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writer-in-theory · 2 years ago

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berry sweet on your lips

TW: Period-typical homophobia, Some Internalized homophobia, Implied abuse (Steve's dad is a pos)

When Steve was seven, his Mama caught him in her makeup.

He was sitting up on the bathroom counter, sloppily drawn eyeliner over his eyelids and trying to apply bright cherry red lipstick to his lips without smearing. The application process required so much focus he hadn't realized when the front door opened downstairs, or when his mom called repeatedly for him to come down to dinner. He did hear the surprised little yelp from her though, and the sigh once she realized which eyeliner he'd accidentally broken.

"Honey, those aren't toys to play with." His Mama's voice was tight like she was barely containing her frustration at the lost products. Dad always made her upset, and Steve didn't want to add to it. So it didn't seem like a good time to correct her, that no, he wasn't trying to play. He'd seen how pretty makeup could make people, and he wanted it. He wanted to be pretty.

Instead, he sighed and nodded, hopping down from the counter. "Sorry, Mama."

"It's okay, baby, that stuff just isn't for kids to play with. C'mon, let's get you washed up and we can get some dinner."

It wasn't the last time he'd thought about makeup, though it took years until Steve found the courage to try again.

It happened when he was fourteen in Carol Perkins's basement. He, Tommy, and Carol spent most nights together anymore. The Perkins' always volunteered to babysit Steve when he was younger and his Mama started going on business trips with his dad, and they always let Tommy come over so he wouldn't be left out. That basement with its bright tie-dyed blankets scattered around and posters of every attractive celebrity you could imagine felt more like home than his own house.

Maybe that was why he felt so comfortable suggesting it in the first place.

"Ugh, I need more girl friends, honestly," Carol groaned, flopping back onto the pile of pillows and blankets she'd acquired.

"What now? We're not entertaining enough?" Tommy teased from where he and Steve were playing air hockey. Steve's knuckles were sure to bruise tomorrow from the speed with which they were knocking the puck at each other but they hadn't stopped laughing yet. "Need to go braid Tina's hair and talk about boys?"

"You're not boring," Carol clarified, "but it'd be nice to do someone's makeup and talk about boys every once in awhile. A girl needs some gossip."

Tommy laughed, so Steve laughed too because it seemed the right thing to do. But really...it didn't sound so bad, did it? So when the laughter died down, he spoke up. "You could put makeup on me, I don't care," Steve shrugged.

He did. He did care so much. Even the thought of it made his heart flutter, threatening to fly away at any second.

"Really?" Carol raise one eyebrow, sitting all the way up and twisting around to face him. "You'd let me put makeup on you? The whole thing, I don't do boring makeup."

"C'mon, man, don't let her do that to you," Tommy groaned, but Steve just shrugged again and abandoned the air hockey table, coming over to sit down on the floor with Carol.

"It washes off, right?" As if he hadn't known how easy it was to swipe off red lipstick, though it would always leave a deep tint to his lips like he'd been eating berries. "It can't hurt."

It at least made Carol happy, and seeing her smile as she rushed off to retrieve her makeup bag made Tommy's grumbles about ditching the game worth it.

And you know, it was fun. Carol was actually gentle, and seemed to know what she was doing. Steve had his eyes closed most of the time while she brushed powder and liner on them, as she swiped mascara on and tried to perfect whatever glamorous look she'd seen in her latest magazine. She did talk about boys too, all about which girl had crushes on each boy that they knew, and why Eric Thompson was the most crushed on boy in Hawkins Middle.

"Eric Thompson? Get a grip, Perkins, you can do so much better than him," Steve told her, laughing at her indignant shout.

"Seriously. The guy's a total meathead," Tommy called from where he was sprawled out across one of the couches, idly watching whatever movie the Perkins' decided to rent for the night.

"You're a total meathead," Carol shot back in return. "Not Stevie here, though. No, I think after I tell all the girls about what a good guy you are, you'll be the new king of Hawkins Middle."

"Screw Hawkins Middle, I better be king of Hawkins High for this," Steve laughed, only because he had no idea how to thank her for it. By the time he'd left the Perkins' house the next morning, the bright eyeshadow and tacky lip gloss had been washed away but the feeling of pure peace it had brought him persisted.

Steve hadn't dared try again, not until he was sixteen and saw a guy wearing nail polish. It was one of the Seniors, the one who wore all black and who the whole basketball team called The Freak. And maybe he was a freak, Steve didn't really ever have a reason to talk to him and find out, but the sight of the swath of black over his nails left Steve breathless.

"You taking photography this semester, Harrington?" The guy—something Munson, Steve thinks—asked when Steve hadn't stopped staring in the hallway.

"Huh?" Steve startled, looking down both sides of the hallway as if to check if any of his friends were seeing who he was talking to. "No?"

"Shame," Munson let out a little 'tsk' noise, the way Steve's dad always did when he was disappointed. "You could've taken a picture and made it last longer."

Oh, oh. Steve's face flushed red, and the second he saw a flash of another green and orange letterman he panicked. They would know, oh God they'd see him with The Freak and it would all be over, they would figure out that he wanted to paint his nails too and—

Steve wasn't proud of the words spoken after that. They lingered far after he'd said them, swirling in his head until it sounded a little more like his dad was repeating them over and over again, reminding Steve of just what kind of person he was to stay clear away from.

It was that guilt that finally convinced him to go to Melvald's, where the kind woman at the counter didn't question why he was buying the cheapest makeup products he could find. He didn't even know if any of it would look good together, he just knew he needed it. He needed a way to see himself like this before he messed up again where someone could see, where someone could figure him out.

And so began the careful ritual. Every night he'd rush home from practice, lock his bedroom door even though he knew his parents were away on another trip, and swipe the makeup over his eyes, cheeks, lips. He got better at it with every attempt, until the liner wasn't shaky and his lipstick didn't look like it had already been kissed off (and now, wasn't that a thought).

Except that was the trouble with secrets, wasn't it? They couldn't stay buried for long, not when Hawkins was so small and this felt so much larger than the town, than the state, than anything Steve had ever been apart of.

It was only a matter of time until his dad found out.

That night he'd been sloppy, unprepared for his parents to come home early. The light in the upstairs bathroom had gone out and instead of changing it he'd moved downstairs, where the lights had already been switched out to a cooler white that made it easier to see what colors he was painting his skin with.

Steve Harrington was pretty sure he would die that night, all over deep red lipstick and perfectly-drawn eyeliner.

He didn't know where he was running to, all he knew was that he couldn't stay in Loch Nora. He ran until he was near the edge of town, nothing but trees and the one road leading out surrounded him. Steve hadn't had his car keys on him, and there was no way he could go back for them without facing his dad's righteous anger. Steve let out a painful cry, finding nothing left to do but lay down on the pavement and stare at the stars. He was barely eighteen, no car, no money except whatever bills were stuffed in his pocket, no plan. Just himself and that damned red lipstick still lingering like berry-stained evidence on his lips.

He didn't move for anything. Not when the night grew chilly enough to freeze his joints and prick up goosebumps on his arms. Not when the rumble of an old car engine came roaring in the distance, or for the subsequent squeal of brakes and a loud horn.

"Shit, Harrington, I know you have air for a brain but what the fuck are you do—" The person cut themselves off, like from seeing the state of him. They'd probably hit him too, kick at him while he was down because why the fuck did he think he could get away with this shit in the middle of nowhere Indiana?

"Shit, Harrington," the voice hissed again, sounding as pained as Steve thought he should feel.

"Get on with it," Steve voiced, voice rough with tears and the violent yells his dad had hit out of him.

"Get on with what?"

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his head to meet Eddie Munson's gaze. He wondered if he still painted his nails. He wondered if it even mattered, because even Eddie Munson didn't do what Steve did. "I'm tired, man. If you're gonna get your revenge on me make it quick."

That startled Eddie, reminding Steve of just how expressive the guy was. It was almost humorous, the way his head reeled back and his eyes widened impossibly far.

"Get in the van, Harrington."

Right, if Eddie was gonna murder him he couldn't do it out in the open, not where anyone could be driving by.

So Steve picked himself up from the ground, not bothering to brush off his jeans before sliding into the passenger seat. They didn't talk the whole drive. No music played. They just sat in complete and total silence, punctuated only by the nervous taps of Eddie's hand on the steering wheel.

Eddie Munson must be stupider than he was. Most murderers wouldn't drive their victim to their own trailer before finishing the job. Though, Steve supposed all Eddie had to say was that he saw Steve Harrington wearing lipstick and it'd all be waved away. Upstanding citizen, that Eddie Munson was.

"Shower's back there, there's a first aid kit on the shelf," Eddie spoke, unable to stand still once they got inside the trailer.

And that, well that was just downright weird. Steve tilted his head to the side, eyeing the little hallway Eddie waved his hand at like it might jump at him. "What's happening?"

"What do you mean?" Eddie sounded tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks. Steve felt like he'd never slept at all, like he might never again.

"You...aren't you gonna...?"

"I mean, I could if you think you're gonna fall," Eddie said nervously, eyes also watching the hallway. "Just tryin' to protect your modesty, man."

"What?" Nothing was making sense, and Steve was beginning to wonder if maybe his head had hit the tile floor one too many times because this was supposed to be simple, cut and dry.

"Can you just go clean up, Harrington?"

"Why?"

"Because I hate seeing all that damn blood on you, okay?" Eddie snapped out, voice raising in pitch the more worked up he got. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I hate it."

Oh.

"You're not...you're not gonna...?" Steve repeated, including a lackluster air punch.

That seemed to make everything click in place for Eddie. He sucked in a breath and both hands flew to the top of his head, scraping through his unruly curls. "Shit, you think? Nah, man, I'm not a piece of shit like whoever did that to you. C'mon."

Eddie started walking down the hallway, and honestly this all felt so vaguely dreamlike Steve couldn't do anything but follow, wordlessly sitting on the toilet lid where Eddie waved for him to be. The other man was knelt between his legs, wiping off his face with a wet washcloth. His touch was gentle, experienced as he wiped away the blood and set to work rubbing antibiotic onto each open cut.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Steve whispered out, eyes focused on the barest hint of eyeliner on Eddie's eyes. The other man clearly wasn't wearing it to be pretty though. No, this was drawn on with intentional haste, and made Eddie look so fucking badass that Steve didn't know what to do about it. "I sucked in school. I was awful to you."

Eddie's hands didn't stop, brown eyes focused on Steve's lips as he wiped at the split in the lower one. He could see the breath hitch in the other man's chest though, a quick collapse of Eddie's chest before his breath restarted at a normal rhythm. "You did suck, but that doesn't mean you deserve this."

Steve didn't say anything else, couldn't really. Not when the lump in his throat grew until he was sure he would never be able to breathe again, and the tears began to spill without inhibition. And Eddie, well Eddie let him. He just kept patching him up, never saying anything, never berating him or looking disgusted by the tears. He just sat with Steve while he let it out, eyes looking to Steve's every so often as if to check he was okay.

"I think something's wrong with me." The whisper sounded so loud in the tiny bathroom, echoing around and around and smacking into Steve's chest repeatedly.

"No." It was the first time Eddie seemed bothered by anything Steve said all night, fingers gripping tightly around the corner of the counter he was holding to keep himself steady. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie cut him off. He looked Steve right in the eyes, a kind of fire lighting up in those dark brown eyes of his. "Steve Harrington, there is nothing wrong or broken or shameful about you. So you like to wear makeup, lots of guys do."

"I've never met anyone who does."

"Because you're in Bumfuck, Indiana," Eddie continued on, never sounding more passionate than he did now. It was intense, sure, but Steve had longed for someone, anyone, to say what Eddie was now. And of course it was the guy with the painted nails he'd been enraptured by years before. "Just you wait, pretty boy, there's a whole world out there with people like us."

Like us. Like us.

"C'mon, you need some sleep. We can figure out the details in the morning."

"Wait...what?"

Eddie laughed a little, shattering the heavy moment with a burst of pure warmth. He stood up and offered a ringed hand out to help Steve up despite him not needing it. Eddie's hand was cold in his own, but it felt right there.

"Try to keep up, Harrington," he teased. "If you don't mind sharing a bed, you can stay here. Us freaks have to stick together, right?"

"I mean...your uncle won't...?"

"Nah, Wayne'll love pissin' Robert Harrington off," Eddie answered coolly, "And he's cool with...everything."

And despite Steve's skepticism, he was. Wayne Munson was pretty much the greatest support anyone could ever have. His face had flashed dangerously when Steve admitted what happened, saying the world had no place for men who hit their boys (Steve wondered only briefly why the topic seemed to pain Wayne so much). And living with Eddie Munson, well, it was great. The trailer was small and Eddie kicked in his sleep, but Eddie also smiled from the second he was awake and the no place had ever quite felt like home in the way the Munson trailer did.

And the next time Steve found the courage to sit and do his makeup, it came with bright smiles instead of that old, lingering fear.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #kinda #they'll get there #stranger things #steve x eddie #canon divergence #au no upside down #tw homophobia #tw implied abuse #jay writes in theory #this is totally unedited sorry you get it as is #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet

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suzukiblu · 10 months ago

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WIP excerpt for Lottie; a pocketful of Kons.

Bruce went to make a call and Dick went to call off work, because Tim getting a Pocket of not-Superman is concerning and going to require some all-hands-on-deck Bat-investigation, and Alfred went to get lunch started, because he’s a better man than any of them and a true hero to the people.

And Tim is currently sitting in the cave with a Pocket who still refuses to take off the cape, and since it's no masks in the manor, he's kind of stuck down here for now.

He wonders who this guy actually is, because while there are plenty of people out there who can shapeshift or whatever, a Pocket is supposed to reflect who they actually are. It's incredibly, incredibly rare for a Pocket to shapeshift at all, in fact, unless they're from a society or species where it's common from birth. Like–Martian Pockets shapeshift, apparently.

Do they show up shapeshifted, though? And then stay that way? Because that part–that part seems weird. Like, definitely weird.

Tim actually didn't even know he liked guys, but he hasn't even had time to deal with that weird internal realization because the specific guy that showed up is Superman. Like, not actually Superman, according to Bruce, and Bruce is usually right about these things, but . . .

Well, then who is he?

“You don’t make any sense,” Tim says, eyeing his Pocket. “Why do you look like Superman?”

“Rob!” his Pocket chirps happily, grinning up at him from his seat at the Pocket-sized tea table with a Pocket-sized plate of Alfred’s Pocket-sized cookies and a Pocket-sized rack of Pocket-sized clothes he is Pocket-sized ignoring. He doesn’t seem to like the tea and absolutely hates the clothes, but he definitely likes the cookies.

Tim probably should hurry up and name him, if only because he clearly does care about names and Tim doesn't want to upset him again. But also, it’s making him crazy to have a mystery right here and be completely unable to solve it. It’s not as if he can question a Pocket, especially not a brand-new one that only knows his name and his codename, and there’s not exactly any evidence to follow or anything, so . . .

So he doesn’t know, exactly.

Maybe he should just focus on what’s in front of him right now. Name his Pocket, get him settled in, talk him into some glasses. Maybe find him some more cookies, if the opportunity arises.

He just–doesn’t know what to do long-term here, he guesses. Taking home a full-grown adult Pocket isn’t exactly going to thrill his dad, for starters, especially because said adult is a man and Tim didn’t even know he wasn’t straight, much less ever tell him he wasn’t straight. And that’s ignoring how badly getting his Pocket out of the cape is going. And he just . . . he doesn’t know.

“I don’t even know what to name you,” he groans. “I don’t know who you are. I was supposed to know who my Pocket came from before I had to name them!”

His Pocket frowns, looking hurt. Tim immediately feels like an asshole. A Pocket turning up before you meet your soulmate is supposed to be a good thing, he knows. That’s what everybody says. It means the bond’s going to be stronger.

At least Superman he’s actually met a couple times. He knows absolutely nothing about whoever his Pocket actually is.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he tries, still feeling like an asshole. “I just–I don’t even know what you’re like. I want to think of a good name for you."

His Pocket looks a little mollified, but still smaller and quieter than he was acting before. Tim’s not sure if that’s because he sucks at this or because Bruce and Dick and Alfred are gone and he has fewer people to show off for. Whoever his Pocket is, they’re definitely a show-off. Just–very definitely.

Opposites attract, Tim guesses. The only time he shows off is when he’s trying to draw fire or provide a distraction.

He really expected to get to know his soulmate for a while before a Pocket ever showed up, assuming he ever got a Pocket at all. Probably a pretty long while, given how bad he is at getting close to people. A Pocket showing up out of nowhere before he’s even met the person they came from, when he has no idea who that person even is . . .

Well, that’s not something he’s planned for. Or been ready for. Or . . .

He wonders how close they’re going to be, if his Pocket showed up this early. Even if he walked upstairs right now and found his soulmate delivering a package at the door or something, which seems unlikely, it’s just–early.

Tim doesn’t know why he’d get a soulmate bond that strong. Like–why would he?

People don’t like him enough to have a bond like that with him.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and looks away from the Pocket of someone who doesn’t even know him yet, much less care that he exists.

“Rob?” his Pocket says, sounding concerned. Tim feels like an idiot and just–tries to concentrate on thinking of names. “S” ones, maybe. “S” is a place to start, no matter who his Pocket actually is. His best operating theory right now is Supergirl, actually, because she does have shapeshifting powers, doesn’t she? And also some identity issues, according to Bruce. And showing up as Superman actually might make sense for a Pocket that’d come from her, given she was partially based off him when she was created, so maybe . . .

“What about ‘Shift’ or ‘Shape’?” he suggests, looking back to his Pocket, who immediately makes a face at both ideas. “Alright, gonna take that as a no. Um . . . ‘Steel’? ‘Synapse’? I don’t know, ‘Stunt’?”

His Pocket keeps fucking pulling stunts, so it’s tempting, anyway. Or . . . her personality? If he/she is Supergirl, he means.

Does Supergirl actually have a gender identity, come to think? Is that a thing for shapeshifting protoplasmic lifeforms?

Hm. Worth looking into, maybe.

Tim’s Pocket looks considering about “Stunt”, but Tim’s interrupted from gauging his (or her) full reaction by Dick coming back down the stairs. He’s not in costume anymore, and has Red’s wheelchair cupped in one hand and Star floating over his opposite shoulder. Tim’s Pocket doesn’t seem interested in Dick’s arrival, but he chirps excitedly at the sight of Red and Star. Red clicks back and Star croons, flying over to hug him. He grins delightedly and hugs her back, nuzzling into her ridiculous amount of hair until he practically disappears in it.

“Any luck on the name?” Dick asks as he sets Red down next to the table and she wheels over to Tim’s Pocket too and punches him lightly in the hip before getting a hug of her own.

“He’s taking ‘Stunt’ under consideration, I think, though all things considered maybe I should’ve gone with ‘Stud’,” Tim says dryly, watching his Pocket take far too much pleasure in trying to hug Star and Red both at once while they avoid actually touching each other.

“Oh, buddy,” Dick says with absolute pity as Tim’s Pocket lights up in absolute glee.

“. . . fuck,” Tim realizes in dread, putting a hand over his face. Dick just pats his shoulder sympathetically.

“Rob! Tim! Tim-Rob!” his Pocket crows happily, abandoning Star and Red to zip over to him and hug him instead. Or try to, anyway. Mostly he ends up smushed against his face and chattering in thrilled Pocket talk as he tries to pull Tim’s hand down. Tim refuses to let him. He’s not going to acknowledge this problem. He’s going to ignore this problem. This problem does not exist as long as he’s safe behind his hand.

Unfortunately, Stud has super-strength, so that’s kind of a doomed effort there.

Tim has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to Bruce.

#lottie #wip: a pocketful of kons #long post

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asmoslverboy · 10 months ago

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To love the devil; Dottore x GN!Reader.

He is who he has always been. Despite the centuries he's had to accept and embrace his darkness, though he claims otherwise, he can't help but try to hide away from you. Neither one of you's a saint, but through his eyes, you're an angel. CW! Angst, immortal × immortal, Dottore is referred to as "Zandik", self sabotage on Dottore's part♡, dottore being emotional (ooc tbh, im self projecting on him)??

932 words

Dottore has many sides to him that he'd rather hide off from you. For someone so egotistical, so full of pride, you'd never expect him to be ashamed of who he is, who he has become. And he's not— shame, embarrassment— those aren't emotions that he's familiar with.

But fear, now that's a whole other conversation. It's not like you don't know what he's done, the things he's guilty of, his list of crimes, and of unethical desires he's tried to fulfill. It's not like you haven't personally seen him drown in sin over the 400 years of knowing him.

"Zandik, did I upset you?" You ask him as you're sitting on top of his desk while he's in his chair, looking up at your figure. He's been quite distant lately, more than usual. You could easily assume that he was having one of his isolative episodes, but he doesn't seem to be avoiding anyone other than you.

"Hm?" That's all you get from him, accompanied by a raise of his right brow, but his focus soon goes back to his notes, going over them, rambling about how he needs his next project to be the embodiment of perfection. Creating an aranara, was it? Some things, it seems, never change. He was so obsessed with the idea of capturing one of those little creatures of nature, back when the two of you were still students.

The next few hours pass by in the same cycle of events. You try talking to him, he shrugs it off and continues digging his head deep into his research files.

Do not expect any more of him for the next days, weeks even. It's like your existence no longer matters to him. All you see is the man that you've been with throughout basically your whole entire lives, acting as if you were a mere accomplice. He has repeated this type of scheme in the past, more than once, but it never lasted as long as it did this time.

Each of your attempts of getting a simple response out of him, one that requires actual words instead of some grunt or hum, has gone to waste.

You're unsure of what to do. Should you be more worried for him or for yourself? Is this the time it all ends between the two of you? Should you really just give up on him at this point?

"Zandik," you called out, but not to him, nor to anyone else. Sitting by a lake, all by yourself, no one to your company, other than the thousand microorganisms that lived and thrived in the waters. "I wish you would just speak to me."

It's not like you lack friends to confide in. But would anyone be as understanding towards him— the one who was labeled a monster, by all who've known him and by himself first and foremost— after you tell them about his present behaviors?

You laid your head on the cold, wet grass. Surrounded by nature, the collective of existence. You could never be alone in this world, not as long as you believe that everything around you is as alive as you are.

But are you truly alive? If, in the past, your definition of the word was to express yourself in every way, to feel and to be felt, would you consider yourself alive at this very moment?

Another day has come— it seems you had fallen asleep on the ground. You awoke, a couple ducks quaking as they poke you with their beaks. They didn't mean to hurt you, though. And if you think about it, your beloved is much like these ducks. He does what he thinks would best help you. Even if it has opposing effects.

"You shouldn't stay," he told you, his tone felt like it could cut through metal. You were back at his office again, figuring you could at least help him out at work, if unable to help his inner world. He was taking off his gloves as he was done inspecting some ancient Khaenri'ahn technology items. "Do you want me to—"

"I've given you every reason to leave. Yet you still cling to me like a bloodthirsty eel." He cut you off. He has never spoken to you like this (not whilst he was sober, nor whilst he was in his right mind). He was calm, but he spoke as if you were an object to be dismissed.

"Do you not love me anymore?" You wanted to ask him so, so desperately. But the potential answers to that question shook you to your very core. So you dared not speak.

Such conflict within you. Shall you leave him be? Shall you listen to his words instead of pursuing him any further? You're painfully aware of his nature; to push you away when he needs your presence most.

But it's been going on for far too long, has it not? If he's not allowing you to help him, then really, what else is there to do, if not fend for yourself?

"You deserve better," he wrote to you, in a letter that'll never reach your sight. "Your love should not be limited to one who can not accept, nor react to it," he wrote again. But who is he trying to fool? He knows that this piece of paper, along with all the other ones he's tried to write, will be crunched up and disposed of.

Not even once, for the sake of the person who's loved him through it all, will he allow himself to be heard.

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petrichor-idyllic · 2 years ago

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Hi hello! Can I request a Minho x Reader oneshot where the reader is working for WICKED but is like an undercover agent and actually tries to give out info for the Right Arm or whatever and she helps Minho when he gets taken back to the facility(like trying to find ways to free him or at least bring him food or smth when he's not being... yk tortured to death and all- it can be whatever) and she helps in his escape and they all go tho the safe haven where they live happily forever after- ok I'll stop now, thank you. Also I'm in love with your Minho oneshots!

Omg yesss this is such a good request and I can actually do so much with this.

I got really into this one so I'm sorry for the variation in my writing quality lmao. This might be my longest piece yet, so sorry it took so long to get out.

Due to the pronouns used in this text I am assuming it is Fem!Reader. I am also assuming this is based on the films because those events do not take place in the books.

WARMTH IN COLD PLACES PT. 1

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

PART 1 | PART 2

SUMMARY: See above. Minho x Fem!Reader. Movie based fic. Instead of Jorge knowing about the Last City and where Minho will be, you provide that information.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, violence, guns. WICKED being WCKD because movie. I'm assuming you know the rules of the card game Black Jack. This is also time inaccurate because TDC takes place over a couple of days but here you're getting weeks worth of events. VERY long.

You joined the Right Arm as a child, maybe ten or eleven- you can't really remember. You'd lost your parents to the Flare on separate occasions, escaping to a refuge camp after your father started showing symptoms and forced you to flee without him.

You can't even remember losing your mother. You were too young.

After moving from camp to camp, each one being safe until some Crank snuck in, or someone joined unknowingly suffering from the disease.

After the forth move, you met Vince. You tried stealing some extra bread for a girl who was sick (she had pneumonia, not the Flare). You got caught but put up a hell of a fight. Vince introduced himself, and you kind of became his adoptive daughter.

So, when he gave you an alias and a fake ID, sending you on a private mission to interfere and spy on WCKD, you were shocked to say the least.

But it made sense. Vince had been protective and secretive about you, making sure that he kept you away from WCKD's watchful eye. Sure, you're pretty well-known; but only by name. There's several rebellious attempts attached to your name, mainly spread around groups of activists.

But not your face. You were the perfect candidate for an undercover gig.

It took months to go through WCKD'S training, pretending to be older than you were with a name that wasn't yours, but it worked.

And then, even your fake name and life didn't matter- you simply became Guard 175.

It's been two years since you took the job.

Your time in the Last City was unlike any other- mainly stealing information and providing intel.

Until strict message from Vince on your smart watch tells you to keep an eye out for an Asian boy called Minho.

You knew of Minho- of course, you did. Vince and his new allies had been looking for him for the past six months. After the events in which Teresa betrayed you all, you were in the Last City. The Guard job you had required you to stay at WCKD's Headquarters at all times, since you were guarding the building. Even in events where WCKD needed more bodies.

All you could do was try and warn Vince, but by the time you found out what was happening yourself and managed to find a private place to send the message, it was too late.

So, now everyone's focus is on trying to find this random boy you've literally never met for ex-WCKD workers/prisoners. It's been a weird six months.

Much to your dismay, the only information you could provide were the routes the trains would be taking and that Minho might be on them.

Which got messed up, but not thanks to you. You told them the location, but which carriage Minho was on would be random based on where the Guards forced him to sit.

You were still unable to leave your post.

Vince had suspicions that they were bringing Minho to the main WCKD base, especially after you told them the documents stating the destination. It was really the only other option since they didn't save him. So, you're now under strict orders to keep an eye out for him.

You know what he looks like. You have an earpiece and a high-tech smart watch, both of which you keep hiden under your Guard's uniform. These were used to tell you what you had to look for. So, when you broke into WCKD's system, searching for Subject A7- information that was provided by some keen-eared boy called Newt -you knew who you were looking for.

"Miss Agnes," you jog, catching up to Teresa as she struts down the scary clean white walls of WCKD HQ. You hate it here. It's worlds away from the chaotic but cosy environment you spent your life in- from the small town that got plagued by the Flare to the Right Arm bases you helped run. It's too bright; too clean.

Part of your mission is to befriend Teresa. She's Ava Paige's personal lapdog, and if she likes you, you've got an in- and someone with power that will defend you. She seems to be fond of you, probably because if a lowlife peasant can like her, then maybe she isn't so bad.

You, obviously, despise her.

Your job wouldn't have become so complicated if it weren't for her, and you'd probably have a lot of people safe and sound in the Safe Haven. Your job was long, but it was originally to get as much information as physically possible and then flee, providing the knowledge to free more people and completely disrupt WCKD's plans. Now it's "tell Vince if you find this random kid."

"Ah, 175," she doesn't even know your fake name, "I was wondering where you'd got to."

"Yeah, well, you know how it is- busy guarding and all that." She scoffs. She's always found you funny; that might be why she likes you.

"Yes, well, as much as I'd love to chat, I've got to get to the labs." You're glad the mesh masks of your uniform shields your face because that means you can hide your panic.

"Sorry, uh, before you go- I heard one of the cargo trains was intercepted," her face visibly hardens, "I was wondering if that had anything to do with your old friends; the ones you told me about?"

She clears her throat, "I'm afraid so. I just-" she sighs, "Thomas thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks that this is what's best for him- but I'm trying to do what's best for humanity. It hurts that they don't understand that. But it's fine, because we prevented the Right Arm from getting our most reliable cargo."

"Oh?"

"I can't tell you much, I'm not allowed," she throws a sad smile your way. "I wish I could, though. You've been a great friend. So, let's just say one of the most impressive and consistent subjects is still in our possession."

She walks away, leaving you to huff and puff in the corridor. It made you sick how they spoke about people like they're objects. It's hard to believe the boys you're helping used to hold her so highly.

You return to your room. It's basically a box room that's big enough for a bed, but it's the only place that offers you any privacy. You yank your mask off, tossing it to the bed and pressing your fingers to your earpiece.

"Yo, Vince, you there?"

There's silence, followed by a sharp static. "(Y/N)? Did Teresa tell you anything?" You flop onto your bed, letting yourself move your hand away from your ear now the connection is stable.

"Not really, but she did mention about precious cargo being still intact- and an important test subject. The records I told you about before our raid said the train was coming here- we can only assume that this subject-"

"-Has to be Minho," Vince sounds stressed, groaning slightly.

"V? Everything alright over there?"

"Not really," he sighs, followed by the sound of a squeaking chair, "WCKD's jets have been snooping around base and Thomas, Newt and Frypan have gone AWOL- Brenda and Jorge left earlier to go and find them. But I doubt they're going to bring them back."

Honestly, you'd never spoken to any of these people, but you knew the names well enough to tell who they are.

"What are they going to do then?"

"What do you think?" You sit up on your elbows, processing what he's implying. "You might be having some company real soon."

"Does that mean I'll be able to leave?" Vince snorts a laugh. You've asked him that every single call since you started this gig.

"It might, actually," though, this is the first time you haven't gotten a no. "Keep an eye out for Minho. He should be arriving there within the next twelve hours. If not, he's somewhere else and you're going to have to do more snooping whilst I try to contact Thomas."

"Okay. Speak soon." The connection dies with a hiss.

This was going to be shit.

Not even two hours later, you hear the call off of your walky-talky that Guards are needed at the cargo entrance to transport Subjects. You flew at the opportunity, rushing into the crowds of your colleagues.

Joining the other members at the doors to the carpark, you watch as buses full of innocent people in handcuffs pull up- all in the depressing WCKD garb they're forced to wear. Some faces are familiar from browsing files, some new- all looked terrified.

You stay away from the front, dipping between masked personnel and observing from a distance. You knew exactly what you were looking for- Asian, dark-hair, well built, about eighteen-ish, good-looking, and probably angry. That was offered by some dude called Frypan. You doubt that's his real name, but you really hope it is.

You watch, processing faces and people as fast as you can as Guards grab the Subjects, holding one of their arms, which are handcuffed together in front of them, and leading them into the building. This could be the perfect opportunity to do something, but by the time you spot Minho, someone has beat you to it.

It's definitely him. His image and description match him perfectly, even if his hair is a little bit flatter. You silently curse as you try to make your way over to him, only for another Guard to force him to walk forward.

Okay, new plan- grab someone close and stay nearby.

You don't get to use that plan either when Minho suddenly lashes out. He slams his foot onto the Guard's, making the masked man yelp and let go. Minho takes the opportunity to spin around, kicking the guy in the chest and sending him flying.

Another Guard comes to help, but Minho has got a hold of a pair of keys from the previous guy, just about unlocking one of his wrists before dodging.

Shit.

This is bad. There's no way Minho is going to be able to escape the building under these circumstances. It's brutal and dangerous and he's going to get himself shot.

You act fast, breaking away from the colleagues waiting for their turn and being affected by the bystander effect. You watch as a Launcher is pointed at the boy, as another Guard tries to wrestle him. The guy gets kneed in the groin and you dive in from behind.

Minho seems to sense you're there, spinning around to punch you, but you grab his fist, catching him by surprise and giving you a second to react. You'd done a lot more than basic WCKD training. Vince has been teaching you to fight since you first met him.

You launch your heavy boot into the bottom of Minho's shin at the front of his ankle, causing his foot to bend awkwardly. Taking the opportunity to spin him around, pulling him in front of you. You're quick to switch your grip to his wrist, forcing his arm behind his back. Kicking the weak spot on the back of his knee, he hits the floor with a thump as you hold him in place.

Minho is physically stronger than you, easily. But, you have years of practical and strategical training over his head.

"Not bad, 175," you freeze as Janson's grating voice hits your ears, "do us all a favour and take care of that delinquent- he's unfortunately important."

"Yes, Sir." He stands at the front of the room, watching as the Subjects filter past him. "Come on."

You yank Minho up, forcing him back onto his feet, he groans, anger visibly seething from him.

You hold him close to you so you can lean into his ear and whisper. "Listen man, I don't wanna hurt you but there's no way you're gonna survive here if you keep pulling shit like that."

"Why should I listen to you?" He spits. His voice is scratchy and hollow, full of hatred and aggression.

"You'd rather listen to these assholes? Trust me, I do that pretty much daily, and it's not exactly an ideal lifestyle."

He scoffs. It's dry and very clearly forced. "You think I'm gonna be your friend just 'cause you don't like your coworkers?"

Unfortunately, you have to be vague. If someone overhears and you tell him you're an ally to the Right Arm, then you're a dead man. If they think it's just dumb workplace drama, then they probably won't bat an eye.

"Quite frankly, I don't give a fuck what you think about me- I'm here to do my job. Unfortunately, my boss wants you kept kickin'." That's subtle enough to not bring concern, but intruiging enough that Minho looks over his shoulder at you.

"175," you're moving through the corridors now, having left the parking area and moving to Subject dorms. Your attention diverts to behind you as Janson touches your shoulder, having left his observation of the transfer. "Come with me. Subject A7 has a private cell per the request of Miss Paige."

"Yes, Sir."

This could be good. Minho has his own room away from the other victims, which means you'll have easier access to him.

You follow your "Boss", making no attempt to communicate with Minho in such tense circumstances now.

"That was quite the stunt you pulled," Janson speaks, making you cringe under your mask. "I don't remember many Guards being taught much hand to hand combat- we mostly focus on arms training. It's impressive."

"I excelled in the brief lessons we had, Sir. I knew some beforehand since I had to look after myself in the Scorch- fighting Cranks is no easy task." You keep your voice calm. A lot of people have similar life experiences, and if you haven't lost absolutely everything, you're classed as lucky. So, it's no shock when you casually mention hardships, giving a plausible explanation to your skills.

"I suppose so. You've come a long way, you should be proud of yourself- from street rat to WCKD agent. That's quite the accomplishment."

"Thank you, Sir, but I'm just trying to survive- just like everyone else."

"Humble, too," you can hear the smirk in his voice, "no wonder Teresa likes you."

Shit. Minho physically tenses at the mention of her name. If Janson knows that you're friendly with Teresa, then it's not really a jump in logic for him to think you're up to something.

"I'm honoured to be held in such high regard, Sir." Janson seems satisfied with this response, humming slightly.

Minho is quick to notice how different you spoke to him vs. Janson. It's very clearly a front, but he can't afford to question it.

He leads you to a small room away from the group Dorms, opening the door with a key card and revealing it. It's pretty much the same as your room, which probably says a lot about the people you're pretending to work for.

"Okay, Minho," Janson addresses the boy, condescending and irritating, "no more little stunts, okay? Your friends and the Right Arm can't reach you here. It's better you just give up and help us save humanity." He looks at you, jolting his head towards the room.

You grit your teeth, but follow the insinuation, throwing in the boy as guilt washes over you.

○ ○ ○

"I've found the boy," you pace your room once you returned, immediately contacting Vince.

"So he's there? Do you have access to him?"

"Not really- I know where he is but only higher level personnel have access to it- like Janson." You did a brief sweep of the key card requirements before you left- you're not Hugh enough ranked.

"What about Teresa?"

"Yeah, she'll probably have access."

"Okay, you can work with that, surely."

You sigh, running your fingers though your hair, "Sure, yeah, I guess. But what do you even want me to do now? Break him out? Release his file to you? Both of us escape?"

"I want you to keep an eye on him."

"Seriously?" Your face twists into a frown. "Is that it?"

"We can't risk anything. You're a one man show and one of our best resources- Thomas and his group are probably already making their way to you. God knows what their plan is, but they have more chance with you inside."

"How are they even gonna get into the City? It's on lockdown."

"I have a feeling they'll find a way," Vince huffs, clearly tired of your pressing. "Just a little longer, kid, make sure Minho is alive and okay- I don't know what they're gonna do to him, but I need you to make sure he's still breathing. Am I clear?"

"Yep," you pop the P.

"I also need you to keep quiet about your position, even to Minho."

"What, why?"

"We don't know what WCKD are going to do to him. If he says anything about our operation or you, we've done all this for nothing."

"I guess- alright. I'll sort it," disconnecting and sighing, you lay on your bed. You need to rest. These next couple of days are going to suck.

○ ○ ○

You wake the next day, and immediately start your hunt for Teresa. You have a hunch she'll be dealing with the Minho situation, or at least observing it.

The problem is that the WCKD HQ is huge. And you don't know where the experiments will be taking place. Since your job mainly just consists of walking around and keeping an eye on things, it's not like you're raising any suspicions. Especially since you helped out yesterday.

You turn a corner, spotting Teresa and Ava Paige talking, looking into a lab room with a glass window- one of the several open testing rooms found in this part of the building. You slow your pace, watching from a distance.

Teresa seems to be distressed; her fists are balled and she swallows uncomfortably, almost like she's hypnotised by what she's watching but wants to look away. Ava is unfazed, but she brushes her prodigy's shoulder as she walks away, offering some kind of sympathy.

The sound of clicking heels fade, and you make your approach. Going to speak, your breath catches in your throat as you witness the gruesome scene.

Behind the glass, Minho is strung up to some kind of contraption. Screens surround him and wires come from all over his body. He's stood upright, a foot above the floor and held in place as they start the machine again. One of the screens shows brain wave patterns that indicate high levels of stress.

"He's dreaming." Teresa speaks without pulling her eyes away.

"Dreaming?" You question. This looks anything but peaceful to you.

"Induced dreaming- they're forcing him to experience high stress situations to see how it affects the Kill-Zone," her words are shakey, and you latch onto that.

"You don't sound like you approve." She looks at you, even though she's never seen you without your mask, your voice and the numbers sewn on your sleeve tell her enough- she could tell its you from a mile away.

"During my time in the Maze- and the Scorch -Minho was brave. He's one of the most courageous people I've ever met. I can't tell you how many times he threw himself on grenades to protect us." She smiles, almost fondly as she looks back at the glass. "One time, when we were escaping the WCKD lab after being saved from the Maze, he ran full force and kneed an armed Guard. Completely knocked him out in one go; still probably one of the coolest things I've heard someone do."

"He sounds like he meant a lot to you," she lets out a sad chuckle.

"They all meant a lot to me but... I don't know. I made choices they don't agree with. They refuse to see the bigger picture, and I don't think they ever will."

"Why don't you try talking to him? Maybe visit him in his cell? Even if it's just to make sure he's okay." Come on, if you can get her on this line of thinking, you're more likely to get into Minho's cell.

"I'm too busy- besides, I doubt he'd want to see me. He hates me."

"Ah, yeah, that's a problem," she laughs dryly.

"Would you do it for me?" You tilt your head at her, exaggerating your confusion.

"Do what for you?"

"Look after Minho? Janson says you handled him easily yesterday, so there's no worries about him escaping or causing problems."

"I can't- I don't have high enough card access to enter the cells." She looks at you, thinking for a second.

"I'll get your card access upgraded. I trust you to take care of him- he deserves as much."

And just like that, she'd played into your hands. You're mainly relieved your hours of talking to her had actually paid off in some sense, that much was proven when she found you later that day- presenting you with a new key card.

Heading towards Minho's cell, no one even batted an eye when they saw you slide the key down the lock and the light flashed green.

Minho's sat on the floor, back resting against the bed frame, his legs bent and head in his hands. He doesn't even react to the sound of the door opening or closing.

"I brought you some decent food."

Still nothing.

Cautiously, you walk over to him, crouching and placing the dish on the floor. He looks at it out of the corner of his eye, which is kind of an improvement.

You cross your legs, sitting next to him but facing him. Silence fills the room and you let it. Minho is going to have to talk to you on his own terms if he's going to talk to you at all.

A good five minutes passes.

"You're not gonna leave, are you?" His voice sounds dry and is barely a whisper compared to the aggressive boy you'd tackled not even forty-eight hours prior.

"Nope."

"Did you at least get me a shuckin' drink?"

"...I'll be back. What would you like?"

"Do I even have a choice?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?"

"...Anything alcoholic?"

"No."

"Juice then."

You return ten minutes later with a glass full of orange juice, taking the sitting position that you had previously.

To your surprise, he's now sat with his legs crossed, holding the tray of beef, mash, gravy, and veg that you stole from the dining area on his lap.

You gently place the glass next to him, and he anxiously looks at it. "Not poisoned, right?"

You sigh, lifting the bottom on your mask and taking a sip, returning it to it's spot. He still hesitates, glancing down at his plate. So, you reach over, picking up a small piece of meat, struggling slightly to put it in your mouth under the mask.

He seems to accept this. It takes him a second, but he slowly starts eating- mainly picking at the food and taking slight sips of his drink, but progress is progress.

"You should count yourself lucky- the others aren't getting this quality food."

"Is that meant to make me feel better?" You guess that comment was a bit insensitive.

"Sorry, but you need to eat. You need the energy."

"What? So I'm strong enough to be tortured?"

You hesitate, feeling genuinely bad. "I'm sorry that-"

"No, you're not!" He snaps to face you, eyes full of fury and for a second you think he's going to attack you. "175, right?" He glances at your sleeve, "You stopped me from escaping."

"I stopped you from getting killed."

"I had it under control."

"Didn't look like it." His jaw tenses, staring down at his meal. "WCKD's Guards are trained with guns and weaponry- you're important but not nearly enough for them to risk you ruining their whole operation."

"You mean your whole operation."

"Whatever," you spit, determined to follow Vince's request, "I saved your ass, whether you appreciate it or not. I didn't know what they were going to do to you, I'm only here because-"

"Because Teresa wants you to look after me?" You blink at him, even if he can't see it. "Yeah, I saw you, even if I wasn't conscious. I knew it was you- same height and everythin'. You're helping that shuck-faced shank 'cause she feels bad that she's a shuckin' traitor that sentenced all her friends to death. Betraying little-"

"Okay," you cut him off, "I get it. I don't agree with it- do you seriously think I'd be here if I was just doing this because some bitch who doesn't even respect me asked?"

He looks at you. He really looks at you, like he can see straight through your uniform and into your soul.

"What other reason do you have?"

You shake your head, sighing through your mask. "Finish your food. I need to get rid of the dish- I'll get in deep shit if they find out I'm giving handouts to prisoners."

"The traitor didn't tell you to feed me?"

"Nah, did that all on my own." He snorts, kind of like a forced laugh, but he seems to relax a bit.

The remainder of your interaction is in silence. Minho finishes his food quickly, picking up pace once he gets taste for it. He finishes his drink, passing the glass to you instead of just putting it on the ground.

You stand and leave without saying another word. Minho doesn't attempt to change that.

This is going to be harder than you first thought.

Thomas better work fast.

○ ○ ○

You desperately try to avoid Teresa the next day, and you missed Minho for breakfast since they already took him for another round of glorified torture.

Your avoidance did not work.

"175." You've been guarding the entrance of the building for the last seven hours and you think you're starting to hallucinate. So, when Teresa actually approaches you, probably to leave for the day, you kind of wish she wasn't real.

"Hey," you greet her, for some reason smiling even though there is literally no point. "You okay?"

"I was wondering how Minho's doing?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" You attempt to joke, but when her face drops, you realise you've miss-stepped. "He's fine. As fine as you can be in this situation." You lie, mainly just wanting her to leave.

"Okay," she nods her head, accepting this, "thank you for this."

"It's no problem, Miss Agnes."

"Please, call me Teresa," she offers you a genuine smile and for a second you understand why Minho's so hurt.

"Okay then, Teresa." She flashes another smile before walking through the doors. Of course, WCKD scientists get high-end apartments away from the building.

The second day of your new routine starts. You bring Minho food- and you remember the juice, though it does make it harder to open the door.

This time, he's lay on the floor. Not the bed, the floor.

"Uh, you good?" The question even sounds dumb leaving your lips.

"Are you seriously asking me that?" He grumbles, eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the ceiling.

"Yeah, fair point." You sit on the edge of his bed, putting the food next to you but still holding the glass so it doesn't spill. Having a sticky orange juice covered bed would not improve his day. "I've brought you chicken wings and some fries, they were out of the healthy option."

He reluctantly sits up, shuffling across the floor and using the bed as a table as he sits in front of you. You pass his the drink and he sets it on the floor.

"If you're not doing this for Teresa, why are you doing this?" He asks between struggled mouthfuls of food.

You shrug, playing off your intentions. "Wanna pretend I'm a good person."

He scoffs, "No one who works here is a good person."

"That's why I said pretend."

You like to think you're doing a good job at keeping up the act. And maybe if Minho wasn't so exhausted and in pain, he might pick up on something not being quite right.

Though, you have to at least provide Vince with some kind of intel. Teresa said he's dreaming to stress the Kill-Zone part of the brain, but what's the point?

"What exactly are they doing to you?" He pauses for moment, clearly not wanting to think about it.

"Torture."

"I mean, I gathered that." Unfortunately, you have to stay stoic. Fortunately, you've basically been trained your whole life for this.

"I don't know- they put me in some weird trance and I see all the horrible things that's happened mixed with, like, a remix of traumatic things I've gone through- like they're using my shuckin' memories against me to make new ones or some klunk."

Well, that offered nothing, "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It's weird. It feels so real and I can't tell it's fake when it's happening. But I'll be getting chased by Grievers down concrete corridors, or be back in that mall being hunted down by Cranks, except it's warped and keeps changing and I can't find the way we escaped. It's like being back in the shuckin' Maze, except they can control my entire body and make me do whatever they want. It's the Maze without being safe in the Glade at night, and I don't actually know how to survive."

"Huh," now, this is interesting.

"What? What is it?"

"They're trying to gain similar- or better -results as they did for the Maze trails. Except the Right Arm knows the location of all the Mazes, and pretty much all WCKD facilities so they're being forced to use psychological torture and hallucinations to mimic it instead. Since the City is on lockdown and no one can access it."

He pauses completely, blinking at you.

"What? I don't get it- why would torturing a bunch of immune teenagers help anyone."

"Because they want to cure the Flare."

"So?"

"So, Munnies and normal folk have the same structure brain, except the Kill-Zone area, the part of the brain that's damaged by the Flare, is left unaffected in those who are immune. The Kill-Zone reacts under extreme stress and produces new results and hormones that could, in theory, be used to create a cure."

Minho stops completely, the fork he's holding clattering onto the plate as he just stares at you.

"What?"

"How the shuck do you know all this? You're just a Guard but you know the biology behind all the science?"

"It's kind of common knowledge," you bluff, "the Flare's been plaguing humanity for a while- everyone knows the basic science behind it. I don't know what they expected, really."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know the Flare is man-made, right?"

A beat passes, horror crossing Minho's face. "What?"

"When the Solar Flares hit, millions of people died, but half the world was pretty much left kinda intact. But, it meant we lost half the globe's worth of supplies and important necessities, so the growing population issue grew tenfold. So, for some fuckin' reason, the big bosses of the World thought it would be a smart idea to make a deadly virus to use as population control. The virus was too strong, spread too fast- those geniuses didn't think to make a cure just in case things went wrong. And, well, the rest is history."

You're actually shocked that Vince, or even WCKD didn't tell them this, because Minho seems genuinely dumbfounded.

"Shuck it," he rests his elbows on the bed, head in his hands. "Why am I not even surprised? Trust some random WCKD shank to be giving me a buggin' history lesson."

"Kinda figured someone woulda said something."

"Yeah, well, they didn't. Some shuck-face shucked up and now I'm being literally tortued to fix it. Brilliant."

"Bummer," he snorts at this.

"Yeah, you can shuckin' say that again."

"Why do you talk like that?" You decide to ask him more questions, mainly because you are genuinely confused.

"Like what?"

"Like that? Yanno, shuck, shank, buggin', klunk- you talk fuckin' weird."

"It's just how we spoke in the Glade. Don't really know how it started, but it's engrained in my vocab now."

"That's kinda cool," he raises his eyebrow, starting to eat again, "leave a bunch of teenagers to fend for themselves and they start makin' up words. It's just interesting."

"Yeah," he hums, "guess it kinda is."

○ ○ ○

You fell surprisingly easily into a routine. You talk to Minho, inform Vince of the current WCKD methods and then go about your job.

It's a lot of effort, but Minho is starting to be less reluctant to talk to you. He fondly retells stories of the Glade, like how he and Thomas survived a night, how bad Frypan's stew was, and that one time Zart accidentally burnt down a hut and Gally didn't talk to him for a month. It sounds like they were genuinely happy there, and it breaks your heart that Minho seems to wish he was back in that trap. Especially when he tells some of the darker stories.

But now there's a problem. Vince had always been touchy and strict about relationships. He didn't want you distracted or upset over some boy, so relationships were forbidden. And considering he's the closest you have to a father figure, you obeyed. Though, that means you've never been romantically involved with a boy through your entire teenage years.

And the first time you've ended up spending long amounts of time with a boy is with the torture victim you're trying to comfort whilst simultaneously convincing him you're the reason for his capture. A very good-looking boy who seems to be warming up to you.

A very good-looking, strong boy who listens to what you tell him and seems to be taking an interest in you and is very passionate about his opinions. Opinions that, unbeknownst to him, align perfectly with yours.

Oh no.

"I don't even know your name." You and Minho sit on the floor, playing Black Jack with a pack of cards you managed to sneak into his room. He's slowly being worn down. His features are more sucken, his skin pale and his hair dishevelled and messy. None of which you can really help. "Or what you look like."

"You don't need to know my name, or what I look like, to get your ass handed to you at Twenty-One last time I checked." He rolls his eyes. He acts like a completely different person around you than to the other Guards. It's hard to watch the empty shell of the person he normally is in this room be pushed around.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"No can do, sweetheart," admittedly, you want to take your mask off because it makes seeing the cards harder. But it does mean you don't have to worry about your pokerface.

Pet names had become an interesting topic. You used to endearingly call members of the Right Arm things like sweetheart, or doll, or hun- something you picked up from your father. Something that has bled into your relationship with Minho.

Not that he complains.

"C'mon," he groans, "how am I meant to be friends with a faceless freak?"

"You think we're friends?" You ask, genuinely as you take another card off of the deck, cringing as it's the ten of clubs which takes you to twenty-five.

"Well," he shrugs, "what else am I meant to call it? Stockholme Syndrome?"

"Wouldn't be that wrong of a diagnosis. You taking another card?"

"Are you?" You shake your head. Minho reveals his hand, showing twenty on his cards, and you dramatically throw yours down, showing your loss.

"God dammit!" He barks a laugh at your reaction. "Why am I so bad at this?"

"You're just playing against a master," you galre at him, "I had plenty of practice in the Glade."

"It's a game based on luck- you can't master it."

"That's what you think."

○ ○ ○

Maybe you got too used to your routine- too comfortable with Minho and the situation you're in, but when Teresa told you she'd finally gained enough courage to speak to Minho, you knew it would end badly.

Teresa enlisted you to guard the room, but with the door closed and your colleagues discussing lunch next to you, it's kinda hard to hear what's going on.

That's until Minho screams the word "Traitor" followed by a loud slamming noise.

Shit.

The other Guards scramble into the room, knocking into you and halting your progress. You burst in, panic swelling in your chest as one of them holds up a buzzing taser. Darting forward, you grab the Guard's arm, placing one arm on Minho's back to at least play it off as the shocked masked man lets go slightly.

"Stop!" You snap. "He's subdued! We don't need to inflict unnecessary pain!"

"It's protocol to-"

"175 is right," Teresa comes to your defense, controlling the atmosphere of the room. "Subject A7 has been through enough- he's in no position to cause any further harm. Return him to his cell and only act if necessary."

Without words, you yank Minho up by the back of his shirt, cringing at the 'PROPERTY OF WCKD' printed on the back. You undo the cuffs from the table and reattach them to his wrists. He makes no effort to resist. He knows he's safer with you than he is with any of his other options.

You walk him down the halls. The rage seeps off of him, his skin under his shirt is warm and his cuffed hands are balled. Unlocking the door to his cell, you push him in, probably a little bit too aggressive. But you tell yourself it's for show.

"What the fuck was that?" You hiss, stepping into the cell. Minho immediately turns to face you, his nostrils flaring, jaw tense and for the first time, you realise how scary he really can be.

"You're shucking kidding, right?" He shouts, causing you to immediately panic and try to shush him. "I'm here because of her! Everything we did- everything we went through- is because of her! And you expect me to be calm about this klunk? Just because you can act like an apathetic shuck-face, doesn't mean I can!"

He slowly walks towards you, throwing his words at you. You back away, not realising how close the door is until you hit your back against it. Minho towers over you, still in cuffs, leaving very little space between you as his chest rises and falls.

"I'm sorry-"

"Sorry? You're helping them! You are keeping me here! Why? You clearly don't like them and have some morals deep down- but you're still bringing me to this shuckin' cell!"

"I have no choice!" You finally shout back, making him flinch. "I don't want to watch this shit- or hurt you or anyone! But I can't help you if I'm fucking dead, Minho! You can get away with this shit because they need you! They don't need me! If I step too far out of line- then I'm dead!"

His features soften as he steps back, giving you more room to breathe.

"What exactly do you want me to do? Trust me, if I could, we'd be long gone from this hell-hole but I have no way of doing that without at least me ending up in a body bag." You huff, crossing your arms across your chest. "And what use would I be to you then?"

The bed squeaks under Minho's weight as he sits down. His legs are spread, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. Neither of you say anything for a couple of minutes; you take the opportunity to compose yourself.

Until Minho sniffs.

"Minho?" You push away from the door, cautiously making slow steps towards him. "Minho? Are you okay?"

"I can't do this anymore," his voice breaks as he speaks, shattering your heart in the process. "I can't- I don't- how am I meant to keep doing this?" He groans, frustration mixed with a sob shakes his whole body.

You make the bold move to sit next to him, being closer to him than you've ever dared before at the bed sinks under your weight, you shoulders bumping slightly.

"This is so much worse than the shuckin' Maze- at least I had some control in there. But here? My body- my mind- I- fuck! I have nothing. I-I feel like I'm dying. I can't live like this. Teresa said that I'm saving some kid by being tortured. But what about me? What about all the other shanks they're putting through this klunk? How is this fair? For a shuckin' maybe? They don't even know it's gonna work- how can you justify this?"

You choose to ignore the final comment, even if it stings. Gingerly, you put your arm around his shoulders, rubbing small circles into the top of his arm. He doesn't pull away, his arms dropping to between his legs.

"It's gonna be okay," you sooth him, "we're gonna get out of here, okay?" He scoffs, shaking his head.

"How am I meant to believe you? I can't even trust you."

You know he's right, but it doesn't hurt any less. You wish you could tell himself everything. About the Right Arm and why you're here- everything that Vince told you to keep to yourself.

"I know," you sigh, "I'm sorry." He looks at you, his tear stained face and puffy eyes sending a new drive of determination through you.

To your shock, he rests his head on your shoulder, allowing you to hug him further, resting your head on top of his.

"I hate you," he whispers, more like he's trying to convince himself than he is telling you.

In all honesty, Minho probably had started to develop some liking towards you. And that's what he hates. He thinks you're the enemy, that you're the reason he's here- but he doesn't have anyone else. He's completely on his own until you come into his room. He doesn't even know who you are, but he's already getting attached to you.

"Yeah, I know. Want me to take your cuffs off?"

"Please."

○ ○ ○

You slam the door to your room, immediately throwing your mask across the small space, hearing it thump against the wall. You connect to Vince, fury coursing through tour veins.

"(Y/N)?" The line connects in your ear, "You're not meant to be calling at this-

"Vince," your voice is sharp and concerned, "I need to do something- Minho is on the verge of a complete mental breakdown and I'm starting to regress in progress." You refer to his words instead of his actions- things are already complicated enough.

"Look, I'm in contact with Jorge. Things should start moving soon; Thomas and Newt have made a deal to get into the City. Stick to the plan and be prepared. I need to go."

"What? Vince-" the line falls dead, leaving you alone in your room.

The tests increase over the next couple of days. You've barely seen Minho, and Teresa completely vanishes for nearly an entire day, which raises alarm bells all over the tower- but she returns seemingly unharmed.

Until the alarms start blaring not even hours later.

Fuck.

"175!" A masked Guard bursts into your dorm, scaring the shit out if you not even seconds after the blaring starts. "There are intruders in the building! The Subjects have been released!Come on!"

He runs off, giving you absolutely no time to process what's happening. Diving under your bed, you pull out guns and weaponry you snuck into the building, straping them around your black turtle neck you wear under your uniform before hiding them with your jacket.

You burst out of the room, pulling your mask on and joining the hoards of Guards flooding through the building.

You break away. You know that Minho will be in the testing area since he won't have been with the other Subjects. So, that's where you go.

The tower has fallen into complete chaos. People are shooting at each other and Guards are running around like headless chickens.

You can't get distracted though.

You break into a sprint, staying away from everyone else as you rush to make your way up to the lab where Minho can normally be found. The lab area is surprisingly quiet, probably because you decided to take the stairs for the most part. Using your endless training for Vince to run up the multiple flights of stairs.

You do give up and take an elevator for the last few floors though. You're not superman.

Bursting onto the floor, several scientists seem thrilled that help is here, and are met with disappointment when you completely ignore them. Sprinting down the halls, you skid to a halt.

One of the lab rooms has the door thrown open. A man in a white lab coat is lay on the floor, blood pouring from his side as others seem to be knocked out and scattered across the room.

"Fuck!" You exclaim. If you had any doubts that Minho could handle himself, you definitely don't now.

"175!" Two Guards stand at the end of the hallway. "Subject A7 has escaped! We need to find him. Come on!"

You're left with little choice but to follow them. You all jog down the corridors, the opposite way to which you were originally planing on tracking Minho's footsteps.

You can see Minho, and assumingly Thomas and Newt hugging beyond a room that's walls are all glass. One of the windows from the far room is completely shattered, and you can see a knocked out Guard on the floor.

"Hands up!" The Guard on your left shouts, catching the three boys off-guard. "Drop your weapons!"

Judging by the fact none of the trio move, you're assuming that they've ran out of ammo.

One on your left, the other on your right, you whip your gun out, pointing it at your unsuspecting allies.

It's now or never.

Minho's face drops at the realisation it's you. Was everything you said a lie to make him more compliant? Despite the uniform, he's gotten completely used to you based on height and the brown army boots you wear- different to the black owns adorn by the rest of WCKD employees. It's a subtle difference implemented by Vince just in case. But Minho doesn't know that.

"Seriously?" He snaps, making the other boys exchange glances. "After all this- everything that's happened- you're still with them?"

Newt and Thomas look completely lost, looking back at Minho, who is staring directly at you, hands still at his side.

"Please," you scoff, "I was never with them."

Without warning, you slam your elbow into the stomach of the guard on your left, using the shock to slam to end of your gun into the side of their head. The other one goes to shoot at you, but you rip your Guard's jacket off, throwing it at them.

It engulfs them entirely, making them stumble back. Pointing the pistol at them, a loud bang fills the room as the bullet finds its new home through the fabric and in the Guard's head. Their body hits the floor in a heap and you make no attempt to retrieve your jacket.

Minho steps back, stunned. His hands go to his hair as the other boys lower their arms.

"It's nice to finally meet you, (Y/N)." Thomas sounds surprisingly calm, Newt looks between him and Minho, the cogs setting in place.

"Likewise," you grab the bottom of your mask, pulling it over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Finally revelaing yourself to Minho, you feel slightly insecure about what he'll think of your face, but you don't show it. Not that it matters because he's staring at you in some form of awe.

"What? You guys know- what? What is happening?"

"I'll explain later- we need to move." The boys all mumble in agreement as you join them, hearing footsteps and Janson's irriating voice not that far away.

You all start moving, you taking the lead with more of an understanding of the building.

"What? I don't understand what's happening? How do you know her?" He asks Thomas as your eyes land on Newt. You've seen their files, a long time ago, but you can tell who's who.

Newt's skin is pale, his eyes dark and he glistens with sweat. He's infected. And you're not immune. This could end badly.

"She's with the Right Arm- Vince's secret weapon."

"Sorry I didn't tell you, hun, but I was under strict orders to keep my mouth shut. Let's just get out of here alive and I'll explain everything," you try to hurry them along. "Tommy-boy, fill me in on what's going on."

Just as the words leave your mouth, static connects in your ear. Vince.

"(Y/N), I'm on my way to the City- what's going on on your end?"

"I'm with the boys," you respond, completely confusing the trio even more. Voices behind you and footsteps make you all break into a sprint. "Here! Come on!" You pull them into a room, they barricade the door as you continue talking.

"We're tryna get out but it's not looking good."

"What now?" Newt asks as you all examine the room. "Is there another way out of here?" He asks you and you simply shake your head.

The drilling sound of a mechanical saw fills to room.

"Any ideas?" Minho shouts, backing away from the door.

Thomas turns around, examining the window. "Maybe."

It take the three of them to pick up a metal container, presumably full of anaesthetic gas through the window. It shatters on impact, sending shards and the cannister hundred of feet down into the water.

You all stand on the edge, looking at the boy as he seems to be questioning himself. "Okay, it's doable- just need a little running start."

All three of look at each other like Thomas is losing his mind. But you still all follow him further back into the room, standing by his side. You stand between Minho and Thomas, taking a second to think about how you life has led you to this.

"You sure about this?" Minho asks him, and it's obvious these boys are going to follow him to the ends of the Earth.

"Not really."

Well, that's brilliant.

"Nice pep talk." Minho sarcastically states, his wit still prominent as ever.

"Yeah, we're all blood inspired."

At least the feeling is mutual.

The door bursts open with a bang, all of you turning to face Janson breaking into the room before Minho grabs your hand, dragging you with him as you all break into a sprint. Jumping at the last second, you all plummet out of the window.

"Thomas!" Minho yells.

"Oh shit!" Thomas responds.

You're submerged in the water, just managing to hold your breath last second. It takes all of you a moment to rise again, all panting and all stressed.

Gasping for air, you and Minho look up, catching Janson standing at the edge of the window.

Thomas puts his middle finger up at him.

Kind of iconic.

Swimming to get to the ledge, you make sure they reach them first, taking Thomas' hand as he pulls you out of the water.

"You four, don't move!" You all immediately turn to face to group of WCKD's armed men walking towards you. Thomas takes the front as Minho grabs your arm, pulling you protectively behind him.

He seems to have forgiven you pretty fast, at least.

"Take it easy!" One of the masked men shouts. Hidden by Minho, you pull another gun out of your weapon holder that's strapped around your middle. Thomas also reaches for a gun.

"Ah-ah! Don't even think about it! Get on your knees with your hands in the air!"

One of the Guards suddenly turns around, shooting the other three that are standing with him. Minho immediately steps back, reaching for you and finding contact with your wrist.

"You son of a bitch!" One of them groans, the electricity from the Launcher leaving them useless.

Your savior approaches, taking his mask of and revealing... some dude. Though the others seem shocked.

"Gally?" Minho gasps, and you snap to look at him, returning to his side.

"Minho." The boy simply says. "You guys are nuts." He looks at you. "(Y/N) (L/N), big fan." You blink at him.

"Thanks?"

"I'll explain later," Thomas playful pats his friend on the arm whilst Minho is having some kind of internal meltdown. He's going to be enlightened by the time everyone's told him everything.

The other boys walks ahead and you look at him. "I thought you said you..." You trail off, completely at a loss yourself and remembering what he'd told you about Gally.

"Yeah, me too."

You both connect back to the group, awkwardly ducking and crouching whilst you run through the City.

Trying to hide from helicopters isn't easy.

"Well, they're definitely pissed," Gally states as you hide behind some planters that some trees are in.

"How far are the tunnels?" Thomas asks the new boy.

"Uh, maybe twelve blocks from here." Newt coughs, and you look at Minho, who is very clearly in some serious distress. "We can make it."

"Newt, how you feeling?" Minho crouches in front of his friend.

"Terrible," the boy responds honestly. "It's good to see you though." He pats his friend weakly, and you remind yourself to stay at a safe distance.

Minho joins the other boys whilst you stay with Newt. "He's one lucky shank," Newt tries to laugh.

"What?"

"Havin' you around- some badass chick lookin' after him whilst we couldn't. Pretty, too." You scoff at Newt's attempt at small talk.

"I don't know if he'll agree with that."

"Hey, Newt, we gotta get you up. Gotta get goin'." You help Thomas pull up the sick boy, who nearly falls flat on his face whilst Minho and Gally exchange some words.

Minho takes Newt off of your shoulders, sensing your slight distance from the boy.

They start struggling to carry Newt through the City, when a load explosion and bursts of flames from the walls stops you all dead in your tracks.

"We're supposed to take down WCKD, not the whole damn City," Gally stares into the flames, and you have no idea what's going on. But that's not good.

"Gally, c'mon," Thomas say, yanking them both away whilst you stand with Gally, waiting for him to move. Sirens fill your ears as you start to follow him.

"Tunnels are right up ahead. Shit!" You move round a corner, following Gally's instructions, only to come across a battle field. "Stay low! Stay low!"

"What are they waiting for?" Minho asks as you all hide once again. Unfortunately, he's answered as another round of explosions courses through the streets.

Violence erupts. "We gotta go! We gotta go!" The boys struggle moving Newt again, and you stay behind Gally. Desperately trying to not get hit, you hold your gun in your hands, ready to kill anyone that gets too close. Your job now is to protect these boys.

You retreat to a nearby building, where Thomas contacts Brenda over the radio. You can't make out what they're saying over the static and gunshots. You're too busy trying to shield Newt and Minho.

Though you do make out a clear. "I'm coming to you."

Vince.

You pick up again. "We're almost there," Gally pushes forward, taking the lead as you cover the back.

"Just leave me," Newt grumbles before a truck explodes, sliding across the roads.

A Berg flies overhead, giving you some glimsp of hope. But with Newt is his current condition, you can't keep moving.

"Minho," Thomas looks at his friend, "you run ahead, grab the serum, and get back to us as soon as you can." The boy hesitates, looking at Thomas. "Minho. Go."

"He's right," Gally states, "I can cover."

"Me too," you add.

"No, you're staying here, you could get hurt," Minho tells you, showing you that he actually might not hate you after all.

"I'm coming with you." You're more definite, putting your foot down and leaving with no choice.

Minho caves, going to stand until Newt grabs him. "Thank you." Black drool covers his chin, and his eyes are bloodshot and shifty. He's not gone just yet, but it's not far off. "Thank you, Minho."

"Hey, just hang on, you hear me?"

The three of you make your move. You and Gally cover the faster boy, both of you using your expertise to let him make a run for it.

Teresa's voice rings over the loudspeakers. Her voice trying to pressure Thomas to return to her. But you, Gally and Minho can't afford to stop and listen.

Running at full speed, you reach the Berg, not taking any time to acknowledge your father figure you haven't seen in nearly two years.

"Where's the serum?" Minho yells at a girl with short hair- you're assuming Brenda.

She makes a run for it. Bolting through the City and you're all hot on her heels, a new boy, Frypan, joining the mix.

The four of you get stuck in a tunnel during a shootout, using a car for cover as Brenda keeps going.

"Shit," Minho hisses from next to you. You look at him. "You should've told me."

"I couldn't," the poor Frypan clearly has no idea what either of you are talking about. "You know I couldn't."

"I could've- we could've- shuck it!" He lashes out, kicking a piece of debris that's in front of him. "We need to help Newt. This can wait."

He's mad at you. It's weird- he's protective but furious. He doesn't want you to get hurt but that might be because he wants to hurt you himself.

"Come on!" Gally shouts, "We're clear! Let's move!"

And with that, you're all on your feet again, dodging bullets and flying through the City to try and return to Thomas and his sick friend.

You slow to a jog as the people in front of you slow, spotting Brenda motionlessly standing in an empty pathway. You once again stay back, just about joining them as you watch Minho hit the floor.

His body crumbles in front of Newt's corpse, a knife sticking out of his chest. You stand next to Brenda, observing the distraught washing over the group. You've known Newt for under half an hour, but you can tell he played a huge part in these people's lives.

You suck in a deep breath, approaching Minho from behind. "I'm sorry," you murmur. "I'm so sorry, Minho."

He pulls his eyes away, looking at you instead as you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"You really couldn't have done anything, could you?" He's sincere, all of his anger washing away for a second. You shake your head.

He's on his feet in seconds, throwing his arms around you, knocking you back slightly. His entire world as he knows it is crumbling, but he's seeking comfort in you.

You hug him back, your hand coming to the back of his head, holding him steady as his body trembles. "We can't stay here," you whisper. "We need to move."

"She's right," Gally agrees, overhearing, "it's dangerous. We need to get back to the Berg."

"What about Thomas?" Brenda's voice breaks.

"We'll find him," you pull away from the boy. "But we have more chance of doing that from the Berg."

They all agree, leaving Newt's body and returning to the perilous task of making your way through the City. You take control, being the only person in sound mind to do so.

It takes a lot, but you get there, making sure everyone enters the Berg before you.

"(Y/N)!" You turn as Vince makes his way over to you. "You did it!"

"Vince!" Throwing your arms around him, you allow yourself to relax. You both pull away, emotions of the past two years of your life finally starting to spill out. "We lost Newt."

He sighs. "I'm sorry. But you did everything you could."

"No," you sniff, "I didn't. I could have done more- figured something out. Done literally anything else- I- I could've saved him."

Unbeknownst to you, Minho is watching and listening from a distance. He's known you as stern and in control this entire time, but watching you fall apart in Vince's presence reminds him that you're just another kid that's been put through hell.

He wasn't mad at you anymore. Seeing Newt's corpse and the sympathy you possessed showed him that. But now he pities you. He doesn't know anything of the sacrifices you've made.

"That wasn't your job- it was meant to just be a simple intel gig and it all went wrong. I shouldn't have put that pressure on you." Vince's words do little to make you feel better.

"We have to find Thomas," you compose yourself, returning to your normal stoic form in the blink of an eye.

You make your way onto the Berg, Vince not too far behind you. You make eye contact with Minho, but you don't have time to deal with that right now.

"Miss (L/N)," (you're assuming) Jorge approaches you, a grin on his face, "it's an honour to meet you." He holds his hand out for you to shake. "Ha! You're a living legend, hermano. In the flesh."

"Don't go praising me so soon, dude, this shit ain't over yet." He follows you like a lost dog as you travel further into the ship, "Have you got Thomas' location?"

"The signals weak and the building's burning- but he seems to have returned to the area of WCKD's tower."

"That's where we'll head then."

"Wait," Vince stands behind you as you ignore the stares from the Berg full of people, "the City's being destroyed- I don't know if this is a good idea."

"We can't leave him- we wouldn't be here if it weren't for him he deserves a chance at a happy life and we've already lost too many good people. We're saving Thomas, V. I don't care what you say." Vince looks at Jorge, who has a faint smile creeping across his and returns the stare.

"I'm doin' what the girl says. Kid's got fire; can tell you raised her." Jorge winks at you, making his way to the cockpit.

"You've changed, huh?" You don't even bother looking at Vince.

"It's been a rough couple of years. Let's just get this over with."

The Berg starts up, and you join Brenda, Gally, Frypan and Minho at the open doors, examining the City and the surrounding area of the burning tower.

"So," Gally starts, "everything they say about you? It true?"

"Depends what they're saying." You don't pull your eyes away from the ground as the Berg moves in large, circular motions.

"A lot of klunk about causing WCKD problems- apparently you were the one that convinced Thomas to release WCKD co-ordinates to Dr. Cooper."

Minho looks at you, but don't meet his eyes.

"Yeah, I might've had something to do with that."

You finally raise higher, examining the top of the now fully inflamed tower.

"There!" You shout, "That's them!" Thomas is clearly injured, half being carried by Teresa.

So, he did return.

"What's wrong with him?" Frypan shouts and you shake your head.

"I don't know. Jorge! Get closer!"

There's a struggle as the Berg moves, your hearing turns to static as all you can focus on is reaching them. Qualms with Teresa aside, she's clearly helping Thomas.

Come on! Move closer! Let's go!

The same phrases are repeated as you slide further down the door, clinging onto one of the wire hinges so you don't fall and join them. You grab Thomas, along with the others' hands grabbing towards him, with the help of Teresa throwing him.

You manage to pull him on, and he immediately turns to Teresa. You go to reach out to her, but an explosion knocks her back, forcing the Berg to pull away.

A missile hits the building, and you all watch in horror as it collapses beneath Teresa, swallowing her into the darkness.

○ ○ ○

The next few hours are a complete blur. Thomas had been shot and was seriously bleeding out. With the help of you and Vince, you managed to slow the bleeding.

You didn't even get a chance to admire the Safe Haven when you finally landed because you were too busy trying to save Thomas' life. You got him to the medical professionals, and after several jarring hours, they confirmed he'd be okay. But he'd be asleep for a while.

Since then, you've been spending all your time catching up with Vince and reconnecting with the people you grew up with. It's very bittersweet, and you haven't had the chance, or the bravery, to talk to Minho yet.

You decided to give the Gladers some space. They'd been through hell and they need to process and talk amongst themselves for a while.

After a while, Thomas wakes up, and you watch his reunion with Minho from a distance.

Your feelings for Minho are complicated, and it's beyond clear, so are his for you. It wasn't ever going to be simple, but the events of him turning to you for comfort at least tell you there's more than his initial anger.

"You like him, don't you?" Vince's voice makes you jump as you lean against a wooden beam, observing from your safe space.

"What?"

"Minho? You like him."

You scoff. "I don't think it really matters. I don't know if it ever will."

"You protected him and saved him."

"I also held him captive and did nothing to stop the torture."

"You couldn't have done anything."

"That's not the point, and you know it."

He sighs.

"I thought you were against boys and shit, anyway?" You glance over your shoulder at him.

He shrugs, "You're clearly more than capable of making your own choices. And we're not permanently fighting for our lives anymore, so I don't really have a problem with it. You deserve to have a normal life, kid. You might finally get that here." He rubs your shoulder, slipping past and leaving you to think.

○ ○ ○

Night falls quickly. Vince finally gives a speech, earning rounds of cheers from around the bonfire as you hover behind him, staring off into the crowd with your hands in your pockets.

Vince reveals a large stone pillar in the centre of the sitting area, talking about remembering those we've lost and keeping their memories alive. You watch as Vince is the first, carving Mary's name into the stone.

To your surprise, Vince then immediately hands the chisel to you. You blink at it, before realising and taking it off of you.

People one by one, with their own tools, take the chance to add to the memorial.

You take your time, carving names into the stone, recounting the events of your life. You step back, smiling to yourself, admiring your own work. Even under the depressing conditions.

"Who are they?" You look over your shoulder, your body following you as you stand sideways. Minho's gaze is fixated on the stone. He looks a lot better now, clearly having a couple of days to recover.

"They're uh, they're my parents," you avoid his gaze, but answer honestly.

"You lost your parents?"

"I've lost everyone. My whole family, but I don't think there's enough space for them all," the joke is dark, and Minho doesn't laugh, even when you scoff.

"I had no idea."

"How could you?" You sigh, "You know nothing about me."

"Do you miss them?" The question makes you hesitate.

"I barely knew my mother- the Flare got her when I was young, so..."

"That's not what I asked," his tone is blunt, obviously still harbouring some negativity within the complications.

"...Yes. I miss them. I doubt there will be a day when I don't. My father used to say something that I think is still important- 'mortality doesn't ruin love; it only makes it stronger'."

He looks at you. For the first time, he seems to finally see the real person that's standing in front of you. "Does it ever get better?"

"Yeah, it gets better," you offer him a sympathetic smile, knowing what he's talking about. "The painful memories just become... memories after a while. It feels like it'll never get better, but it does. It becomes precious instead of hard to think about." You step towards him, handing the chisel to him.

He takes it, slowly, seemingly letting your fingers brush against each other on purpose. You go to walk away, but his voice stops you.

"Hey, 175," the number stuns you, making you spin on your heels, rage flooding your features. But it melts away the second you see Minho's dumb grin. "You're right. I don't know anything about you- but I'd like to. If you're willing to tell me."

You nod, smiling at him, "Yeah, I'd like that."

So, when you found Minho sitting on the sand later that night, sitting in front of the ocean, basking in the moonlight, you take the opportunity to approach him.

You silently sit next to him, and he looks at you, following your movements. You pull something out of your pocket, lightly shaking the small box that he immediately recognises as a deck of cards.

"Fancy a game?" He scoffs, turning to face you.

"Only if you actually talk to me."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"What's worth knowing?"

"Ah, well, that depends on what you deem important."

You fall into a surprisingly natural conversation with him. Both of you actually laughing at some of the things you tell him and the dumb stories from the Right Arm. You also somehow manage to finally win a game of Black Jack, much to Minho's dismay.

"So," you shuffle, brushing some of the sand off of one of your cards, "you still wanna be friends?" Originally, you said this jokingly, but Minho's hesitation makes you nervous.

"Not really," he says after a beat, and your heart sinks. "Shuck it," he laughs, "maybe I really do have, what was it? Stockholme Sydrome? Whatever. It sounds so dumb, but even if we were kinda stuck... I don't think I would've survived back there if it wasn't for you."

He seems almost flustered. "I don't know if my head's shucked or what, but is it really that weird to have a little crush on a kind girl in a mask?"

"No," you let out a content sigh, more satisfied with his strange confession than you expected, "but maybe you should talk to someone about that."

He playfully kicks you, making you feign an injury. "Yanno, I'd be lying if I said I didn't start kinda liking you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah- which is probably bad because we had a very unbalanced power dynamic." He snorts at this, shaking his head.

"So, what now?"

"Well, what do you wanna do now?"

He shrugs, leaning forward and picking up another card. "I don't think I want to do anything. I think I need to understand you more, and process everything I've been through. Everything I've lost. I mean, there's no rush, right?"

"Yeah. There's no rush," you nod. "For the first time ever, we actually have time to wait."

"You're willing to wait for me?"

"'Course I am. I've got to help run this place and work out my own shit too. I've got enough going on to distract me from pining over you." You exaggerate your tone, making him roll his eyes. "Seriously, take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

○ ○ ○

"You reckon they'll be okay?" Thomas asks Vince as the pair watch the both of you from a distance. Thomas smiles faintly as he watches you flick sand at Minho over losing whatever game you're playing.

"Yeah," Vince replies, finally peacefully watching the closest thing he has to family enjoy herself. "Maybe not now, but that's fine- they have all the time in the world to be okay."

Oh my God, this took me forever. But, I've got no other requests at the moment so I figured go big or go home. Seriously, this was such a cool idea and I loved writing it. Pieces like these take literal days to write, so don't be expecting them too often, but I do love more complex and indepth stories.

Also, I am so down to do a part 2 to this if you guys want to see more of yours and Minho's relationship in the Safe Haven- maybe some more developing relationship stuff, or even some spice if that is want y'all want.

Anyway, I just know no one is gonna see all of this because it's just so LONG. Literally, this thing is so big my Tumblr is lagging. But still, I hope you enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri tmr minho #🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri writes #🍃 petri tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr minho #minho the maze runner #minho tmr #minho tmr x reader #tmr imagines #minho maze runner

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luvvyouforever · 9 months ago

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Hello!! I saw that your requests were open. Could you possibly do another Modern AU! Rhysand x College Student! reader fic? I loved the first one you posted and definitely gave me some comfort with how stressful college is 😭

I always liked imagining the ACOTAR universe in a modern au. Especially Velaris in a modern setting.

Hope you are doing well and taking care of yourself💜💜

hi! absolutely dear <3 i tried to include more velaris in this!

comfort on the bridge - modern au!rhysand x college student!reader

↳ a night out in velaris ought to clear your worries about upcoming exams. does it actually, though?

↳ modern portrayal of velaris, mentions of self doubt and stress, reader is studying to be a teacher but it could be replaced with any major/focus. this isn't my best work, i'll admit, and it did take me like two weeks to completely finish but here you go!

↳ divider art from @firefly-graphics

usually, there was nothing better than a night out on the town in velaris, surrounded by the inner circle and your loving partner, rhysand. very little made you more excited than getting dressed up with mor, pregaming with cassian, and flooding the dance floor of rita's. tonight, however, it was the last thing you wanted to do.

rhysand could sense your hesitance about going out, feeling the bond between you two grow shaky and antsy but there was no way you could bring yourself to say no to them. you were just more stressed out than you imagined possible and so much more was in your mind than getting drunk and dancing to fae pop music.

mortal college was more than you had anticipated. it was always your goal, far before your ears grew pointy and you became a part of the night court's defenders, to go to college and make something of yourself. rhysand encouraged you wholeheartedly, telling you over and over that it was a good idea, that velaris needed more teachers, that you could accomplish it.

and now, your college career was coming to a close which only meant certifications, exams, and papers that all required more of you than you could give. you could only remind yourself of the shining new generation of fae being born in velaris that needed teaching so many times.

all of those worries and deadlines could not be suppressed by the strong liquor going down your throat, leaving a harsh burn in its wake. nevertheless, you took every shot cassian offered and with everyone one of them, rhysand grew more worried.

"you're putting 'em down tonight, y/n!" cassian cheered as the clink of the shot glass hitting the bar rang through the room. "you want another one?"

"yeah, i'd lo-"

"darling, i really don't think you should have another drink. you'll feel terrible later," rhysand's deep voice sent shivers down your spine as his large chest came up behind you. instinctively, you leaned back into his warmth.

"no! we gotta have fun tonight! i can't let anyone down!" you rebutted. your hand reached for the drink on the bar but your hand was trapped by rhysand's before you could. "hey!"

without a response or argument, rhysand began to tug and you didn't put up much of a fight (you were positive that one wrong move and your lack of coordination would land you on your butt on the floor). cassian looked at the two of you, making brief eye contact with rhysand and he nodded in understanding. something was wrong.

"where are we going?" you asked your partner after you stepped into the fresh air of velaris. despite it being so late, the city was quite alive with people, bikes, lights, music, and sounds. it was a beautiful sight, one that usually caught your breath, but there were more pressing matters. like why did rhysand take you away from your fun? the worries were just now being forgotten!

rhysand didn't answer your pestering but instead led you down some streets, up one incline, and landed at an old steel bridge that was at a high enough point to overlook the streets below. it was a spot you frequented when stressed but you didn't know that anyone knew. of course rhysand knew.

without having to say anything, you both perched on the edge of the bridge, wrapping your legs around the posts. your arms brushed against each other and with a few deep breaths, you felt the alcohol begin to leave your system as quickly as it came in.

"what's going on? you're drinking a lot, you seem stressed. i feel it. i don't even have to look in your mind to tell," rhysand said softly. his violet eyes shined in the night and though his gaze was strong, you couldn't help but fall into it.

you sighed and leaned your forehead against the cool metal of the bridge. the sounds of your city flooded your ears and it washed you with some calm that you were searching for. "i'm just stressed. there's so much on my plate, so much coming up, and i don't feel smart enough or good enough for any of it." just speaking the words out loud felt like a weight being taken off of your body. surgically removed and thrown hundreds of miles away.

"tell me about it," your partner said. he wouldn't get it, necessarily, but sharing the weight would help.

"there's three certification tests i have to take, all of which are unnecessarily hard. and that's just so i can get my license to teach. i still have four exams, all worth well over a hundred points, and i feel grossly underprepared for each and everyone one of them. then there's this theory class that's all about best practices in education and research and i feel like i'm picking up none of it," you expressed. "i don't feel like i am going to be the best i can be for velaris. i want to teach them but i'm struggling to pass my class. how am i supposed to impart all of this amazing knowledge on them when i don't even know it?"

your head fell forward onto the bar again and you relished in the soothing feeling of it. down below, music and laughter erupted from a rooftop bar. you wished you could know what rhysand was thinking.

"you know...i think you're the most intelligent person i ever met-"

"that's not-"

"ah! ah! no arguing," rhysand cut you off. "as i was saying...you are the most intelligent person i ever met. the capabilities you have far exceed anyone in the spring court and hewn city combined. the passion you have for our city and its education is so admirable, y/n. everyone will be so lucky to have you as their teacher. the fact that you committed to going to mortal college just to provide the small number of velaris children with a proper education proves to me that the cauldron picked the most perfect person to be my mate."

looking at onto your city, rhysand's words sunk in. somewhere in a back yard, high fae children laughed cheerfully, clearly excited to be up later than what would usually be allowed. it was hard work but work that you were more than excited to be doing.

with a sigh, you leaned into rhysand's side, grateful for him being your rock. "will you help me study for the praxis?" you asked quietly.

rhysand's head dipped down and planted a soft kiss on your forehead. "me and all of velaris will help you through whatever you need, darling. and we will be there at your graduation, glamoured and cheering."

#acotar series #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #rhys acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #fanfic #fluff

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intimidating-fettuccine · 1 year ago

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A reader that leans in like a cat when a creep tries to pet their head? Any touch at all, just makes them...melt..if you ask them a question, while they're receiving affection, they'll have to ask the affection giver to pause for a sec, just so they can actually think and answer the question..just brain mush, eyes closed, immediate cat

"Wh..Hold on..What'd you say?" (You can choose the creeps :])

Jeff:

As someone that also gets incredibly melty with affection, it's like the two of you are exactly the same sometimes. Jeff likes to destress with physical touch, so quite honestly you can get the same reaction out of him, where he's so spaced out that he isn't hearing or processing anything, and when you stop he's just staring at you in blank confusion. I think the two of you probably tease each other with this, just trying to get the other to space out from physical touch because you think it's cute and so you can tease them a little bit. I also have the thought of both of you probably just spacing out like that together a lot, just curled up in bed, snuggling up and petting each other's heads, stroking each other's backs, just really slipping off into your own little world's together so that you can just relax and not have to focus about anything for a few hours. Honestly, that probably happens a lot, but I don't think that either of you would complain about it all that much. Jeff definitely teases you the most out of the two of you though, as it's what he does as a sign of affection, so prepare yourself for a lot of cat-related nicknames and jokes.

Slender:

Slender, upon discovering this little habit of yours, feels like his heart is going to fucking explode, and that's not an exaggeration. Slender has always viewed you as incredibly cute, but once he discovers this little trait of yours?? He just wants to hold you and squish you and protect you from everything at all costs because it should be illegal to be that cute, but there you are, just roaming free and living life. Whenever you start doing that, pushing your head and body into him, trying to get more touch and affection from him, it just makes him want to coo and cuddle you and spoil you until you can't take it anymore. I think it's good for Slender to have a partner that he can dote on, and spoiling his partner is his favorite thing to do and his favorite way to show his love for you, so I can see him getting affectionate with you at any chance he can get. If he tries speaking to you and you don't hear him from how distracted you are he always gives you this sweet, deep, and comforting chuckle and gives you a moment to come back into existence before affectionately repeating whatever he'd said, before going right back into loving on you.

Jason:

Jason didn't know it was possible to love you any more than he already did, but then again you've always been full of surprises for him, haven't you? Like Slender, Jason loves spoiling his partner as often as possible, and with you, that's no different. He practically makes it a goal and a point to show you affection throughout the day, to get you curling up into him and just being so happy and at peace with the love he shows you. It makes him feel so loved, happy and appreciated to know that he's the one able to reduce you to such a state, and it just makes him want to dote on you even more. He often rambles at you while he loves on you, mostly just to speak his mind and get some thoughts out of his brain, and while you aren't required to listen, if you ever give him that adorably cute glance and ask him what he was talking about, he always teasingly feigns offense, gasping and saying he can't believe you weren't listening, but he'll just give you a little laugh and a smooch before starting his story over again, before resuming being extra loving and affectionate with you. If anything, he's happy to retell any story to you, as it makes him feel special that you would interrupt your affectionate hours just to listen to him speak.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer headcanon #jeff the killer headcanons #jason the toymaker #jason the toymaker headcanon #jason the toymaker headcanons #jason the toymaker x reader #slenderman #slenderman headcanon #slenderman headcanons #slenderman x reader

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transmutationisms · 2 years ago

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I feel like this is likely a bat to a hornet's nest topic but I deeply respect your takes and thoughts overall a lot so here goes: I really appreciate that the show frankly goes out of its way to not pathologize its characters and lets the audience sit with them in the context of their own lives. So I'm kind of baffled that so much focus is given to "diagnosing" them in fan discussions, the vast brunt of which Kendall gets. I don't understand how you can watch this show and understand him as someone who's been heavily abused and had his reactions to being abused weaponized against him and come away being like "wow it's so cringe he acts like that, he must have a brain disease and is just too stupid to understand that. every action he takes is because he is manic/depressed/letting the disease manifest. if only he took the good moral Legal drugs that I do instead of the ontologically bad ones that are Illegal and for dirty addicts. hopefully one day he will Get Help and Receive Treatment so he will be more palatable (no whatever he's done up to this point doesn't count because it didn't work which must inherently be due to his own moral failings)." How did a show like this attract so many Reganites??

bat at a hornets' nest yes. yeah i've said before that i dislike diagnosing fictional characters as a general rule. it's tautological ("they do [x] because they have [y], and they have [y] because they do [x]") and abrogates further analysis of their motives or the meanings of their actions. and it's doubly irksome to me with succession, because unlike a lot of tv, i genuinely don't think that it's written within the weltanschauung of dsm neurobio determinism. ie, it's not a show where the answer to "why did he do that?" is ever supposed to be "his brain is just like that"—these actions are supposed to mean something about what the character wants and needs, and the effect of the capitalist milieu on those things. it's psychological, not psychiatric (& of course, psychoanalytic approaches are common in formal literary studies, whereas blunt psychiatric diagnosis is decidedly less so).

with kendall's drug use there are some particularly irritating ways this all plays out. i've been fiddling with my own reading emphasising the context of logan's demands on kendall and the construction of bourgeois masculinity, and have tried to place kendall's drug use as a response to neoliberal control mechanisms à la deleuze or foucault. i could certainly be challenged on elements of this reading, but what i see on this website is generally just an endless slog of very biomedicalised reads that seem to have no awareness of the particular historical and social baggage present in that model. i do agree there's an element of reactionary DARE-esque moralising going on here (stg if i have to read one more post written by someone who, like, has never so much as met a coke user and thinks all drugs instantaneously give you irreversible morally weighted heart damage, lmao), but it's honestly not just that.

i think most of the time when people do this they're not trying to be reactionary or regressive, and often they not only don't believe themselves to be moralising affective distress, but actually think the dsm diagnosis is the way to avoid that type of moralisation. this is essentially the "it's a discrete disease entity, so they have no control over it and can't help it, so it's not their fault" argument. in practice this fails on many levels. for one thing, it often implicitly assumes that 'ending the stigma' requires any kind of mental disability or affective distress to be treated analogously to physical disability or illness, as though those latter are not also consistently stigmatised and moralised—because ableism is actually more complex than that and has to do with the fact that capitalism values people on the basis of the 'use' it can make of them and their bodies, etc etc. it is also, again, a wildly decontextualised understanding of affective distress, the reasons why people use drugs—including in a manner that feels compulsive and out of control—and so forth.

i'll add also that wrt succession, i actually do see a LOT of pathologisation thrown at roman as well, and more than an incidental amount directed at connor, tom, shiv, and logan. which is to say, i don't think this is solely about people's discomfort with addicts. there's a broad tendency among fans, echoing the even broader social tendency, to see medical diagnosis as personally liberatory, and medicine and psychiatry as passing 'objective' judgments that are necessary in order for a person to 'get better.' this is essentially positivism and is very much a status that the medical profession has fought to obtain (in france you can trace certain 18th-century discourses on national decline, aristocratic luxury, and the corrupting influence of the city -> the birth of clinical medicine after the first revolution -> social hygiene and the pathologisation of the parisian urban poor -> the third republic's 'physician-legislators' and the general class status and professionalisation of medicine; i know less about the gory details of the american and british cases simply by dint of what i do professionally).

we tend to forget these histories when talking about science; it presents itself as a set of timeless, incontrovertible truths that are simply waiting to be uncovered, and we have entire industries of science communication and journalism that propagate this view. which is to say, circling back to succession, i don't believe that most people diagnosing and pathologising these characters are trying to be reactionary or are aware that there are reactionary and moralising elements inherently built into these discourses. i think they're largely people who have not been given the tools to see alternatives, like the perspectives dominant in the history and sociology of science, which are very much kept paywalled and inaccessible on purpose because this is profitable for the academe.

this type of popular literary analysis is simply not going to go anywhere as long as this is still the status and the moral resonance of medicine (and psychiatry by extension because it gained its professional independence without sacrificing the appeal to medico-scientific epistemological authority). i don't think succession viewers are any more or less prone to this type of thinking than the general population they exist amongst. i firmly disagree with this attitude, obviously, and like i said, i don't actually think succession is written 'psychiatrically,' which cannot be said for all tv lol. but i more or less expect to encounter this type of deference to medico-psychiatric judgments in 95% of social interactions and contexts, again because of a combination of institutional control of information, other forms of inaccessibility, and physicians' and psychiatrists' advocacy for their own class and professional interests, both historically and ongoing today.

#psychiatry

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akuma-tenshi · 11 months ago

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tell me ur theories abt 100 epitaphs

had to go back to get screenshots bc i felt like i was going insane. so:

at the very beginning, during the lyrics "lay your emotions with them like a mourning wreath", there's a shot of kt's face on a headstone. which makes me believe she may have been terminated at some time during this whole thing and there's going to be a twist where yura gets into the facility with whoever the hell decides to join him only to learn she's been dead this whole time and all this was for nothing

my friend pointed this out when the video first came out but there's a shot of yura during the first chorus where he's surrounded by several mostly-unnamed characters when they say "another apathetic epitaph". iirc he's between kolya and nikita, both of whom are dead, and their faces are shown in frames, likely symbolising those photos that are displayed during funerals. which could very possibly foreshadow yura dying, probably during the mission to save kt.

olga being shown with flowers sprouting out of her does not give me hope for her. this is especially worrying considering the fact that she's shown in occam's razor during the line "but some ventures require a sacrificial lamb" - this could refer to her taking the fall for yura after the whole incident in the zone but it's still concerning. oddly enough i'm less confident in this than in my yura and kt dying theories bc it just doesn't feel like olga would die (wouldn't make sense or be satisfying from a narrative perspective) but it's still possible. if she doesn't die then she's definitely not coming out of this the same

this is not the last we've seen of sergei. this may just be wishful thinking (love that square......) and ik he basically just gave up on sanya. but anyone who's tried to help an especially difficult person will tell you it's not that easy to just let them go, especially considering that he's already done so much for her and still has skin in the game even if he does completely drop his sister (*gestures vaguely at that one drawing of him reading a book on "breaking your girlfriend out of jail" or smthn.... ik it's just a silly joke but i'd be fuckin hyped if we got sergei breaking olga out of prison). something tells me he's going to keep trying to influence things from afar without getting too invested; whether he'll keep trying to help sanya or just focus all his effort on olga, i'm not sure.

sanya is becoming another yura. she's getting more hopeless and desperate, not to save kt but to protect / help yura. she's doing crazier and crazier shit and has managed to stay in contact with him even though sergei tried to stop them from meeting. the shot of her laughing surrounded by candles, the shot of her sitting so nonchalantly against the wall talking to dima, the shot of her standing up to sergei to protect yura... she feels very yuracore and it worries me. also the shot of her strangling her past self, the one that was much more optimistic and bright yet sheltered.. any writer will tell you that having a character literally harm / kill their past self is the number one way of indicating that they're completely cutting off their past and moving on.

this is a very stupid theory but kolya isn't actually dead. he plays way more of a role in 100 epitaphs than he ever did before. and yes nikita has content too but there are just.. so many shots of kolya (the one that stands out most to me is of him sitting in the center of the screen with headphones on). he may not be the same person but like. what if the grinder didn't kill him?? what if he's alive, just far away from all this?? what if he comes back?? changed and injured but still kolya. ((god i hope i'm talking about the right person here if that isn't kolya i'm going to look like such a dumbass))

also the title "100 epitaphs" and the prominent presence of two (supposedly) dead characters.... it doesn't inspire confidence in a lot of these characters' chances of surviving.

sorry if some of this is incoherent or just downright weird, i've been up for a while. but i will always take up an opportunity to rant about this video it's had me positively ill. i was literally fucking shaking while typing this

#happy one month to 100 epitaphs #came out at a time i really fucking needed it tbh #rambling #thanks for the ask!!#pafl #parties are for losers #pafl theories #100 epitaphs

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generalluxun · 26 days ago

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I wouldn't necessarily call Felix a psychopath or sociopath, he doesn't really fit the symptoms- it reads more as CPTSD for me?

Regular PTSD is from a single event but CPTSD is the result of extreme chronic trauma. Typically, a long period abuse and dehumanization with no hope of escape. Leads to a distorted sense of self (usually from internalizing that dehumanization), extremely poor emotional regulation (most commonly explosive anger and/or extreme apathy) and interpersonal skills, little to no interest in building or maintaining relationships, difficulty trusting others, hypervigilance, often a danger to themself and others, develops an intense focus on being in control, and distorted perceptions of anyone they view as the perpetrator... usually a fixation on getting revenge on them. And believing that they and their loved ones will never be safe until said abuser(s) are dead and gone. It overhauls their entire worldview and is consequentially much more difficult to treat than typical PTSD.

A lot of these things have overlapping symptoms. How they exhibit traits varies as well. Lastly we're armchair diagnosing a TV show 😅.

I wouldn't say someone who thought he had CPTSD(which is a term I didn't grow up with so I don't use it as a go-to) was wrong. I would make points in favor of psychopathy though. It's definitely a grey area.

A few points in favor of ASPD(with a Psycopathy focus)

-I won't dwell on the low empathy, because it can stem from a lot of things, but it is clearly there.

-Planning? Yeah we have that in spades.

-manipulation? Felix doesn't show up unless he has a plan, and then that plan dominates the entirety of his participation in anything. He lies *for fun*. He regularly tries to provoke emotional reactions while shunning them himself. He *supplants* his cousin on more than one occasion.

-relationships? This goes back to the manipulation point. Let's see who Felix's three main relationships are:

His mother, the good daughter, the wife of an abuser. She's prime for controlling, and we never see her cross him, instead it is unquestioning loyalty love.

Adrien, another abuse victim. Someone who forgives almost anything. Someone whom Felix manipulates and impersonates regularly.

Kagami- we spend the entire season building up how easily manipulated Kagami is via Lila. His interest begins because she is a sentimonster. He begins their relationship via stalking and then by putting himself in temporary(or was it?) control of her free will. This relationship allows him to stay on parity with Adrien. Adrien has a gurl, Felix has to have a girl. Felix can't let himself fall behind *Adrien* of all people.

There's more but it's 530AM right now. Again, this isn't to require you think of him as having ASPD, just to show it's viable. Heck, why not both? Untreated CPTSD developing into ASPD.

When I write him I don't actually write him as one, but then I wrote him prior to all of S5. I've never tackled writing a post- Strikeback/Emotion/Pretension?/Representation Felix.

That guy doesn't feel like he would be much fun to write.

#ask #miraculous ladybug #felix fathom #armchair psychoanalysis #we are not professionals

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sexysapphicshopowner · 11 months ago

Text

🤎 Context/AU (Alternate Universe): Modern AU- Some random tidbits about you and mechanic!Sevika's relationship after her Christmas confession

🤎 soft!mechanic!Sevika x bubbly!mechanic!reader

🤎 CW/TW: suggestive language, not proofread, useless lesbians, smut, wlw ship, no use of y/n, pet names, blossoming relationship, you and Sev are actual idiots, unserious smut, lowkey crack

🤎 A/N: Ask me about this couple and I'll answer anything!! I didn't really know where I was going with these headcanons, just wanted to get into the feel for them before I write a New Year's fic for them

🤎 Notes: Idk what this is, don't... we not gone talk about it

🤎 Word count: 3.4k

🤎 Surprisingly, dating Sevika is much different than simply pining for her

🤎 First of all, the woman is a sap

🤎 She’s so unbelievably cute, it’s almost criminal

🤎 Sev is the older of you two, but she’s the bigger baby

🤎 Your regular flowers begin coming with metal ones that she welded for you to match whatever type she’d just bought for you

🤎 Date nights are now much more elaborate- she picks you up with flowers and a little gift for each date, even if it’s just like a movie or bowling or something like that

🤎 Hates spooning

🤎 She prefers to wrap herself around you with her head smushed in your tits

🤎 She actually asked you about it at first as well

🤎 You two were on the couch, she was rested between your thighs as she played some game on the tv and you had a hand idly playing in her hair as you scrolled on your phone

🤎 She looked up at you a few times before she finally spoke, “Hey sweets?”

🤎 You hummed, “Hm?”

🤎 “Which spoon do you prefer to be?”

🤎 You thought about it for a few second, fingers still carding through her thick strands gently before you responded, “With you? Little.”

🤎 “Hm.”

🤎 “What’s that for?”

🤎 “I don’t like spooning.”

🤎 “Oh?”

🤎 She nodded as she turned back to her game (I headcanon that Sev plays the sims in this modern au), “Yeah. I would rather be face to face when we cuddle. Or... face to chest.”

🤎 You rolled your eyes, thumping her ear playfully, “Mmcht, you just wanna touch my tits.”

🤎 “No, ‘m serious, babe. For one, there’s more warmth that way. Two, we can get closer. And three, I can hear your heartbeat that way. It’s calming.”

🤎 She’s too fucking cute

🤎 On days where one of you works and the other doesn’t, she always requires at least an hour of kissing and cuddling to unwind

🤎 Your matching jewelry goes beyond your charm bracelets now- you two each have a necklace with the other’s name on it that neither of you take off

🤎 Movie nights are spicier, usually ending in a heated make-out session

🤎You’re both still idiots who can’t take each other seriously though

🤎 Every time Sevika says something romantic, depending on the timing and delivery, you’re either melting or cracking up in a fit of giggles

🤎 Sev on the other hand can’t take you serious when you start trying to talk dirty to her

🤎 She finds dirty talk to actually be kind of awkward

🤎 Take every time you tried to be a little flirty before the two of you had sex for the first time

🤎 Once she was watching television and you just looked up from your phone to say, “You’ve gotta stop looking like that.”

🤎 “Like what?”

🤎 “Fuckable.”

🤎 She always looks away with a little blush and a cough to clear her throat, “Oh.”

🤎 The closest you guys got to fucking for the first time was during a movie night

🤎 You guys were watching ‘Princess and the Frog’

🤎 Well, you were watching

🤎 Sev’s back was turned to the tv as she tucked her face into your neck, pressing methodical kisses to all the spots she knew would make your breath hitch a little and send a shiver down your spine

🤎 You had a hand entangled in her hair, your other one propping you up so you could try and focus on the movie and not her lips

🤎 At least until her hands slid under your shirt and she looked up at you

🤎 You looked down to find her smirking at you, “What? Is there something on my face?”

🤎 “No.”

🤎 “Okay? What’s up, you stopped.”

🤎 She held eye contact as she slid your shirt up just the slightest, lips meeting the base of your throat, “Can I go under your shirt?”

🤎 Your pussy? Aching right now

🤎 You nodded, stammering softly, “Y-yeah... sure...”

🤎 She looked like a kid who’d just gotten a piece of candy as she pulled your shirt up over your breasts

🤎 You weren’t wearing a bra, having taken it off earlier in the day because it was ‘too hot’

🤎 You forced your eyes away from her as you looked back up at the movie

🤎 She took her time, kisses trailing down your breast, lips narrowly avoiding your nipples even as they ached in anticipation of being invited into her mouth

🤎 You shifted slightly, releasing a soft breath the moment her tongue circled your areola��

🤎 She slid closer to you, slotting one of her legs between yours as your hand came back up to entangle with her hair as her mouth latched onto you, tongue drawing quick circles around your nipple

🤎 You were wearing some biker shorts and one of her t-shirts while she wore a wife pleaser and some sweats

🤎 The combination of her mouth on your breasts and the slight pressure of her thigh up against you was almost euphoric, especially considering how much you’d been needing a release lately

🤎 She let out a chuckle as you started to rut your hips against her thigh, her hand sliding from your waist to grip and palm your ass as she helped you along, pulling you against her leg with every upward thrust of your hips

🤎 The sound of you dissolving above, turning into a mess of little whimpers and whines with every second you drew closer to coming was all she needed as she showed attention to both of your breasts as evenly as she possibly could

🤎 She didn’t release your nipple once you came, slowing your hips down against her

🤎 It wasn’t until you tapped her repeatedly, panting softly as you stopped the movement of your hips with a breathy mumble of ‘wait’ that she stopped

🤎 She kissed back up your chest, pulling your shirt back down, “Enjoyed yourself?” she teased.

🤎 If it weren’t for you getting too sensitive so fast, you were pretty sure you guys would have actually fucked that day

🤎 Regardless, there was no rush

🤎 This leads to you guys’ actual first time together being almost completely hilarious to the both of you

🤎 It’s full of giggles, whispers, and ogling

🤎 When Sev sees you fully naked for the first time, you thought she’d actually short-circuited with the way she froze

🤎 You burst into giggles, closing her mouth, “You always turn into a fly catcher around me, hotshot. Like what you see?”

🤎 And boy did she ever

🤎 She runs her hands over your curves, committing each part of you to memory

🤎 It’s not serious for long though

🤎 Well, it is because this is you guys’ first time having sex together, but also... it’s you and Sevika, you two can’t take anything too serious

🤎 The giggles have returned once it’s Sevika’s turn to get naked

🤎 This woman, I kid you not, decides that this is the time she wants to ‘try to be sexy like you’ by stripping

🤎 She’s a mess of Magic Mike moves done half wrong because she spent most of that movie covering you in hickeys and whispering gay shit in your ears

🤎 But the funniest part is how she struggles with each article of clothing

🤎 She starts with her shirt but she ends up fumbling on the second button, stopping the sway of her hips to whatever music was playing in her head as she lets out a huff, looking down to focus on getting the button undone

🤎 Amidst your snickering, you reach out to help her, but she smacks your hands away, “Just gimme a sec... almost... got it.”

🤎 Next are her pants and oh boy-

🤎 You’d swear her belt buckle was a rubik’s cube the way she struggled to unhook it

🤎 Once she’s made it down to her bra and boxers your giggles die down- only a little bit because she’s still humping the air and making fuck boy faces at you (she calls it her ‘stripper smoulder’)- but your focus is 100 percent on taking in her body

🤎 Sure, you’ve seen her shirtless before

🤎 In the really hot summer months when the A/C is finnicky and all leaving the garage doors open at work does is make it hotter in the shop, you can find her either with the top of her work jumper hanging loose around her waist and shirtless, or at the very least in a wife pleaser that she’s constantly raising to wipe the sweat from her forehead

🤎 Back to the present though

🤎 You find yourself getting pretty hot- and wet- once her bra has been discarded (she kept fucking up with unhooking it, it would come undone just to get hooked onto the next hook over), anticipating the removal of her boxers so you can take in her full form

🤎 She’s fucking dripping

🤎 So are you, but who’s asking?

🤎 The two of you are just taking in each other’s bodies, not really saying much as your eyes trailed over her from top to bottom and hers from your bottom to top

🤎 She was practically towering over you where you sat on the edge of the bed, silently appraising your body with a soft reverence in her eyes

🤎 She reaches out to lift your chin as she finally speaks, voice softer than you’ve heard it since she first clumsily confessed her love to you

🤎 “You’re so unbelievably beautiful, sweets...”

🤎 You gulp down a breath, answering shakily as your eyes traced up the scars littering the left side of her body to meet her eyes, “So are you...”

🤎 That first night is probably the softest sex you’ve had in your entire life

🤎 We’ve already discussed that girlfriend Sev is a huge fucking sap, but in the bedroom on that first night? Oh it’s even worse

🤎 You think you might explode as she pauses for the umpteenth time to study you, her eyes drinking you in as if she’ll never see you again after this is over

🤎 You lean up to press a kiss to the tip of her nose, whispering, “We don’t have to keep going if-”

🤎 “No, I want to... ‘m just... I dunno what word I’m looking for I feel like I’m short circuiting...”

🤎 You let out a little chuckle, pulling her into a warm kiss as you mumbled against her lips, “’S okay, baby... I know what you mean.”

🤎 A few times you both end up giggling when you make eye contact, it’s cute and it’s you and Sev unapologetically

🤎 When she finally makes her way between your legs, holding your thighs over her shoulders, she looks back up at you and you immediately burst into giggles

🤎 She rolls her eyes, giving a quick little nip to your inner thigh as she looked back up, “Stop laughing or then I’mma laugh.”

🤎 You held a hand over your mouth with another little giggle, shaking your head, “’M sorry, Sev, but I’m just...” You let out a little happy sigh as you looked back down at her, “I’m happy, okay? I’m not laughing at you, I promise.”

🤎 She shook her head, placing a few kisses around your core as she mumbled, “You’re so cute.”

🤎 You don’t even have time to offer a retort before her mouth is connecting with you

🤎 You’re seeing stars, feeling fireworks, butterflies, all of the things as she drinks in your taste, savoring the feel of you against her tongue

🤎 She lapping between your lips with slow and teasing strokes, her nose hooking against your clit perfectly with every upward stroke

🤎 When you come, it’s euphoric, heavenly

🤎 Sevika comes from the sound of you alone, your fist wrapping up in her hair as her name fell from your lips almost like a prayer

🤎 She kisses back up your body, stopping to show some attention to your breasts before finally making it back up to your lips, “How was that, sweets?”

🤎 “Y-you... yeah...” you breathe.

🤎 Embarrassingly enough, you fall asleep before returning the favor, Sevika pressing soft kisses to your skin as she rubbed your hips and ass

🤎 Sex from then on with her is a regular occurrence

🤎 The next point of sort of awkwardness is living arrangements between the two of you

🤎 Sev has mentioned that she doesn’t mind moving you into the penthouse with her

🤎 You’re almost never at your own apartment these days, it makes sense

🤎 Then comes the anxiety

🤎 You’re pulling away from Sevika unintentionally as you start to freak out about moving in with her

🤎 At this point you guys have been in a relationship for almost a year now and best friends for 3 and a half years

🤎 Because of this, Sevika notices the change immediately

🤎 Your kisses are shorter

🤎 You’re spending the night less than usual

🤎 You’re quieter whenever you are over her place

🤎 It’s not until you walk in on her cooking without smacking her ass or giving her one of your playful little gropes as usual that she says something

🤎 “Sweets.”

🤎 You didn’t even look up from your phone as you scrolled through Instagram idly, “Yeah?”

🤎 The sound of your government name is what snapped your attention up to her

🤎 She hasn’t called you by your actual name almost since you guys have met, more often than not it’s always ‘Sweets’ or ‘Baby love’

🤎 Sev’s face when you do finally look up doesn’t make you feel any better either

🤎 In fact, you get a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, anxiety skyrocketing as you wait for her to say something else

🤎 “What’s going on?”

🤎 “What do you mean?”

🤎 She folded her arms, a hurt look all over her face as she points out how you’ve become stand-offish with her, “You’ve been being weird. And not my usual ‘haha, I like to freak out my girlfriend’ weirdo. You haven’t slept over in almost a month... are we okay?”

🤎 Your heart breaks as you realize how in your head you’ve been lately

🤎 You nodded, moving closer to reassure her as you took hold of her hands, “We’re more than okay, I’m just...” you let out a little sigh, looking away only for her to bring your eyes right back to hers.

🤎 “Please...”

🤎 “I don’t wanna fuck things up if we move in together.”

🤎 “What do you mean?”

🤎 “Like... what if you don’t like the way I load the dishwasher? Or what if being around me both at home and at work almost 24/7 gets annoying? Or-”

🤎 “Sweets. You realize that we’ve been practically living together since before we even got together, right?”

🤎 “Yeah, but-”

🤎 You’re cut off by her lips against yours, shutting you up effectively before she pulled away, looking down at you as she speaks quietly, “Look, if I was tired of you or thought you were annoying, I would’ve never gotten so close with you in the first place. I love you, okay? And I promise you that the fact of my love for you is not gonna change ‘cause we live together full-time suddenly.”

🤎 “Promise?”

🤎 She pressed another kiss to your lips, holding your hips closely, “I swear to you. I love you, sweets. More than anything.”

🤎 You guys move in together officially within the next month

🤎 Your first Christmas as a couple is actually a small event

🤎 Sure, you guys attend the company Christmas party as a couple, but before that you realize just how much you’ve rubbed off on her when she wakes you up at midnight to open your gifts- just like you told her your family used to do when you were younger

🤎 You two are useless fucking lesbians I tell you

🤎 You got each other the same gift actually

🤎 Like the exact same gift

🤎 The main gift was a pendant with both of your birthstones and your meetiversary (the anniversary of the day you two met) date engraved on it

🤎 You both were a mess of giggles when you unwrapped the matching necklaces

🤎 “You got this from-”

🤎 “Kay Jewelers?” Sev finished for you, causing you to start laughing again.

🤎 “I love you, Sev.”

🤎 “Oh really? While I love you as well, maybe you should wait until I show you the other gift I got you,” she hints with an almost suggestive look.

🤎 You’re ready to marry her on the spot when she takes you to the shop, showing you your next gift

🤎 It’s a custom restored 1957 Cadillac Sedan Deville

🤎 You jumped onto her, hooking your arms around her neck as you squealed, “Baby, you didn’t! Oh my fuck- I love you...” You whispered the last words into her neck as you melted into her.

🤎 She simply chuckles, wrapping her arms around you as she presses kisses along the side of our face as best she can with the way you’ve tucked yourself under her chin, “Been working on it since last Christmas. You like it?”

🤎 You answered her with a fat kiss on her lips, kissing all over her face sloppily as she held you up from you jumping up into her arms

🤎 Safe to say that you guys spent almost the entire day leading up to the party fucking between every activity

🤎 Just put the gingerbread cookies in the oven? You guys are fucking on the kitchen counter

🤎 Just finished watching a movie? You’re fucking on the couch

🤎 Oh, what? There’s a sprig of mistletoe in every room? Sounds like a fuck tour to me

🤎 You guys don’t even stay at the party long because Sev wants to go and make love to make up for all the quickies you guys had that day

🤎 So yeah, you guys spend your first Christmas as a couple fucking in between all the traditions you guys made as best friends

🤎 Now let’s get on to some simpler things

🤎 You’re the blanket hog, but Sevika doesn’t mind because she runs warm anyway

🤎 If you guys aren’t going to work together or it’s an off day and one of you has errands or something you guys always part ways with 6 kisses- one to the forehead, one to each cheek, and three to the lips- an ‘I love you, baby’ and a bite

🤎 You left to your mom’s place one time without giving her the playful bite she’d come to expect whenever you left and she was so pouty about it that you simply added it to the kiss routine

🤎 Sev sleeps on the left side of the bed

🤎 I have a theory that the people who sleep on the left side of the bed are the people who like to be up underneath their partner (Yes I sleep on the left)

🤎 Sev has a double sink in her bathroom but whenever you guys are brushing your teeth or washing your faces it’s always at the same sink, Sev standing behind you with a hand on your waist

🤎 Funny enough, but after you guys got together, Sev stopped doing most of the driving

🤎 She enjoys being your passenger princess

🤎 You’ve got her name embroidered in the headrest of the passenger seat of your car

🤎 You keep a blanket, snacks, and cones stashed in your car for her at all times

🤎 Speaking of which, yes, mechanic Sev smokes both weed and cigs

🤎 Her cigarettes are Djarum black clove cigs

🤎 She smokes Blazy Susan King Sized cones

🤎 You don’t smoke as much as her, and honestly after the two of you got together, she doesn’t smoke as much as she used to either

🤎 But boy when you two get high together? You two can’t stop laughing

🤎One of your first times getting high with her you almost pissed yourself laughing at the way she said the word ‘spoon’

🤎 All in all, dating Sev is exactly what you expect dating your best friend to be like

🤎 She’s.... the best thing to ever happen to you

🤎 And you are the love of her life

🤎©️ All work belongs to sexysapphicshopowner. Do not use or repost my content in any way without my consent or permission. Thank you! 🤎

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@certainlynotasimp @trafalgardvivi @love-sugarr @archangeldyke-all

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