouth with some toilet paper before dropping it into the spiraling water. Johnny wore a slight pout, unhappy to see you in such a sad state, curled up on the floor by the toilet looking sickly.

“All better?”

“For now... I just want to lay down...”

He squatted down next to you, pulling one of your arms away from yourself and placing it around his shoulder before scooping up your legs.

“N-Don’t- I’m heavy...”

You’d put on not only a baby, but a few more extra pounds, feeling swollen and gross.

“You’re not that heavy,” he waved off, standing with you as you held on, “Besides, it’s not you- It’s him.”

Your fiancé wore a mock glare as he stared at the swell of your stomach. He was careful as he placed you down upon the bed, helping you situate yourself with your pillows before he crawled on the end of it.

“He’s such a troublemaker, isn’t he?”

He was already raising your top before you could stop him, eyes feasting upon the glorious bulge of your stomach. Though you may have been self conscious about revealing your new body to him, he never thought twice about it, pressing a hard kiss to the mound with a grunt- His fingertips trailed along your side lightly, tickling you.

“Such a rascal, I’ll have to teach him a lesson when he comes out-”

Before you could even counter, he was blowing a raspberry on the side of your mound, causing you to giggle before he sat back, tucking your shirt back in place.

“I’ll get you some water.”

Though it was burdensome, it was all worth it, seeing how happy the man you loved was.

Taeyong:

You had absolutely nothing to wear. You’d just begun showing- Your leggings and jeans all seemed to suffocate you or not button- You had a lone pair of black sweatpants, but you felt fat when you wore them even before there was a baby involved. You had dresses, but if you dressed up you’d feel the need to also do your makeup or hair- Which you were in no mood to do- All you needed to do was go to the grocery for crying aloud... You suppose... You could send Taeyong, but you felt like a pest- He was busy on the phone talking over some business about releases and you weren’t even far enough along yet to pull that card you felt. Huffing, you sat down on the bed, staring at your closet.

“So, maybe next week then?”

His voice was getting closer. You were in nothing but your undergarments, so decided to go into the closet, not wanting him to see you so blatantly.

“Alright- Thanks- Haha, of course!”

With a loud sigh and a sudden whoosh it sounded as if he’d faceplanted upon the bed, dropping his phone to the side before curling around a pillow.

You caught his eye as you looked over your shoulder from the closet.

“What’s up?” he questioned.

“Hmm, nothing...”

You were still racking your brain for possible solutions...

“I need to go to the store.”

He hummed along in acknowledgement, watching as you thrust hanger to hanger aside. Your huff of irritation not going unnoticed. Sensing your distance and annoyance, he stood from the bed, making his was towards the closet.

“What is it?” he questioned, leaning upon the door frame.

“Nothing, just- Can you-” you tried, wanting him to leave.

His gaze flickered to the pile of clothes of the floor before settling on you, taking in the soft swell of your belly.

“What’s the matter?” he asked again, his tone softer as he draped himself around your, letting the palms of his hands smooth over your stomach.

“Nothing fits...” you admitted, voice nearly cracking, “I have nothing to wear-”

He hummed in thought, turning to place his cheek upon the crown of your head as he assessed his side of the closet.

“How about this?”

He pulled himself away from you, causing you to miss his warmth as he plucked a stripped shirt from a stack, unfolding it to show it’s size. It made you feel worse though... You didn’t need an XXXXL size did you?

“You look cute in my clothes,” he smiled, holding it up to you, “It’s like a dress~”

Pulling it over your head you frowned, the sleeves were too long and the length was quite short.

“It’s kind of short...”

“Hm- You’re right,” he acknowledged, “I can’t have my babies going out looking like this-”

He assessed you with a quirk of his brow and bite of his lip, causing you to nudge his shoulder in turn.

“Tell me what you need and I’ll get it,” he practically sang, rolling your sleeves up.

Yuta:

You hadn’t left the house in days- Hadn’t done your makeup or hair, had simply done the bare minimum of showering and dressing yourself in loungewear. Your spirits were just down in the dumps- You'd been having cravings nearly each day, snacking late at night and munching on sugary sweets. Next to him you felt so ugly- Even fresh out the shower he was glowing, skin flawless, eyes bright, hair a mused mess he liked to rake his hands through- He was gorgeous and it’s a fact everyone knew and agreed with. Next to him you’d always tried your hardest to seem on his level, you never wanted people to think you looked out of place or an odd couple. But now... it felt inevitable. You felt fat and ugly, skin dry, hair matted, eyes with bags... How could he even look at you?

Being the keen and observant man he was your change in demeanor didn’t go unnoticed- How you’d distanced yourself from him, how your answers were curt and sighs long, how you never changed in front of him... He understood why, having confided in his sister a tad about your change and getting all the answers he’d needed. He’d wanted to lighten your mood and surprise you, have a night in with you together, watching a movie and snacking together. He’d already started the washing machine, busy hanging up the load he’d just taken out.

“What’re you doing...?”

You questioned, shifting your weight from one foot to the doorframe.

“What’s it look like?”

“Well, just... You never usually do it...”

“Come on, I’m not that bad-”

Silence ensued before he finished and came to you.

“Am I that bad?”

“No,” you shushed, placing a hand upon his chest gently with a small smile.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he quipped, taking your hand and leading you around the corner to the kitchen.

“I know you’ve been having cravings lately so I stocked up- So, you don’t have to go to the store anytime soon-”

“Great. So I can get fatter?”

It wasn’t really a question and it came out much more spiteful than you intended. He was mid-opening the pantry when he stopped.

“You’re not fat-”

“Look at me,” you whined, feeling the flood gate about the burst.

“You look the same! The only difference is this guy,” he asserted, coming to press his palms to the side of your stomach. “Look at you,” he continued, “If anything, you’ve lost weight- Maybe from the stress or sickness- but-”

He gripped your arm, showing you how he could easily touch his thumb and index finger together around the circumference of your forearm.

“I don’t want you to feel bad or hide from me- I love you- And I’m here for you.”

“I love you too,” you sniffled gently, casting your gaze downward as he pulled you into an embrace, “Did you get Oreos...?”

A/N: It long, but if you likey I can do pt 2 with Jaehyun, Jungwoo, Mark, n Doyoungie

#nct #nct reaction #no gifs bc they take too long to load #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct angst #nct fluff #nct 127 #nct 127 reaction #Yuta reaction #nct pregnant #lollll #taeyong reaction #johnny reaction #taeil reaction #moon taeil #yuta #johnny #taeyong

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ethereousdelirious · 4 years

Text

I wrote another thing for some OCs of mine! I’ll put context under the cut.

I will say this: it’s a long read for what turned out to be not a lot of sick content. Just so you know that going in, haha

Content Warnings: oblique mentions of sex, brief references to emotionally abusive parents, semi-realistic depiction of urgent care/hospitalization and panic attacks

Please don’t bother correcting me on details i may have gotten wrong regarding flu symptoms/the hospitalization process :) I’m not shooting for absolute realism here and likely never will be. Thanks!

Oh, one more thing! This was based off a prompt that I will try to find so I can properly credit OP. It was basically about Character A getting hospitalized on Christmas and Character B decorating their room for them as a surprise.

This is based off a WIP of mine about 2 college roommates who go on a road trip after graduating and fall in love :) This story takes place in their Junior year and isn’t actually part of the WIP. Canon fanfiction? Is that a thing? Anyway.

The 2 characters that matter are:

Gaël Moreno

(Face claim: Reece King)

Santiago “Santi” Velez

(Face claim: Diego Boneta)

That’s p much all you need to know in terms of context!

Gaël swirled the last of his cider around the bottom of his plastic cup and sighed. As far as parties went, this one was rather small. Most of the attendees were playing Jenga Truth or Dare in the kitchen and the rest had broken off into small groups and were talking on their own.

With another sigh, Gaël tossed back the last of his cider. He glanced longingly into the kitchen, wondering if Santi would be upset if he slipped out.

"Hey."

Gaël jumped at a sudden voice behind him. He turned and came face to face with one of the GSA regulars. "Hey, Keith."

"I'll get to the point." Keith's strawberry blond hair was styled into spikes that quivered slightly as he talked. "This party blows and you look miserable. Do you wanna," he gestured at the hallway and made a suggestive hand motion. "I have condoms."

Gaël glanced back at the kitchen. Santi was pounding the table and chanting with the rest of the group while one of them clumsily attempted to shotgun a beer. "Yeah."

"Thank God, this night isn't gonna be a total waste of time." Keith took Gaël by the hand and led him farther into the house.

When they emerged, Keith said goodbye and left for the night, leaving Gaël to gloomily resume his spot on the couch. The game in the kitchen had gotten quieter. Santi was talking to the host, gesturing wildly with a half-empty beer bottle.

His eyes lit up when he noticed Gaël on the couch.

"Hey!" he called, a little too loudly than was appropriate for the close quarters. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah." Gaël stood up and pulled his coat back on. "Are you?"

"Yeah, we're winding down here." Santi turned back to the party host, someone with whom Gaël was unfamiliar. "Hit me up tomorrow, I'll totally help you clean up."

"Thanks, bro. Appreciate it "

"You bet." Santi saluted with his bottle, finished the contents, and deposited it in a cardboard box labeled 'recycling.' "Alright, later. Seriously, text me."

"Night," Gaël said stiffly. He took Santi by the arm and led him toward the door.

They walked along side by side, Santi chattering aimlessly about the party and what they were going to do with themselves now that it was winter break.

Finally, he seemed to notice that Gaël didn't want to talk and fell silent.

The clock on the microwave, only just visible from the front door, read 2:58.

"Shit," Gaël groaned. "Tomorrow is gonna suck."

Santi shut the door behind them and locked it with a clumsy hand. "Least you don't have anywhere to be. Unless you wanna come with me to help clean up tomorrow?"

"You're really doing that?" Gaël kicked off his shoes and lined them up by the door. "You're crazy."

Santi waved a hand. "Nah. I mean. I'd appreciate the help if I were in their shoes."

"Fair enough. I'm going to bed."

"Think I'm gonna wait 'til the room stops spinning." Santi sat heavily on the couch. "G'night."

"Night."

Gaël woke to the sound of the front door opening, meaning Santi was either just leaving or just getting back. That, or they were being robbed by the world's most polite burglar.

Yawning, Gaël rolled out of bed and shuffled into the living room. Thankfully, he hadn't drunk enough to earn himself a hangover.

"Hey," Santi greeted him from the couch.

"Hey." Gaël paused on the way to the kitchen. "How did cleanup go?"

"Uhh. I cleaned. I came back. I think I died somewhere on the way home."

"You take any painkillers?"

"Yeah. Like 2 hours ago."

Gaël sighed fondly and rolled his eyes. "I'll get you some painkillers and water."

"Coffee?" Santi pleaded.

"I haven't made any yet." Gaël went to the kitchen to rectify this before bringing Santi a glass of water and some aspirin.

"Thaaaanks." Santi hauled himself into an upright position and took the pills.

Gaël took a seat in one of the armchairs across from the couch and assessed Santi. He looked as bad as Gaël guessed he felt. He was still wearing last night's clothes and his tanned skin was sallow in the late morning sun. His hair was down, which was unusual, and from the way he was squinting, he hadn't bothered putting his contacts in.

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the coffee maker percolating.

"Did you ever end up getting a job or anything?" Santi asked suddenly.

"Oh. No." Gaël shrugged. "I made enough from tutoring that I felt okay not subjecting myself to some heinous seasonal retail job."

"Hell yeah, dude. Enjoy that time off."

"What about you?"

"You know me. Got my busking permit all signed and up to date. One of the choir guys got a hand pan and wants to team up."

"Sexy. Is he going with you to play at the old folks' home?"

"Nah, that's all me. Well, and the rest of the choir but you know." Santi waved his hands aimlessly. "I'm the master musician." He swept his hair back like he was going to tie it up, then noticed he didn't have a hair tie on his wrist. He let his hands drop. His hair fanned back out in unruly waves. "You wanna come?"

"I don't sing," Gaël answered. They had this conversation every year.

"Come on, everyone can sing."

"I can open my mouth and make noises." Gaël couldn't help but blush. Whether he was good at singing was beside the point. He was no good in front of crowds and Santi well knew it. "I'll stay here and hold the fort."

"Alright, alright." Santi leaned back and closed his eyes.

Despite the lack of school or work, Gaël actually saw very little of Santi in the following days.

Between busking, practicing for the Christmas concert, and attending house parties, Santi was absent for most of the weekend.

Not that Gaël was sitting around at home waiting for him. Most of his friends had gone home for the holidays, but several members of the GSA had not. Gaël spent much of the weekend with Keith and a few other GSA regulars at various coffee shops and bars in the area.

It wasn't until Monday afternoon that Gaël and Santi had the opportunity for another real conversation.

Gaël came in from a late lunch and found Santi halfway to horizontal on the couch, awkwardly balancing a glass of red wine on his chest.

"I'm not buying us a new couch if you spill that," Gaël said. He locked the front door behind him and came inside properly. There was already an empty glass waiting for him on the coffee table.

"I won't spill," Santi insisted. He sat up a little straighter. Wine sloshed perilously in his glass, a few drops escaping over the side and running onto his hand. "That didn't count."

"You look tired." Gaël sat in the space previously occupied by Santi's legs.

Santi heaved himself properly upright and poured out a glass of wine for Gaël.

"I've never had a Winter Break this hectic before, and that includes the time I was in high school and my parents tried to drag me to Hawaii at the last minute and the airline lost our luggage and my mother threatened to sue them for emotional damages because her favorite Chanel dress was in her suitcase," Santi said all in one breath. He downed half his glass and ran a hand down his face. His hair was down again, which was unusual. In the low light it almost framed his head like a halo. "So it turns out Avi, the guy with the hand pan, has stage fright or something so he wanted to practice until everything was perfect and he kept freaking out every time I tried to improvise. Then we finally get out to our spot and he doesn't want to leave even though I have an agreement with the knife-juggling guy." He paused. "Choir's going fine, though. Except they keep inviting me out to Denny's after every practice and it feels weird saying no. Gaël, I am so sick of pancakes."

"I wondered what all the to-go boxes in the fridge were about." Gaël took a sip from his glass. "Where did this come from, by the way?"

"Oh." Santi sighed. "The choir did a Secret Santa thing which I didn't know about because I'm not technically in the choir and this was the 'backup gift'."

"Not a bad gift," Gaël said with a shrug.

"I agree, especially considering some of the other gifts that were given out."

"Let me guess, candles and hand lotion?"

"You nailed it." Santi drained his glass and leaned over like he was going to refill it before evidently changing his mind and setting the empty glass on the coffee table. "Luckily I have tomorrow off. The concert is on Christmas Eve and then I have the rest of the break to myself. More or less."

"Is there anything you want to do?" Gaël asked. "We could go out for lunch or something. To a real restaurant."

"No pancakes?"

"No pancakes."

"Excellent."

They slipped into silence.

Gaël sighed through his nose. Although he told himself he was over his juvenile crush on Santi, sometimes it came creeping back into his thoughts. This was one of those times. Gaël wanted to run his fingers through Santi's dark blond hair and feel him relax, wanted to run his hands down Santi's neck, his chest--

Blushing furiously, Gaël cut off that train of thought before it could travel any farther south. He just wanted to make Santi feel better, that was all. Because they were friends.

"What is a hand pan?" Gaël asked, mostly to distract himself.

"Oh, it's like…" Santi made a vague hand gesture over his lap. "Like a faceted dome made of metal, and when you hit certain parts of it in a certain way, it makes noise. Kinda like a steel drum."

"Oh. Is Avi any good?"

"He's not bad," Santi said. "Better than I would be anyway. Hang on, let me see if I can find his Instagram."

They spent the rest of the day lounging in the living room, alternating between silence and light conversation. The bottle of wine remained on the coffee table, untouched since Gaël's arrival.

The sun sank below the horizon.

Gaël stretched and shifted positions. "No parties tonight?" he asked, looking sideways at Santi.

"Why, d'you wanna go to one? I think some of the Drama kids are having some sort of get together."

"No." Gaël stuck out his tongue. "I was just wondering."

"You sure? I know some of them. I could introduce you. Or we could have some of your friends over." Santi seemed poised to go on, but instead was overtaken by a yawn. He shook his head.

"Yeah, you look ready to party." Gaël raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should get to bed."

"Hm, yeah," Santi agreed. He didn't move. "Later."

"Alright, but don't expect me to make you coffee tomorrow."

"Of course." Santi smiled brightly.

Gaël refused to meet his eyes.

Ever the early riser, Gaël woke up the next day shortly after the sunrise. Unlike Santi, whose morning routine seemed to involve a lot of squinting and spilling water all over the kitchen in the process of making coffee or tea, Gaël's first act of the day was always to brush his teeth.

Half-awake, he staggered to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and lazily dragged some product through his dark brown curls. He took his time getting ready, knowing that Santi often preferred to sleep in.

To Gaël's surprise, Santi was waiting for him on the couch. He had wrapped himself up in his duvet and sheet and bundled up against one of the armrests. He appeared to be sleeping, but his hazel eyes cracked open upon hearing Gaël approach.

"Morning," Gaël said with a little wave. He poked his head into the kitchen to double check the time. "You're up early. Or did you stay up all night?"

"I was having trouble sleeping so I came out here."

"Did it help?"

"Not really." Santi sniffled and ducked his head under the duvet. After a moment, he sneezed sharply and then emerged. "If you want, you can have my leftover pancakes for breakfast."

"Thanks." Gaël went back into the kitchen to retrieve the to go box. While he was microwaving it, he heard Santi sneeze a few more times. "Bless you," he called over the hum of the microwave.

"Thanks," Santi called back.

He sounded a bit congested, Gaël thought. A familiar wave of anxiety began to rise in his chest. He abandoned his post at the microwave and stuck his head through the doorway into the living room. "Are you okay?"

"I think so." Sanri frowned, confused. "Do I seem not okay?"

Gaël made a face and gestured at the scene before him. Santi was wrapped head to toe in his bedding. Only his face was visible from beneath the pile of blankets. "You seem like you're trying to become one with your duvet."

The microwave beeped. Santi sneezed into his sleeve.

Gaël frowned, but went to go get his pancakes. When he got back to the living room, Santi was attempting to extricate himself from the tangle of sheets and blankets.

"Is the milk still good?" he asked Gaël when he was finally free.

Gaël shrugged. "Go check."

"Just figured I'd ask."

Santi was shivering when he came back into the living room, a bowl of cereal in hand.

Gaël couldn't help but notice. Winters in San Diego weren't exactly harsh, and Gaël was comfortable enough in his boxers and T-shirt. Yet Santi was shivering noticeably.

"Hey," Gaël said. "I think you're sick."

Santi paused in the act of arranging his duvet around himself. "So it's not weirdly cold in here?"

Gaël rolled his eyes. "Go take your temperature."

"But my cereal will get all soggy," Santi whined.

"Alright, whatever. I'm not your mom."

"Thank god for that."

Santi finished eating before Gaël and wandered off. He came back wearing an undersized Grateful Dead hoodie that kept trying to ride up.

"I'm doing it," he said.

"Huh?" Gaël was staring at the little bit of skin that was showing just above the waistband of Santi's sweatpants. He shook his head and looked up. Santi was brandishing a thermometer. "Oh. Good. I mean--" he stuttered. Santi sat down and stuck the thermometer under his tongue. "I hope you're not sick."

"Mm'" Santi hummed in agreement.

They waited a few seconds and the thermometer beeped. Santi made a face. "101.1."

"Huh." Gaël leaned forward. For the most part, Santi looked fine. He was a little pale and he did look tired, but not unusually so. "And you feel okay?"

Santi shrugged. "Yeah, aside from the fact that I'm freezing."

"Huh. Well." Gaël frowned. "I guess let's keep an eye on you."

For a moment, it was quiet. Then Santi shifted under the pile of blankets.

"I need to brush my teeth."

"Go brush your teeth," Gaël said, not looking up from his phone.

"Yeah." Santi got up and left.

The day was, by and large, anticlimactic. Gaël spent most of it on his phone, switching between the couch, an armchair, and his bed whenever he felt the need to move. It went without saying that their lunch plans were cancelled, and Santi went back to bed around noon, leaving Gaël to his own devices.

It would have been a lovely day for a hike, he thought as he looked wistfully out the window, but it wouldn't feel right leaving Santi behind.

So Gaël resigned himself to a boring, lonely day. He did receive a few texts from his friends, but everyone was mostly too busy to have a proper conversation.

At around 6:00, Santi emerged from his bedroom looking noticeably worse, downed a handful of painkillers, and retreated back into the darkness of his room.

"You okay?" Gaël asked as he passed.

"Sleepy," Santi answered, and shut his door.

They both woke early the next morning.

"Feeling any better?" Gaël asked upon emerging from the bathroom to see Santi sprawled out on the couch.

Santi said something akin to "not really." The words came out muffled with half his face pressed into the faux suede couch cushion.

Deciding to forgo breakfast for the moment, Gaël came out to the living room to take a better look at his roommate. "Oh. Shit."

Santi was a mess. His dark blond hair was hopelessly tangled around the dangling cross earring he had evidently neglected to take out, and matted to his sweaty forehead. His cheeks were an angry, feverish red and his eyes were blank, not seeming to focus on Gaël or anything at all.

He didn't say anything, just lay there motionless but for the frantic rise and fall of his chest, and let himself be examined.

"Shit," Gaël repeated. Then, "um."

The thermometer was still on the coffee table where Santi had left it last night.

"Can you sit up for me?"

Santi hummed a dissent. "Dizzy."

"Just… Roll over onto your side, then. I need to take your temperature."

"'Kay." Santi rolled over and allowed Gaël to slip the thermometer under his tongue.

For a few tense seconds, Gaël waited and tried desperately not to freak out. They both got sick all the time. This was nothing. Everything was fine.

Then the thermometer beeped and the panic roared again, loud in Gaël's ears. "104.2. How long--"

"I don't know." Santi closed his eyes and scrubbed at his face. "I woke up feeling really bad."

"What time?"

"Night?"

"And you said you were dizzy?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Gaël bit his lip, thinking. "I think you should go to urgent care."

"Mm." Santi didn't open his eyes or attempt to move. "I don't know if I can--" He shuddered and pulled his knees up to his chest with a quiet moan. "I feel really bad."

"Just try to sit up. I need to grab some things and I'll help get you to the car."

"My wallet's, um… In my backpack. I'm still on my parents' insurance."

This made Gaël pause. "Really?" Then he shook himself. "Sorry, not the time. Just try to sit up."

He darted off. Keeping his wits about him was a constant battle. His body wanted so badly to panic. It was all he could do to not hyperventilate as he packed a few essentials into his school bag and started the car.

Santi was sitting up with his head in his hands and his knees braced against his elbows.

"Hey," Gaël said, kneeling beside him. "I'm gonna help you stand, okay?"

"I'm tired," Santi said, sounding almost on the verge of tears.

"I know. You can rest in the car, okay? Put your arm around me."

Santi's body was frightfully hot. It was hard to walk with him leaning so heavily on Gaël's shoulder, but they managed.

After a short drive, they had to repeat the maneuver to get into the urgent care.

"'I'll check you in," Gaël said. "Are you okay to go sit?"

"No," Santi said, clinging on harder. He leaned heavily to the side and Gaël staggered to try and keep them both upright.

One of the receptionists seemed to take notice of their plight. "I'm sending someone out to help, okay?"

Gaël said nothing. He couldn't. All he could do was try to breathe and to lower Santi to the floor as gently as possible.

Breath, he reminded himself. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. It wouldn't do any good if he passed out too.

So he knelt on the carpeted floor of the urgent care, sinking into a strange feeling of numbness. Santi was attended to by a doctor and a team of medical assistants and Gaël had to answer questions for them but the answers seemed far away in his mind.

His hands fumbled over Santi's wallet, words clumsy and faltering on his lips until every other sentence was "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know."

The carpeting was blue-gray, patterned with rosettes. Gaël watched his cream-colored skate shoes obscure it until it disappeared, replaced by pale orange linoleum.

One of the medical assistants was talking to him. Gaël looked around at the walls of the exam room. The words bounced around in his head without really sinking in.

His body seemed to catch on before his brain did, his shoulders beginning to shake with sobs. He was crying without really feeling it. Tears made dark stains on his pants. Gaël stared blankly down at the orange linoleum and let them fall.

"Gaël, I'm going to be fine," Santi said for what must have been the 50th time.

He didn't look fine. It was impossible to look fine laid up in a hospital bed. Gaël would have said so, but he was too busy crying. He hadn't really stopped since he'd started sobbing in the exam room and his head was starting to ache.

"Come on, Gaël, look at me. It's just the flu."

There was a whole list of things Gaël wanted to say to that, but all he could manage was "But I— And you…"

"You need to calm down or you're going to get admitted too," Santi joked. "Can I tell you a secret?"

This caught Gaël off guard. He looked up and wiped his eyes. "Y-yes."

"I'm not actually sick," Santi said in a stage whisper. "I just faked it to get out of the concert."

"Oh, shit," Gaël said as Santi's eyes widened.

"Oh, shit!" Santi echoed, flailing around aimlessly in the hospital bed. "My phone, I need— Ah, shit, shit, shit. What time is it?"

Gaël dived for his backpack, digging around for Santi's phone. He found it and tossed it over to Santi, who unlocked it and began typing furiously.

"Did you miss it?" Gaël asked, watching Santi's awkward attempt at typing without bending his left arm and messing up his IV.

"No, it starts in 2 hours." Santi sank back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Ugh." The brief moment of panic had robbed him of breath. He was silent for a moment while he breathed. "Gaël," he said, opening his eyes. "I need you to bust me out of here. Steal a wheelchair while I distract the nurses, and we'll go from there."

"Wh--" Gaël squinted, his eyes darting over the medical equipment in the room. "You— No!"

"I'm kidding," Santi said, but his smile faded too quickly. "I just…" He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I've been looking forward to this, you know? It's kinda the only thing I get to do for Christmas now that my family's all--" He waved his hand dismissively. He sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes even though there were no tears to wipe away. "Sorry, I know it's stupid to freak out like this."

"You just saw me have a panic attack for like three hours and you want to call that a freakout?" Gaël laughed. He wanted to put a hand on Santi's shoulder to hug him, to brush his hair, anything to make him feel even slightly better. As it was, self-deprecation was all he could muster. "I think you're entitled to cry a little bit considering where you are."

"Yeah." Santi gave a heavy sigh. "Merry Christmas, by the way. Your present is in my sock drawer. You can't miss it. It's the only thing in there that isn't socks."

"We can open presents tomorrow. Did they say when they were releasing you?"

"Yeah, hopefully tomorrow. Christmas Day." Santi wiggled his fingers. "They just want to keep me overnight to make sure I don't keel over again. Apparently I'm 'severely dehydrated' and 'drink too much alcohol'."

Gaël scoffed. "They know you're in college, right?"

"That's what I said. Well. Would have said if I could've felt my face at the time."

They fell into silence for a moment.

"I didn't know you liked Christmas so much," Gaël said. "You're always so enthusiastic about everything it's hard to tell sometimes."

Santi raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on the character analysis. "Yeah, I've always liked it. I'm not going to go into a Hallmark movie spiel or anything, but it's just nice. Although out of everything, I think the lights are my favorite." He sighed wistfully. "Quiet Harbor, the old folks' home we always perform for, always has the prettiest decorations in the lobby. Speaking of." He picked his phone up off the sheets. "The group chat is blowing up."

"They're not going to cancel, are they?" Gaël asked anxiously, knowing it would upset Santi.

"No, no. I'm not that important. They're just gonna do it without me."

"Ah."

"Can you do me a huge favor, by the way?"

"Of course."

"Can you swing by home and grab my phone charger? And toothbrush? Mm, and regular brush?" Santi attempted to run a hand through his hair and was instantly stopped by tangled up knots.

"Oh, yeah." Gaël blushed. "I'm sorry, I should have thought of that sooner. I'll go right now."

"Thanks," Santi said. He pulled the covers further up around his shoulders. "I'm going to sleep. Possibly for several thousand years."

Gaël drove home in contemplative silence. He gathered up Santi's things and put them all in his trusty backpack, but did not immediately head back to the hospital.

Instead, he drove.

Surely there were stores open on Christmas Eve. Not everything could be closed.

Sure enough, a dollar store was open. Gaël rushed in and surveyed their selection of holiday decor with a discerning eye. He grabbed a few things, even finding a few cheap strings of battery-operated lights.

Once he'd paid, he hopped back into the car and rearranged his backpack, sticking his new purchases at the bottom and Santi's belongings at the top. The backpack' zipper just barely managed to close, straining the seams. Gaël set it in the passenger seat and, after a moment's thought, strapped it in.

Then he headed back to the hospital.

Gaël's plan was not going quite as smoothly as he'd hoped. After an uneventful evening, he'd made the decision to stay the night in Santi's room.

It wasn't, as he'd feared, against hospital policy and Santi didn't protest beyond a few token attempts to get Gaël to leave and spend Christmas Eve with his other friends.

However, Santi was not as heavy a sleeper as Gaël had been hoping and he woke up almost every time a nurse came in to record his vitals.

After one such visit from a nurse, when the sky was just beginning to lighten, Gaël sat up. Tooth by tooth, he unzipped his backpack and set about decorating Santi's hospital room as lavishly as he could without obstructing anything too important.

This might've been against hospital policy, but it wouldn't have to be up for very long.

Since much of the room was taken up by the IV pole, hospital bed, and guest seating, Gaël tried to focus on the windowsill and tables. He set up the lights in careful loops and hung up paper ornaments everywhere he could think of.

When he was done, the room wasn't exactly covered in Christmas decorations, but it was certainly cheerier than before.

Satisfied that Santi was still fast asleep, Gaël set off to get himself a coffee.

"That's lovely," said the nurse, coming in. Her name was Permata. Gaël had met her earlier when she had come in to check Santi's vital signs.

"What's lovely?" Santi asked blearily.

"You'll see."

Santi must have been too tired to argue, because he didn't press the point any further.

From his position by the window, all Gaël could see was Permata's back. She finished what she was doing and left again.

"You awake?" Gaël asked.

"I guess so." Santi yawned. "What did she mean when— Oh." He looked around at all the Christmas decorations: the paper ornaments hung from the edge of the table, the streamers hanging from the message board on the wall, the lights on the windowsill. "Gaël, did you…?"

"You seemed really upset yesterday, and I wanted…" Gaël hesitated. "I didn't want you to be sad on Christmas."

"Gaël." Santi's eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Thank you." He held out his arm for a hug. "Seriously, thank you."

"Of course." Gaël leaned over the bed and embraced Santi. It was an awkward and slightly painful position, with his knees jammed into the plastic safety rail and his body twisted to an odd degree. But it didn't matter. Santi was safe.

That was all that was important.

#posting oc content always makes me so nervous hhhhhhhhh #ethereous writes #whump #sickfic

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