#look it sounds so bad to have colored nations and them being white black and red | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alatismeni-theitsa · 4 years ago

Note

(1/2) I know this is some controversial topic and that you sometimes cover US politics, but what do you think the american left needs to improve to reach to more people and be taken more seriously?; It's unbelievable that in the very 2021, apolitical folk are still fallin into the whole "the leftist are a bunch of crazies" narrative, we may do some pushback the last three years against conservative politics.

(2/2) But it's still not enough; on your personal opinion, what fundamental core value needs to be changed to engage to these apolitical people and that leftist want politics to improve the quality of life of the population without being labeled as a "petulant, whiney children" There's some greek-flavored advice that we can apply to our discourse? Thanks in advance :)

========================== END OF ASK ======================

Ooooo… Great question! And by “great” I mean “Do you want me to go down in flames and get cut a thousand times with pitchforks??” xD But it’s very interesting so I will answer it! And you will be subjected to an essay of 3.200 words 😘💅 (I want to be meticulous, don’t come at me)

Please assume the tone is light and conversational. I am not in a very serious or dramatic mood, and I don’t want to estrange any group by assuming the role of an all knowing tutor or someone who always has the high moral ground. This is just 1am blabbering.

I am not against leftists. On the contrary, I know their side so well that I think I have a solid opinion on its flaws. (I have friends who are left- okay I’ll stop xD) Needless to say, the right side also has flaws and the two sides often share flaws. But right now, we are only talking about the leftists. And of course, #notallleftists xD I recognize that leftists are ordinary and diverse people with empathy and capability of critical thinking and problem-solving (Did I mention I have friends who ar--) Jokes aside, I think my following is quite left leaning and I am not bashing them here. I am criticizing the movement as a whole and trying to see where it can be improved.

***** Anyways, I will generalize the bad traits for the sake of everyone’s time, it’s what I am saying! So, when I say “they” I will probably mean “some” or “the bad apples” etc. *****

To begin, US leftists don’t want to, but they are accidentally imperialist xD Unfortunately, they don't know much about other countries, and they don’t usually have knowledge of countries they are talking about if they don’t have an immediate connection to them. Not knowing things is fine, but when people on this site are like “ugh Americans” this points to an ignorance and a sort of entitlement that doesn’t occur this often in other countries. My internet cycle is overwhelmingly leftist and yet I continue seeing willingness for ignorance all around - and when I check it’s not by conservatives.

Leftists think their (social and not) politics apply to every country and culture, that people in different countries classify themselves as they do in the US. And when people from those countries talk about their problems, there is always an American that wants to give input based on American politics, and without knowing the situation in this other country they want to talk about. Ironically, the last one is a behavior of conservative politicians. Conservative politicians and citizens sometimes think it’s fine to intervene in other countries for “the greater good”. Well, leftists do the same but on the internet. It stalls conversation and makes it messy and force foreigners to apply to American standards.

Because leftists don't understand social differences between countries, they project their own politics, and that can make them seem obsessed with skin color and blind to cultural diversity. They act like only Americans or certain countries have every lived through colonialism and suffered slaughter and slavery. (Because they don’t feel the need to study and learn further.) To an American that might not be the case, but when Americans converse with foreigners about foreign issues, they seem to have a blind spot.

They act as if only white, cis, straight people can be perpetrators of imperialism. Booyyy I have news xD Yes, of course white, cis, straight people can be perpetrators of imperialism, but the attitude that they are the first to blame, always, it’s faulted. I have many experiences, but let’s start with a very simple one, of an Indian American young woman who thought only a lota can clean you with water in the toilet, and that Europeans haven’t heard of bidets or any other means of cleanliness (or that they have the bathtub RIGHT THERE xD) One of the highlights was a Black woman insisting “Medusa was Black because my grandma told me” despite what Greeks were telling her.

Another thing that stuck with me was the case of a Greek who wanted to write about the people who happen to be a minority in the US (you would call them poc I guess). Many people from those countries were enthusiastic about the project and aided the writer as much as they could, sharing culture and realizing how many things in common they had. But it was from same populations in the US that the writer found people who blamed them for daring to write something outside of their culture. (To explain, most US Americans were fine, but only in the US were some who were hostile). Or, I have seen Chinese Americans being offended by a certain thing (I think it was something about fashion) saying “this is an offense to Chinese culture” meanwhile Chinese people from everywhere else in the world (99% of Chinese, I’d say) said “I don’t understand… this is fine!”

Many US American poc categorize all light skinned Caucasians of the world as White Americans and the rest are the “cultured” Black or Brown people. US Americans are now learning that Slavic cultures exist and it’s… something else to watch leftists realizing light skinned people can have great embroidery and they are not actually stealing Mexican traditional clothing xD (reference to an obscure “calling out” comment on tik tok).

I don’t specifically target US poc here, I am just mentioning that everyone conveniently forgets them as if they are untouchable and never said anything ignorant, while they are as active on social media causes as other Americans. In fact, if most poc are aligned to a side, that would be the Left. They are a very big part of the progressive movement – and that’s why I am giving so much space here for them – but then it seems they can’t have a share of the “bad” things of the leftist movement, only the good. Which is humanly impossible, to be always correct.

That’s one of the problems of leftism, that in a way pardons certain minorities and by doing that it not only lets the problematic bubbles grow but also infantilizes those minorities because it passes the message that “they can never do anything wrong”. While background matters when having an opinion, I see that skin-color goes ridiculously above opinion on these matters, which is not very egalitarian. When I argue with a person, the last thing I see is the person’s skin color. When someone says “ancient Greeks were actually a Black nation ad then they became White” I don’t care how this person looks like. No matter your skin color, you must take responsibility for the misinformation you are spreading. I won’t assume that because someone is a poc that they can’t study and learn more about the matter of discussion.

So… the “issue” doesn’t come from being white, cis, straight etc but from being raised as a US American. I don’t imply by any means that being a US American is bad. The last thing I want to do here is enforce guilt. (If you are feeling guilty already I must be mistaken in my wording so I am sorry for that). I am talking about certain beliefs that come with raised as a US American. Similarly, many beliefs a Greek can have are because of their environment. Everyone is affected by their background in one way or another.

American leftists believe that even the piss poor British farmers benefited from colonialism – and still benefit perhaps on a systemic scale. So, with the same logic, even the lowest layers of the US American society benefit from imperialism and war crimes overseas. (Truth is the quality of living in the US is great and extremely progressive compared to most of the world, because of the US’ politics. I had analyzed this in a previous post). But American leftists never mention that when it comes to THEIR case, because it doesn’t give them an advantage.

To tie it up with how American leftists see the world, there is youtuber I like, who is a US American woc and one time she said “My country is bombing Brown people” in an annoyed tone and it just sounded so offensive I closed the video. It’s obvious the youtuber doesn’t support the bombing, but it was just the phrasing which left a bitter taste in my mouth the whole day. It was the fact that 1) she could make a statement in an annoyed/joking tone 2) people in those countries don’t identify as “Brown” outside the US (and you are talking about them now) 3) your country is indeed bombing them so maybe at least categorize them as they wish?? They have a certain ethnicity, so mention that and stop categorizing them like dog breeds! They already have the bombs, do you want them to hear Americans categorize them like that?

Moreover, many US leftists think they care about other countries while, in actuality, they don’t. They just want to make other countries have the exact progressive US politics - because that’s the only “correct” political system they know. That shows even in kind of superficial matters. In a movie about Greek mythology, they will make sure there is an American Arab, an American Black person, an American East Asian person etc (which would be a cast that would reflect American diversity, not Mediterranean) and are hesitant to cast Greeks or ask Greeks how the portrayal of the story and figures could be better and respecting.

Another thing, they take everything too personally. They think success and failure of a movement is highly dependent on them as an individual. It’s difficult for them to approach a harsh past or present situation in a levelheaded manner because they don’t realize this situation has been universal. So, they feel a special kind of guilt and that makes them over apologetic but also overzealous (like a righteous self-flogging zealot) and that is what drives people away. They combine that behavior with ignorance about the rest of the world, and you can see why a non-US American might want to keep their distance.

I had some Americans apologizing to me because their ancestors did something to Greeks and just… don’t. I know you have the best intentions, but it makes everyone – even me – feel bad. There is no need for apologizing because 1) you and your family did nothing wrong 2) it was centuries ago 3) this bad shit happens/happened literally everywhere. You might as well apologize for your people knowing how to cook. It’s FINE, really, it’s FINE. For instance, do you think I have a grudge on YOUR people running a slave trade six centuries ago while there was dozen active slavetrades in the area, and while Greeks of the Byzantine empire probably bought slaves some decades before they were sold to slavery themselves? Do you see what a mess this is? Not only it doesn’t fix anything, but you also put unnecessary weight on yourself, as an individual. It’s fine to be aware and trying to fix past mistakes - if it’s possible - but there is a certain delicate process that must be followed. Not… whatever this is.

To continue on the extreme individualism, leftists think it's the end of the world if they have done or said something controversial (and that's also because they have cultivated a culture where any small transgression is a potential danger to the whole society :p aka "the left eats itself"). Around them people feel they must tread on eggshells just in case they phrase a thing wrong or post something that could be linked to a person the Left doesn't like.

The left is also on the extremes, so I have to put 1000 disclaimers every time I say something. (I guarantee that the example with the Chinese people will be translated by some Americans like “Theitsa promotes Asian hate!!”) Do you know who doesn't annoy me if I don't put 1000 disclaimers? Certainly not Conservatives. I had more harassment from leftists than I had from actual nazis, even though my blog is not conservative or (god forbid!!) supportive of nazism or any type of supremacy. Even nazis completely understand my beliefs before they send hate. (It might be odd but I never had one not understanding my point xD) But the leftists who sent hate misinterpret stuff, or they don’t bother reading actual posts. The funny thing is that I usually agree with these progressives in 99% of issues but they don’t care asking or learning, they just decide our morals are opposite. I mean they don’t have to like me, but many leftists don’t even read the basics.

On top of that, leftists rarely want to have a conversation with a conservative. I don't say go and AGREE with a conservative, I say just talk. (see? I feel the need to clarify here because many leftists might say “Theitsa wants us to go and AGREE with conservatives! Does Theitsa want us to become nazis and homophobes???”) How does one feel they have to be sooo righteous and then cauterize every member of society who disagrees with them? Why do leftists rarely want to have a conversation? Some people were ready to attack me for referencing a meme which referenced Steven Crowder, as if that shows I am his supporter 😩 (Guilty by association is strong on the leftist side and it’s very reminiscent of authoritarian tactics, another thing that needs to be improved, to my opinion.)

I don’t support Crowder (I know Crowder has done awful stuff) but I shouldn’t be scared to admit I like the “change my mind” episodes. (Flash news, leftists, you might like a part from a person’s work and not 100% support that person!) I like the episodes because both sides are heard, the conversation is civil (for the most part xD) and I can see the thought process of the two speakers as they explain their worries and what solutions are out there.

Most of all, in those episodes I see how BOTH sides CARE about the SAME problems, it’s just the perspectives that differ. And those conversations highlight the issues the left hasn’t studied very well, so it helps the leftists understand what they need to learn in order to better society. But where the “immaturity“ of the leftist side can show is in the unwillingness to approach the “opponent“ as a human just like them.

(They might instead prefer to call Mexicans white supremacists and claim that “whiteness” has no color because quite a few poc voted Republican, as some leftist news sources have stated)

What is more, is it just my idea or conservatives understand leftists better than leftists understand conservatives? Of course both sides jokes about the other one but I am talking about the serious talks. Leftists just describe conservatives as horrible people who want all minorities to perish and we must not talk to them while, surprisingly, the conservatives are the ones who stereotype less the opposite side. (I am talking about the normal, moderate people). From what I have seen, most simple people who are conservatives DON’T want the US’ ethnic and sexual minorities to perish. They are worried about problems they don’t have a good understanding about. And the only way to make them understand it’s to… talk to them, show them what good the left to offer.

Some leftists think conversation is “emotional labor” but 1) that applies to actual labor as in… jobs, so stop invalidating doctors, nurses, teachers etc, 2) yeah, sorry, sometimes things get difficult and you have to explain your side. (As non US-Americans endlessly have to do for US-Americans). That was, is and will be life until the sun swallows us all. You can’t be THAT militant on social media with 100 posts per day and remembering 50 different campaigns about social issues but the moment someone genuinely asks you for directions on your side you shut them off with “why do you demand labor from me? Do your own research” (hint: most likely they have done their research, but they are stuck, and you don’t help them like this).

If you are very tired and don’t want to explain (as it is your right) you can be polite about it and not blame the individual about their circumstances when they are trying to learn. If you DO want to explain but you get tired, be more organized. Have posts and F.A.Q.s ready, or send them to someone else (a friend, a blog, a youtube channel, an article, whatever). Instead of leftists arguing their positions, sometimes they are like “Do more research and realize I am right.” Yyyeah the other person is not gonna do that – especially because you haven’t pointed them anywhere or supported your position with arguments. Moreover, leftists can have the attitude of “I stand for PROGRESS, how can I ever be wrong??” Weeell things are not black and white and me, you, everyone has the potential to not have a not that beneficial to society position at some issues no matter where we stand on the political compass.

For the “petty whiny children” thing, I believe a lot of people might think that because the youth is usually making noise about progressive issues on social media. It’s true that oftentimes in social media discussions their emotions get the best of them (it’s happened to everyone) but combined with the lack of life experience they may have about the world, the argument sounds silly. (I heard one leftist university student say that the US shouldn’t have borders because borders are bad but then they realized they don’t want people to come and go as they please in the US, so she said there should be SNIPERS in the borders to shot everyone who tries to get in…….)

And, as I mentioned, the leftists are very quick to cancel and attack for the slightest transgression so people prefer to deal with the conservatives who can, at least, take a slight misstep, than meddling with people who are going to cancel them for doing or not doing a small, insignificant, but not ‘woke enough’ thing. Leftists are constantly checking each other to see if they are doing better and better (even in silly issues) and that can be intimidating to someone who is new to politics.

Some leftists get REALLY turned on by righteousness (Frollo villain style) and instead of trying to unite the society, they aim to divide it further. They don’t want to create bridges but burn them and find themselves on the “right side“ of morals.

And, last but not least, they don’t realize leftist propaganda is a thing. Malicious people are EVERYWHERE and they don’t just magically avoid the left. Leftists are not automatically super virtuous people. There are some manipulators and bullies around, so one has to be cautious even with leftist sources. (Cross-examine stuff, always. You might have the best intentions but accidentally share something nonfactual because you trusted a source).

Ok that was all, I think. To anyone who comments, PLEASE keep the tones down, have a conversation, take it slow, remember it doesn’t help us being hateful towards each other. (And causing serious friction wasn’t the purpose of this post). Oh, and if you need a clarification on something I said, before gossiping with your friends about how awful I am, do me the courtesy of first asking me what I meant xD

#answered #leftism #leftist #us politics #progressivism #progressive #long post

34 notes · View notes

luxekook · 5 years ago

Text

in too deep ☼ knj

☼ dedication: this fic is a bday present for the loml tay aka tay bay bay aka @interludemoonchild!!!! luv u long time <33 (sorry this isn’t about hobi skksksks)

☼ pairing: marine biologist namjoon x assistant reader

☼ genre: idiots to lovers, fluff, angst, crack

☼ summary: you had always grown up being told tales of terrible jobs with tyrannical bosses. but now, you’re left to wonder why you hadn’t heard more tragic stories of all-too-wonderful jobs with all-too-beautiful bosses... did falling for your boss only lead to heartbreak and a two weeks’ notice? or could it yield the possibility of romance?

☼ word count: 3.1k

☼ warnings: pg15, cursing, chaotic energy, pining, miscommunication, mentions of quitting, lots of sea nerd stuff, namjoon is smart af but an idiot in love, the reader isn’t any better, crabby bois, arguments, completely cheesy fluff, short make out sesh, mention of sex

☼ banner creator: heathy bby @shadowsremedy

☼ beta reader: the amazing and astoundingly talented phia @meowxyoong

“Kim Namjoon!” You cry, swatting the blue-clawed crab away from your feet with a broom, “What did I tell you about bringing your goddamn crustaceans into the office?”

The man in question hustles out of his office looking disheveled, “You’ve seen Carl?” He sinks right down to his hands and knees to peer under your desk. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, little buddy!”

You stare disappointedly as your boss picks up ‘Carl’ from his hiding place and cradles him to his chest. “Namjoon,” You sigh exasperatedly, folding your arms.

He looks up at you and blushes, “Sorry, Star. I just feel so bad leaving them downstairs at the lab. It’s so lonely and dark down there.”

While your stomach flips at the mention of his nickname for you, your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Well, why don’t you just stay down there with them?”

“Because you’re up here…” He mumbles something incoherent.

“What?” You lean forwards, your ears straining to catch the garbled syllables.

Namjoon clears his throat, looking everywhere but at you, “Because it’s nicer up here.”

“Don’t tell your investors that,” You laugh, thinking of all the fancy and shiny equipment housed in the aquatics lab a few floors below. Working for a top-tier marine biologist sure had its perks - namely the state of the art kitchen with a full espresso bar.

“Star, I would never!” He looks affronted by the mere mention of such a thing. “Now, apologize to Carl for scaring him.”

You scoff, but just one glance into Namjoon’s sparkling brown eyes makes you crumble instantly. “Fine,” You begrudgingly shoot the crab a look, “Sorry, Carl.”

“See, Carl?” Namjoon croons, “She’s sorry!” As he turns back to you, you can immediately tell he is about to launch into Marine Biologist Mode™.

“Carl is a blue crab - a Callinectes sapidus, to be precise. That scientific name literally means ‘savory beautiful swimmer’.”

“Savory, huh?” You quip, relishing in the scandalized look Namjoon shoots you.

“Don’t listen to her, Carl,” He whispers, stroking a finger gently down the crab’s shell. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes… He’s named for his pretty sapphire-tinted claws, and he’s one of the most harvested species of his kind. So, don’t even think about it.”

You burst out laughing as he eyes you, “Okay, Joon, I’ll leave my pot of boiling water at home.”

Namjoon splutters out a choked laugh, looking at you like you are the most exasperating thing he’s ever come across. And, you probably are.

When you came to work for the distinguished marine biologist four months ago, you found him literally buried beneath piles of research papers, files, and National Geographic magazines. Apparently, he had tripped into his filing cabinet and everything had fallen off of the shelves onto him. The man had been a right mess. It was no wonder he had put an ad out in search of an assistant.

In your new role, you slowly but surely introduced some structure and organization into Namjoon’s life as best you could. The first thing you did was update his office. The man still had an honest to god lava lamp on his desk. You were still baffled at how he had managed not to break the fixture before your arrival.

Swiftly following the disposal of the cursed lava lamp, you ordered new file cabinets - and had them nailed to the wall. Virtually, you did even more. You restructured his online platforms and updated his schedule to include more than just scattered notes like “Meeting at 10AM, i think? Or was it 10PM?”

To his credit, Namjoon adhered to most of your suggestions and changes, but apparently he still refused to grasp the ‘no creatures in the office’ rule.

Overall, Namjoon was a great boss - kind, understanding, sweet, and a tad eccentric. His love for all things sea-related shone through the gentle way he handled his specimens, the passionate tone of voice he used while speaking on any related topic, and the stars in his eyes at the mere mention of discovering a new species.

It had been all too easy to become infatuated with him. Especially when he called you “Star” and left you to interpret the meaning on your own.

You remember the exact moment that you fell in love with him so vividly. It had been last month, just three months into working for him. Namjoon had been going off about fucking sand of all things.

“…Sand speaks of history, of science, of travels. Each grain of sand holds thousands upon thousands of years of movement, of erosion. For example, the beach outside of this building is tan because of the iron oxide tinting the quartz and the feldspar to a light brown color. But, there are other beaches that are black, white and even pink in color! It’s fascinating! And to quote the goddess of marine biology Rachel Carson: "In every curving beach, in every grain of sand, there is a story of the Earth…”

Yeah, you are head over heels for your boss. And that’s why you needed to quit.

The end of the workday arrives too quickly - a common theme it seems when you love what you do and who you work for. Namjoon walks beside you down to the parking lot. You sneak a glance at his face and note that he seems deep in thought.

Your mind slips to the image of you and Namjoon going home together to a shared house overrun with fish tanks and models of sharks. It’s all too easy to picture, and all too painful to acknowledge the impossibility.

“Star,” Namjoon’s voice jolts you from your fantasy. You blink up at him, realizing you’re both stopped beside your adjacent cars. Namjoon smiles at you, “I’ll see you tomorrow? It’ll be Friday, finally...”

It seems like he wants to say more but stops himself for some reason. You pause, waiting for him to continue, but he just blushes and brings a hand to the back of his neck bashfully.

“Yeah, Friday,” Your tone is less enthusiastic. You planned to hand in your two weeks’ notice tomorrow. It’s a complete strategy on your part so that you can have the whole weekend to cry and shove at least one gallon of ice cream down your throat.

You wave goodbye to each other and enter your respective cars. You watch Namjoon pull out of the parking lot before you and pause to rest your forehead on your steering wheel. You were so screwed.

Twenty-four exhausting hours later, you find yourself with your fist poised over Namjoon’s wooden office door. Are you actually doing this? Are you really going to quit the only job you’d ever loved?

Yes, you are. You love Namjoon too much to stay here surrounded by his charisma and his beauty. You love him too much to try to complicate his workspace, his sacred ground. You love him too much to ask him to blur the lines of colleague and lover.

You need to leave - for his sake and for yours. It isn’t like he still needs you. He has been following your routine with vigor and always keeps his office organized now. Your tasks have been dwindling for weeks.

It’s time to move on. God, even the tension today had been off the charts with you and Namjoon skirting around each other like you were both walking on eggshells. Clearly, he is also feeling like you are in the way.

With that in mind, you straighten your shoulders and finally knock on the door.

Your ears strain for any sign of an answer. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to sustain the meager amount of courage you had mustered up inside you. Twisting open the handle, you push the door open and are immediately met with an empty office. Damn, he must be downstairs.

You chuckle at the sheer idiocy of your panicked state over knocking on an empty office door.

This is perfect anyways. You can hand Namjoon your two weeks’ and then evacuate the building in one sweep. Shutting down your computer and grabbing your things, you trudge out of the room and towards the stairs.

The journey downwards seems akin to walking the plank as you take each step slowly, dreading the inevitable.

Ciara has it all wrong: you do not love it when you One, Two Step.

The entrance to the lab looms overhead. The steel double doors look more like the gateway to hell rather than a nice entrance to a marine facility. You don’t break your stride as you march through the doors. If you had, you might not have kept going.

The familiar light humming of the tank filters meets your ears as you peer around the rows of shelves containing colorful fish and scuttling critters.

“Joon?” You call, the nickname slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“Back here, Star!” His answer sounds from the very back of the lab. Of course, that’s where the crabs are housed.

You make your way past the tanks of clownfish and the pools of stingrays to where Namjoon sits hunched over the shallow tank containing four green-tinted crabs.

“That’s it, Nala.” Namjoon croons as the smallest of the four crabs swims around the tank, “You show your brothers how fast you are.”

“Talking to your subjects again, boss?” You can’t help but tease the man you've grown to love as he fawns over his work.

Namjoon blushes slightly and nods, pushing his glasses up to rest on the bridge of his nose, “Studies have shown that it helps them develop.”

“I thought that was humans?” You say, shifting your weight back and forth. The letter in your hand seems to burn more each second you hold onto it. You couldn't take it anymore.

As Namjoon opens his mouth to reply, you thrust the letter into his chest and say, “Never mind. This is for you. Please read it later.”

With that, you fast-walk your way back to the entrance of the lab. The sound of the envelope tearing open only forces you faster. Fuck, it had been idiotic of you to assume that he would actually listen to you and open it later. Namjoon is as impatient as they come. Of course he wouldn't wait.

“Star!” His strangled call startles you, “What is this?”

“We can talk about it on Monday!” You reply, somehow already close to tears. Why is this godforsaken lab so big? You pace down the aisles of tanks and breathe a sigh of relief as the exit comes into view.

Then, Namjoon comes barreling around the corner, cutting off your escape. The man looks baffled as he clutches your written resignation in his hands. His chest heaves as he holds the torn pages out towards you, “What. Is. This. Star?”

You bristle. I guess we’re doing this now, you thought. Stiffening your shoulders, you muster all the false bravado you can manage, “It’s my two weeks’ notice, Namjoon. I’m sure a smart guy like you can read.”

“Okay, allow me to rephrase,” Namjoon stalks towards you, tossing the crumpled letter over his shoulder. ��Why did you give me this?”

“The letter explains everything,” Your eyes dart around, both in search of a viable escape and in avoidance of his intensity.

“Sure it does,” He scoffs, his eyes blazing with disbelief. “I want to hear it from you.”

Your back hits the cool glass of the tank behind you. You’re trapped between the contrasting temperatures of the water and Namjoon’s body.

“Joon,” Your voice shakes, “You don’t need me anymore. You’ve done everything I've asked of you and then some. You’re organized. You’re on time. You’re put together. I barely have enough tasks now to fill a day, let alone a week. It’s time to move on.”

“Time to move on?” Namjoon echoes before barking out a humorless laugh, “I don’t need you anymore? That’s really what you think, Star?”

“Don’t call me that.” The nickname snufs out any trace of fight left inside you, and you plead, “Just let me go, Joon.”

“Never,” He growls.

“I don’t understand what you’re not getting,” You sigh, exasperated and drained, “You’ve surpassed my expectations and erased the need for my position. I think the saying ‘the student has become the master’ applies here.”

Namjoon gapes at you before he snaps, “You’re the one who’s not getting it! Have you ever considered that the student might just be in love with the teacher?”

Joon rakes a hand through his hair as you become the one to gape open mouthed at the frustrated man.

He continues, “I wake up earlier every damn day because I can’t wait to see you at work. I organize all of my things because I just want to see you smile at me when you notice. I spend an hour each night picking out what to wear the next day because I want to impress you… Don’t you see? Everything I do is for you, is because of you. I want to be the best version of myself for you.”

Your mind struggles to compute the seemingly impossible notion that the object of your affections returns your love. “Did you,” You gasp out, “Just say that you loved me?”

“Yes, you complete jellyfish! I love you. I am in love with you! And it’s not like it’s not obvious! I call you ‘Star’ because you are my starfish, my sea star. You are the one who keeps the balance to my ecosystem of chaos. You are the key species that keeps everything afloat.”

“And you thought that was obvious?” You yell back at him, “How on earth would I immediately have known the intense analysis behind your nickname for me, Namjoon the science buffoon?” You huff, scrambling to process the amount of information that had just been thrown at you.

He needed you?

He loved you back?

He nicknamed you after a fucking marine invertebrate?!

Namjoon blinks in surprise, “Did you just insult me with a Bill Nye pun?” You don’t deign to give him a response. Namjoon chuckles before grinning sheepishly, “Okay, fine. You make a good point.”

“I know I do,” You pout. “You can’t just spring this on me, Joon. Why haven't you told me this before?”

“Because I was nervous that you would leave me, that you wouldn't return my feelings. Obviously, the first point is moot. What about the second?”

“You’re asking if I love you back?” Your body sags against the tank behind you, “How could I not, you crab-loving, walking mess of a—”

Namjoon captures your mouth with his, kissing you with fervor. His hands wind their way up to cradle your face between them like you are the most precious thing to him.

Pulling back slightly, Namjoon rasps out, “So, you’ll stay?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” You crack a wry smile, “What’s in it for me?”

“Well, let me show you,” Namjoon replies before whipping his shirt off. You gape open mouthed at the expanse of beautiful tan skin in front of you.

Was that a hint of a tattoo swirling over his left shoulder?

He reaches down to tug at the hem of your dress, insinuating he wants it off. A nice concept in theory; however, with one look around at your surroundings, you slap his hand away. “Namjoon! Not in front of the fish!”

“But, Star, these aren’t fish! These are squid, and they are classed as cephalopods—”

You put a hand over his mouth, “Allow me to clarify: I will only fuck in a creature-free zone.”

Namjoon murmurs something beneath your palm. You give him a warning look before removing your hand. He immediately repeats himself, “My office?”

Your eyes narrow, “I know for a fact you have at least three crabs in there.”

Namjoon pauses, looking suspiciously shifty, “There are only seven…”

You wait for it.

“...teen.” He finishes.

“Kim Namjoon!”

Two Years Later

The short walk down the aisle ends too quickly as you find yourself standing in front of a teary-eyed Namjoon. Five of his friends stand behind him in a row, while the sixth stands proudly as the officiant.

They really are out here looking like a whole boy band, you muse. But, you only have eyes for their leader.

Namjoon stands before you, all tall and handsome in his tux; and as Officiant Jin™ begins the ceremony, you can't help but wonder how you got so lucky.

Finally, the ring exchange is introduced dramatically by Seokjin who spouts something about circles and never ending love. “Let us now have the rings brought forward and presented by the ring-bearer!” He booms, raising his arms up like he is summoning a great force.

Ring-bearer? You rake your mind for a prior mention of a ring-bearer… You thought Yoongi as the best man would have the rings.

Suddenly, Namjoon produces a silver whistle from his pocket and blows it once. You stare at your soon-to-be husband like he has sprouted another head.

And then you hear it: the sound of legs and claws scuttling across the floor towards the altar.

“Tell me that is not what I think it is,” You whisper-yell over to Namjoon, who looks way too pleased for your liking.

Your fears and exasperations come true as Namjoon swoops down to pick up Carl who has two shiny rings tied to his shell with a ribbon.

“Oh, Kim Namjoon,” You sigh as you watch him remove the rings from Carl and hand the crab off to a disgruntled Taehyung, “What am I going to do with you?”

“You’re going to marry me,” Namjoon grins.

And marry him you did.

a/n: jellyfish have no brains, lolz. idk why making joon call the reader a jellyfish made me crack tf up but IT DID.

#bangtanhq #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #btsnoonanet #hyungsmutsociety #maknaesmutsociety #bangtanscenery #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #knj x reader #bts #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #happy bday tay!!!!!

726 notes · View notes

wangisking · 3 years ago

Text

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐘

BASICS. FULL NAME : Augustus Alexander Wang NICKNAME : August and Gus ( in general ), Auggie, Ice Prince, and Guggie ( by Aurora ). Aug and Lestat ( by Jack ), NAME MEANINGS : Augustus is Latin for the great / the magnificent. Alexander is also Latin and means defender of mankind. From what I know, Wang in Chinese means king. HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : Though, his dad did think of the Roman Emperor Augustus when they named him, they liked the meaning. It seemed to fit him. They weren’t wrong, he was an emperor and he still has that energy. AGE : 22. Like Aurora, he can’t age past 22. He wouldn’t have minded either way. BIRTHDAY : 5th April ETHNIC GROUP : Augustus is half Korean and half Brazilian. NATIONALITY : British LANGUAGES : fluent in English and French. Conversational Latin. Broken Korean. Learning Urdu. SEXUAL ORIENTATION : demi-heterosexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : demi-heterosexual RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Single and doesn’t want to mingle. He had only one serious relationship in the past with Aurora Shams from 2017-2019. CLASS : Upper class, Wealthy but not private-jet kind of wealthy. HOME TOWN / AREA : London till he was 10 and Vancouver till he was 17 CURRENT HOME : Los Angeles PROFESSION : Drummer, songwriter, model, and student. PHYSICAL. HAIR : long and wavy. Chestnut brown. Here is an example. It goes down his earlobes in length. EYES : piercing, almond-shaped eyes. Naturally brown, but he wears blue or green contact lenses. NOSE : a Greek nose, straight without bumps. FACE : Oblong shaped, sharp and chiseled cheekbones, strong jaw. Masculine features. Example. LIPS : not full nor thin, heart shaped. COMPLEXION : pretty pale. Example is same as the face section. SCARS : one on his chest. TATTOOS : a very small ‘10/17′ on his left rib. PIERCINGS: earlobes HEIGHT : 6′5″ or 195cm. BUILD : Inverted triangle. Broad, tapered shoulders. Muscular. Defined, sculpted abs. Long limbs. Broad chest. He was naturally towards the muscular side with broad shoulders and chest. He’s never been on the skinny side. Example one and two USUAL HAIR STYLE : he lets his hair do their thing, he styles them a little, but he prefers a messier vibe. USUAL FACE LOOK : He looks generally bored. His eyes have a piercing look that seem to be drilling into the person before him. Like he can see right through you. There is an insolent smirk tugging at his lips like he thinks you’re amusing. Almost proud, like he thinks he is above you. There is depth and intensity in his eyes that stare skywards in thought. There is also mischievous, radiant glimmer in his eyes. USUAL CLOTHING : prince charming meets rockstar. Lots of jackets, darker colors, boots, necklaces and rings. Here is his wardrobe. PSYCHOLOGY. FEARS : claustrophobia and the fear of ending up alone. He always had this creeping feeling that he’d be alone in the end and that he was always meant to be alone. ASPIRATIONS : he doesn’t have any set aspirations. They change every now and then. However, his goals are just to keep his found family happy. POSITIVE TRAITS : extremely charismatic, intelligent, academic and studious, alluring and attractive, quick-witted, charming and captivating, articulate and eloquent, adventurous, desirable, analytical, brilliant, friendly, enthusiastic, adaptable, observant, kind, mellow, competent, extremely caring and protective over those closest to him, clever, loyal, clear-headed, confident, humorous, courageous, imaginative and creative, a visionary, refined tastes and manners, daring, dignified, ebullient, deep, remarkable, surprisingly he’s very forgiving, forthright, gallant, logical, gentlemanly and sophisticated, perfectionist, popular, self-reliant, shrewd, witty, suave, curious, and resourceful. NEGATIVE TRAITS : egocentric, self-obsessed, idle, indifferent, selfish, defiant, arrogant, argumentative, rebellious, kinda lazy, stubborn, distracted, doesn’t really care for morals, blunt, can appear insensitive a lot, is insensitive at times, no filters, can be cold for those he doesn’t care for, emotionally immature, deflects emotions, suppresses his feelings, sorta detached, kinda pessimistic, and unknowingly self-sacrificing because he thinks it’s fair and he deserves it. MBTI : ENTP ( Ne dominant, Ti auxiliary, Fe tertiary, and Si inferior — this means she can’t use Ni, Se, Te, and especially can’t use Fi). He perceives the world by connecting dots, thinking of never-ending possibilities, looking for pieces of a puzzle, and finding meaning in abstract. He makes judgments on if what he perceives fits his internal logic. ZODIAC : Aries sun, Gemini rising, Sagittarius moon. TEMPERAMENT : sanguine choleric ANIMALS : parrots and cats because they’re both intelligent but little pieces of shit who enjoy making your life hell. VICE : it’s either his ego or how he ends up detaching himself FAITH : currently, he’s Mu.slim. He was born protestant, became an atheist when he was 13, agnostic at 14. Bud.dhist at 15. Taoist at 16. Confucianist at 17. Mu.slim at 19. Doesn't practice it though. GHOSTS ? : yep.. AFTERLIFE ? : yep REINCARNATION ? : he guesses so. Went through it, but doesn’t remember. ALIENS ? : hell yeah. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : liberal. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : upper class or upper middle class is good with him. EDUCATION LEVEL : MSci in Physics from the University of Cambridge. Is opting to specialize in astrophysics soon. FAMILY. FATHER : Edward Wang, owner of a chain of fine dining restaurants MOTHER : Elisa Violeta Wang, psychiatrist, deceased STEP MOTHER : Chaeyoung Wang, lawyer. SIBLINGS : Cassandra Wang, athlete EXTENDED FAMILY : he is not close with his external family and doesn’t know his birth mother’s family at all. They never wanted him. FAVOURITES. BOOK : Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Galactic Dynamics by James Binney, Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Mukarami, Slaughter house Five by Kurt Vonnegut, War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, and Lord of the Flies by William Golding. MOVIE : Scott Pilgrim vs The World 5 SONGS : All You Want - Dashboard Prophets, Tokyo Smoke - Cage the Elephant, Where is My Mind? - The Pixies, Sparks - Coldplay, Lithium - Nirvana, and Mr. Blue Sky - Electric Light Orchestra DEITY : none. Let him argue with one and ask for proof of their deity-ness. HOLIDAY : Halloween. It’s dramatic and fun. MONTH : October, because he met Aurora and Jack this month in 2017. SEASON : spring and summer. PLACE : he doesn’t have a specific place, but he prefers European architecture. WEATHER : cloudy and windy. Sunny if it isn’t too hot. SOUND : drums and percussions, the sound of aurora and jack’s laugh, guitars, violins, the sound of wind roaring, music boxes, and the clinking of bangles and jewelry. SCENTS : sage, rosemary, and damascus roses. TASTES : chocolate, strawberries, chilies, and fried food. FEELS : the feeling of hitting the drums, wind in his hair, the cold night air, warm morning sun, grass against his fingertips, silk, and touching long hair. ANIMALS : cats and dogs. NUMBER : 8 COLORS : white, cherry red, pink, maroon, wine red, black, and silver. EXTRA. TALENTS : he is an extremely talented drummer, good at guitar and the piano, he is talented at songwriting, composing music, he’s exceptionally good at mathematics and physics, analytical skills, storytelling, knows a lot of facts, near photographic memory because he remembers all important historical events with dates and details, academic writing, and brainstorming ideas. BAD AT : cooking, not very good at driving because he gets distracted, doing one task at a time, playing videogames, actually listening to what people say, being humble, and actually being a good leader. TURN ONS : this is a complicated question. He needs a very strong emotional connection to feel sexual attraction towards someone. And he only felt it for one person in his whole life. But, what sparked that attraction was a brilliant mind and the ability to connect with his mind on a very different level. It’s not going to repeat with anyone else. TURN OFFS : literally everyone else. He’s not sorry, but I am. HOBBIES : playing the drums, writing and composing songs, reading, solving problems, listening to music, watching shows, getting people to do weird shit, and annoying people. AESTHETIC : crowns, drums, broken drumming sticks, abstract art, the vast space, chess boards, album cases, thrones, the echoing sound of pianos, Greek sculptures, galaxies and nebulas, early morning sunrise through curtains, libraries, equations scribbled on napkins, empty museums, unmade white sheets, polaroid cameras, conspiracy theories, VHS tapes, antique books, cobblestone alleyways, night skies, cluttered books, calloused fingers, crumpled composition pages, guitar picks, vinyl, telescopes, and planets. Basically: abstract, chaotic academia, cryptid academia, dark academia, indie, kingcore, light academia, musical academia, science academia, spacecore, QUOTES : it’s weird but i can’t decide which one fits him. FC INFO. MAIN FC : victor han ALT FC : n/a. OLDER FC : he can’t age past 22, so he doesn’t need one. YOUNGER FC : none yet. VOICE CLAIM : both speaking and singing (his accent is posh British with a slight hint of Canadian) MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about ? A1 : The same answer as Aurora, The Tale of Solis et Lunae that stars him alongside Aurora, Lunae, Jack, and Tate, plus more. A cosmic adventure / fantasy / coming of age / superhero / the reluctant hero / the chosen one. His role is of Aurora’s best friend and her greatest support in emotional and supernatural dangers. He is the time traveler who ascends time and space, so he often also gives her insight and information like the sage. It’ll expand across dimensions, worlds, and different states of existence. The scenes would be cinematic with a strong soundtrack. I imagine him to have some scenes like Quick Silver in the X-Men movies. Q2 : What would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : He would have a 90s grunge or spacey dream rock sound. It ties in with the end of the last answer because i see him in one of those scenes with 90s grunge or maybe classical music ? Q3 : Why did you start writing this character ? A3 : I made Augustus just a bit before Aurora. They were a two part deal. I don’t know when it began, I just had this image of a tall, long haired boy with piercing, intelligent eyes who’s a smart-ass and likes being a know-it-all nuisance. This character has been the same since he began in 2019 and refused to change. He was always a drummer, he always had the same fashion sense, the look, Gus was always half-Korean, he always had long fingers he wore rings on, and he was always Aurora’s best friend/partner in crime. He remains unchanged and that's why I wanted to write him. This very vivid image of this boy was something I had to pen down. And just my luck, I found a fc who looks exactly how Gus looked in my head. Q4 : What first attracted you to this character ? A4 : Augustus is just extraordinary. It’s something I always felt about him and Aurora and I don’t see any of my other characters coming anywhere close to them regardless of how much I spent time on them. But with Augustus, his entire image and looks and personality — down to his wardrobe and jewelry was always so vivid in my head. Like I knew this very chaotically handsome boy who was going to turn the world upside down. His story is interesting, but what interests me more is his perspective on his story. The way he looks at his life and how he is quiet and doesn’t show his pain. How confused he always is. How much he aches but never seems so. The way he loves but doesn’t say even a quarter of the intensity he feels. And how sometimes he believes he deserves suffering because it makes sense to him. I also love the connections he makes and the way he loves so deeply and profoundly but underneath the surface. His connection, love, fears, and hopes with Aurora and Jack for their respective reasons are extremely beautiful. Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. ? A5 : Augustus is unknowingly self-sabotaging. He let go the only relationship / love in his life that made him feel like real love just because he thought he didn’t deserve it. And because when he was provoked, it made “sense” to him. He bottles his emotions and pain so much despite their intensity. He never shows how much he really cares and really hurts. And how sure he is that he’ll end up alone without friends and that it makes sense to him. Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : Here’s a fun answer, because I bottle my emotions like him. I also interact with the carefree way he does even if I don’t feel peachy. He’s smart and witty and really hot and I don’t even have that going on for me. So, yikes. Only of Gus’ bad things I share. Q7 : How does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Gus loves interacting with people so he’ll definitely show up to annoy me. Maybe, he might think I’m fun to annoy? Or maybe, we’ll have a similar sense of humor. I think he won’t dislike me. Not sure if he’ll like me. I think he’d think I’m funny in a strange sort of way. Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8 : Aurora, first of all. They have this same brain wave-length thing going on where they’re partners in crime and bffs forever more. He knows how she is feeling and what she’s thinking even before she utters it. If she is about to sneeze, he’d get a tissue ready. He can tell if she is hungry or sleepy with one glance. She can do the same, so they sorta have this weird understanding of each other. Jack is this older brother figure Augustus loves. He won’t admit it, but he kinda wants to make Jack proud of him. He also wants to provide love and care to Jack that he thinks he deserves but never got. They’re his family now and he’ll never be alone or sad again. He annoys Jack a lot but behind it all, he just wants Jack to think he is needed and he belongs. That if he thinks Augustus is reliant on him, then he has this family he has to protect and care for. He can’t stand the thought of Jack feeling unloved, forgotten, alone. Tida is another one. There’s this great respect and adoration Gus has for him. Almost like he looks up to him in some ways He also has a lot of hopes and expectations attached. He feels Tida is everything that Gus himself lacks. He is the ideal boyfriend, kindest person, shows his emotions vividly, and is like a warm and cozy blanket personified. He is probably Tida and Aurora’s biggest supporter and first one to know. He can’t be happier than he is that Aurora found someone as good and perfect as Tida. Taewon is one really fun character. Their two-way frenemy jealousy spans over years and started in Cambridge when they were both in love with the same girl they claimed to be best friends with. Though, trying to be calm, Augustus was constantly provoked and hurt, made to feel inferior and constantly in fear of his relationship being broken by Taewon’s schemes that he couldn’t say out loud. This dark period ended with a fist fight and baggage of guilt they both carry to this day for hurting each other and the one they claimed to love. Today, they’re way past that and frenemies who have funny quips and arguments for each other. They say they dislike each other. But if the lighting is good, one would be the photographer of the other. Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : Music helps me imagine scenes with perfect visual details. Any scenes from shows that remind me of my storylines. Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ? A10 : I don’t remember. It was many days and I didn’t count because it was in bits and pieces.

#╰ ♛ 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 ━━ the king of gods #long post #i finally did this!

7 notes · View notes

sebsunset · 4 years ago

Text

Creation, Both Haunted and Holy - CHAPTER 2!

I’ve been working on this thing for weeks straight, to make it as amazing as possible!

As always, I am dragging @muffinlance‘s AUs into my work

this is the angsty one :) yUP, the year-old au!

and don’t worry, i have another one in progress... also using a muffinlance- inspired au- one of the more obscure ones, i think!

Mother Hama is. Suspiciously nice to write, and very angsty

TRIGGERS: Graphic-ish descriptions of wounds and child abuse! Please beware, my dudes! Things will get better soon, but this is really really bad right now!

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578904

OR, READ HERE :)

In the moon’s light, an urutau-vulture screeches out its song, pure and eerie grief ringing out in the wind.

And that’s how Zuko’s mind briefly comes back to reality.

Awareness fading in and out with each breath he wheezes through.

With wakefulness, comes the purest of agonies. A mouth open, voice too hoarse to scream out for help.

The hot pain, all over him, the memories tugging at his head, the memories of-

The burning. A cleanse that felt so dirty, like-

Oh, the sheer smell of it-

Of him.

The smell of cooked meat is his.

He wheezes out a cough, remembers the time Mom had no servants to help her, and had asked Azula to light up the fire for them to cook.

He tries thrashing about, to get a good view.

Mom ought to be around there, around somewhere.

(Even if it’s been so long since she was last around.)

She must be there, somewhere he can’t see, maybe in the blurry shade of the trees. She will bring a bucket and cool water, and she will hold him and-

“W-Where’s mom?” he tries asking, to nothing, to no one.

But only one of his ears hear it, the raspy, damaged sound that he can hardly recognize as his own voice.

He tries to ask again, words broken, tear tracks he can only feel in one cheek.

The burning pain he struggles to breathe over.

He doesn’t know what happened, but he can’t move. Can’t do anything, nothing but begging for it to go away.

“Where?” his voice comes out, finally.

The pain in his throat finally registers with the blabbered words, and suddenly he feels like he’s been screaming for all too long.

I’m sorry, Larva, says the feeling of hands on him. I’m so sorry it came to this.

Ghostly hands that don’t quite hurt when they touch his left side.

There is no shadow to hold him, though.

He can’t remember what happened, but the questions come to his mind nonetheless.

Why does it hurt so much? Why is his arm numb, why can’t-

Go to sleep. I’ll keep you safe, little Vessel.

The voice is soft, warm.

And, as the moon sings her song, his brief moment of awareness fades off.

Only one eye closing, as he breathes out again.

Painful, laboral.

His last thought is that he hates it.

The tone in the voice.

It’s all too-

It’s in the way the moon sings, as the boy’s skin peels off.

It’s in the way he doesn’t let any infection set in.

Scabbing away as the days pass, as Vaatu tries to heal him.

But there’s a reason the two of them were together. Glued, some might say.

Possessed, united fully.

He is part of Zuko, he is his mind and he is confined, locked away from seeking any further help. Not while the boy is that hurt, not while he can’t be awake and alive on his own.

Were it not a tragedy of occasion, his tendency to lock himself in the tiniest confides would be quite entertaining to watch.

Maybe, were it not happening to him, of all creatures.

Truly, he has been reduced to cowering on corners, to being not much more than a shadow.

Was it selfish, to wish for freedom when he had given it up to save his Vessel?

The two of them had done it.

An Avatar State of their own volition.

A sacrilege against the nature of a human body, a way to twist and bend their souls, braided together into a necklace of rope.

He doesn’t want to tell his boy what happened.

What the two of them had done.

He was too young to know what their purpose really was.

What would happen next, once he managed to get Zuko awake for more than a few minutes, enough time for them to scavenge, to do anything?

But keeping him awake, at that moment, would be nothing short of insane.

Yes, he must change. But this is too painful. Vaatu can feel the pulsing, the infection begging to seep in, to eat away at their flesh.

The way the dead limb hangs limply, charred black. The way the damaged leg attracts flies, like a plate of fruit slathered in honey, only kept away by him.

Blisters that look like they could open into eyes, watch the world for them all.

And so, Vaatu brushes off the sickness, scares away the vermin.

Lets his presence seep through, for nothing can keep him from affecting the world, not even being tied so deeply to his vessel.

The woods grow around them, thick foliage, colorful flowers in the vines.

No other spirit to bless or curse them.

Just the lonesome pocket of the world to which Vaatu and his Vessel have gone.

He is the eye of the shadow, the chaos that lurks deep in that tiny, undisturbed piece of the world.

He is a warning to the creatures.

He warns the world to stay away, lest it feel his disruption. His returning strength, his effect on the world around them finally taking place again.

Now that they are united, he can see that they could easily become unstoppable.

Rotting limbs thrown into any position, blackened flesh still smelling like it's been cooked.

The way it all brews in the two of them is nauseating.

The sickness is in the bursts of consciousness, when the one eye that can close opens up, blurry from tears.

When his head faces up and he sobs, lonesome and in pain.

Vaatu tries keeping the pain at bay, even if just by lulling him to bed.

Their vengeance is yet to be completed.

Disaster will strike again, he will make sure of it.

He tries telling, he tries consoling.

We will come back, he says. Rest for now, their fate is incoming.

But he is just a voice in his head, the feeling of a ghost-limb that can't really pull back hair, brush away feverish sweat.

Even if their Vessel is growing more powerful, Vaatu feels as weak as he can be.

But, as consciousness slips away again, he can’t help but notice the way the world is shifting around them.

The way the rabbit-mice has started chasing the otter-fox.

It is a victory, but it feels wrong.

Unsteady feet, weight put all into one as Zuko drags himself up.

The pain is hot and hard, it almost drives away the overwhelming hunger.

He didn’t think it could get that bad.

It could be worse, Vaatu says, but his voice still sounds angry.

Maybe not at him, but angry nonetheless.

(Angry like-)

When coherency slips away from his mind, when the pain is too much, as each of his slow, measured hops grows more and more exhaustive, he feels something in him beg for destruction.

But he won’t.

In the same way that Vaatu won’t bring him food, in the same way he will stay quiet, never saying a word of what happened to him.

Zuko wants to proclaim that he isn’t forgiven, but for the moment, his focus is on the steps.

Barely more than hops, as his one useful hand hangs onto trees.

Bare feet, grass scratching up against the angry, still-bleeding skin.

The question is pressing, rubbing against the back of his mind, as he cries out and whines, intense pain barely dimmed.

How is he alive?

All firebenders are taught about the sheer power of their fire, about the great deeds and prowesses they can achieve.

About how much damage they can inflict upon their enemies, when they chose not to end their suffering.

It should be infected.

I am trying not to let that happen, Vaatu whispers in his head, like it's a secret, like saying it out loud will destroy their chances of it getting any better.

He isn’t moving in the shadow.

“The left side feels green.” he says, barely noticing he’s speaking at all.

Sunlight streams in through the gaps in the foliage. The moon is going to rise up soon, and the world is orange and it all feels green.

Find help, the voice instructs. You need someone to help you.

“First, food.” he argues, hearing the rumbling of his stomach. “I mean- Where there is food, there are people.”

You make a surprisingly decent point, he says, and there ought to be some farmhouses around here.

Zuko shudders.

People watched back there, people saw his shame burned into skin, his last rite of passage.

His whining sounds pitiful to his own head, but he can’t make his mouth shut up.

Involuntary sounds, flinches and shudders, as he drifts through.

Tall grass scraping against his wound, every touch sending new jolts of it.

The gentle breeze, the falling petals of flowers, blown away by the wind.

All so gentle. The kind pulsing of the world’s fiery heart, a piece of peace in the battlefield of its little nations.

And all so, so very painful.

Maybe this tells more than it shows, but pain is hard to show through words, hard to show through barely coherent thoughts, by the mind of a child who had never been through such great agony before.

A bad leg that can’t sustain his weight much longer.

Tiny complaints amidst panting.

He feels like he is the only source of noise. The world is eerily still.

Holding its breath.

Zuko shudders, tree bark scraping at tiny hands.

He looks down on himself.

A foot half-blackened. White and violent red, all blistered and-

Cooked. Broken.

Zuko doesn’t look at his left arm.

He is all too broken, all too destroyed by the time he’s been through.

You aren’t, says the voice.

Scabs that peel away too easily, like they were never meant to form.

Droplets of blood calling for any animal. He is prey, and the world is so, so very much now.

The disorganization of the world doesn’t manage to feel quite right, quite how it should be.

Like someone’s disrupted it before, like they’ve re-organized the world into something it shouldn’t be.

Something hangs in the air, hidden but never overshadowed by the smell of his tracks.

Yes, deliberate.

They’re onto something, he realizes.

A pike of wood, somewhere from which a scarecrow once stood.

“A garden.” he says. “I think we’ve found a garden.”

Purring at the back of his head, his blurry eye half-focusing around him.

A bush at the entrance.

Calling to him.

Food.

It has to be food.

Overtaken by hunger, he can only see them.

The rest of the garden is just carrots, little beets and a cabbage or two.

Nothing that looks that sweet.

And so, Zuko drops down, hisses in pain and twitches about, before grabbing a handful of berries in his one hand.

Vaatu takes a minute too long to realize they’re the kind used to make rat poison.

Her abode is a humble one.

A tiny inn she’s set up, rooms rarely occupied.

Of course, she has other places for travelers to sleep in.

It’s her lair, made of damp wood, of floorboards that creak comfortably under her old feet. Of roofs that leak, of the smell of a harmless old person.

She has a thousand little closets, a million nooks and crannies.

Hidden memorabilia, memories she’s carved back up for herself.

All wheatered by rain and by soot, but kept clean and tidy, far away from the fire.

She didn’t have many clients, but she had more than enough time to tend to the ones she had.

And so she did, for a time.

She kept herself satisfied, working towards her goals day in and out.

Followed through with a routine, day in and day out. Cooked plenty for herself, made sure she had the energy to follow through with her tasks.

That night, she can feel the full moon.

A welcome presence above her, making the world pulse with her divinity.

She has blessed the woman with her presence, and so, that night, she will go…

Watch the moon.

It’s a nice way to talk about the indulgence in her favourite of all things.

When she can make the world malleable around her, when she can dance and sing, pulling at the strings that bind the world together.

She smiles, feels it pull at her eyes.

That night will be formidable, she thinks

With finality, she treks along.

Yet, she doesn’t feel alone.

How can she, when the full moon rises, making the world finally feel alive again?

The leaves crackling under her feet as she strides, the roots and branches snapping under her like she is a mighty beast.

Remainders of the sun’s warmth slowly seeping out, Tui taking her rightful place in the throne of the sky.

Her court of stars, rising slow and steady in its march.

And the world is silent around her. She knows it ought to be gawking at her, the last of her kind.

“Oh?” comes out of her mouth, before she can even stop herself.

An ear strained out.

“What is that…” she tsk-s in amusement, looks around with a half-absent mind.

Just what poor creature dares it, to choke in her garden, to foam over the leaves of her poison, to die in Hama’s territory?

Wakefulness comes slowly.

His brow furrows in confusion, only half his vision able to focus.

But he doesn’t need to.

All Zuko sees is darkness.

He shivers, suddenly hit with the sheer cold of the room.

It's eerie.

He doesn’t know where he is.

He lashes out, trashes about.

His feet burn. Tied together with rope.

There are no windows, the space cramped. The sickeningly sweet smell of mold, the only sound meeting his ears, his own panting.

Like a piece of bread that’s been left hanging around for all too long.

Something is wrong.

It’s in the way his tongue feels garbled when he tries to talk, it’s in the way he can’t quite move.

It’s in the involuntary twitching of a dead limb, that he can’t stop, even when it hurts.

He can’t sit up, wouldn’t even if the dizziness would let him.

Vessel, are you okay? comes to his head.

Why didn’t you stop me, he tries asking. Where are we? Why are we here?

There are no little hands in the shadows, no feeling of a ghost hand touching him.

But the pain is dulled, pushed back.

Cloaked.

“Where am I?” he looks around. “Va-Voice, where are we?”

Someone brought us here, Larva. Get up, I’m curious.

“Then move on your own.” he spits. “I’m tied up. Stupid.”

Regret makes him shake his head, but Vaatu is too old to hold up a grudge.

I can’t. We are united now, Larva. We are one in the same, and wherever you go, I go too.

“Chained?” he remembers. Like he is. Stuck, chained.

Chained. But fret not, my Larva, for stagnation will not come back to us. For now, though, you shall recover your energies.

A groan, as he lifts his hand, swipes a bug from his brow.

You sound like Uncle goes unsaid, but leaves the taste of bile on his mouth nonetheless.

Shudders, head shakes. The feeling of strands of patchy hair brushing against his shoulder.

He may not be alone, but there's no armor, no protection.

Zuko shivers, suddenly cold.

A part of him would give anything for that surge of power, for the feeling of the elements at his will, ready to be summoned up, to be harnessed and used as he deems fit.

For anything that can protect him, even with the collateral damage.

He can’t do anything, but he struggles to turn to his side nonetheless, to crawl out of the pile of rags that was his bed.

He can’t get up, so he drags his body along, pulls it slowly.

A trail of blood from his left side, scraped against the floorboards.

Dragged by his hand, whining and growling.

He can’t untie himself, no matter how much he tries.

Some kind of different knot - intricate, woven tight.

Vaatu guides him slowly, words that barely register to his mind.

Nausea, the feeling of ants crawling at the tips of his fingers as he drags himself to the door.

Get to the door - away from the fabric, it burns too easily - and then you can burn through the rope.

And suddenly, he wants to scream.

“I’m not burning myself. Shut up!” he plops onto his right side, drool pooling at the left corner of his mouth.

Beyond his control.

You know how to control the heat. It wouldn’t hurt. It's like pulling a bandage.

“Shut up.” he tries screaming, but his voice comes off hoarse.

… I apologize. I understand your fear, Vessel.

“I’m not forgiving you.”

I won’t let you stagnate for long, but feel free to stand your ground for a few more days.

“I’ll give you a week.” A bit of snark, that comes off soft.

A dry chuckle that breaks through the darkness.

He rolls his eyes, but can’t bring a smile up. He knows it would hurt. It would sting on his face, it would pull at the burns.

He reaches the door, struggles onto his knees, pulls at the handle.

Rattled, shaken, pulled and pushed with the feeblest of strengths.

Breaths growing quicker, as the weight of what he had done sets onto his shoulders.

Oh, what he did-

You should’ve eaten your vegetables, comes out as a light-hearted attempt, falling so very short.

“Shut up.” he wants to yell, because he’s locked in a strange home and oh Agni-

It’s dawning on him, slowly and steadily, just what he did.

Just what happened.

He hurt them.

(He did much worse.)

Falls to the floor. Looks at his one hand.

Now only one. Covered with little burns, old marks of his failures set onto his wrists. Little reminders of hands that were once there.

His breath, puffing out as smoke in the dark, cold room.

And suddenly, tears are falling down onto his hand.

(Father did that.)

No voice to comfort him. Nothing but the oppressiveness of his lonesome state.

Zuko wants to drown in tears, but his left eye refuses to cry, his bony body refuses to shake with sobs just yet.

So he just shrinks in there, holds himself close through the pain, pretends someone else is there to hold him.

"W-why?" He asks, feeling only half of his mouth move.

Words coming out garbled, blabbered through tears.

No answer comes, and he feels all alone.

He is a big boy, he wants to remind himself.

A big boy indeed, and that's why he cries and cries and cries, ignoring how the hollow place of the moon is soon filled by Agni’s eye.

The walks back home tend to be a less than exciting ordeal.

Oh, of course there's glee. Catharsis, even.

But lately, there’s some more than that. There’s the weight of the years on her shoulders, the soreness on her legs, the ache engraved deep into her bones.

That’s the vengeance of her people, of the men and women slain, torn down from the inside, overtaken by insanity.

She was meant to do it. It was why the art had come to her, it was why she had mastered it.

To bring down the rain of vengeance.

Nonetheless, that particular walk was made through with a quicker step, with a less vengeful head.

She had spent so long hurting, and the ones who hurt were the ones who learned how to heal the best.

She knew where to make it ache, and she had studied plenty of how to heal before.

(Kanna and her, studying scrolls that would be burned less than a day later, until late at the night.

Listening to the tribe's men sing and dance around the campfire, laughing and betting. Rolling their eyes, t hey healed eachother with little kisses by the moonlight, as Hama listened to Tui's song, to the calling of the full moon.

And with her friend's mittened hand in hers, she closed her eyes and felt the warm pulse of a world suddenly coming to life.

In the night's light, the cold wind whipping against their warm bodies, they danced together.

A dance that would soon turn into brisk movements, into desperate jabs.

But, at the moment and to that very day, the times before were painted with a rose-tinted glass.)

What mattered was that she had a patient, someone hurt as badly as she once was.

A son of ash and soot, a child with an eye burned open, blinded but still moving.

A child whose mere existence, whose life was astounding to her. How could that little thing keep going, how could he crawl to her and lay by her grassbed?

A little creature that proved her either insane or lucky enough to have a spirit in her hands.

He was going to be useful, she had decided when she found him foaming at the mouth, turning and twisting, rubbing dirt all over the open wound.

She’d cleaned him up, she had left him a nice little room, for an ashmaker that had yet to pay her back.

He would be grateful, that was certain.

And she’d seen first hand, how gratitude could destroy a man. Break down his flesh, make him bow and worship like a dog.

(She'd stood, suspended in her cell, watching an affair below.

The guard with bright yellow eyes, a glint like that of golden daggers, pointed towards her favorite prisoner.

A young woman, barely more than a girl.

She was from a neighboring tribe. Beautiful button nose and plump lips, bowing down low, foreign words slipping off her tongue.

She was meant to sing to the moon and the sea, but she sung their tribe’s songs upon anyone’s request. Danced as well as she could, tied up in chains.

A slap to the back of her head, something in the dirty ashmaker's speech.

A correction, two apologies delivered in a low bow.

Forgiveness in the form of a plump bowl of jook and not much else.)

Her garden blooms around her.

What little use she could make of the soil there. Little plants, poisonous berries. Nothing too beautiful or lavish. She was just a humble old woman, afterall.

She’d been nice, asked around the village. Seeds, some tools. She was sweet and defenseless, and nobody ever dared suspect her to her face.

The village had never been a tribe.

And the house she lived in had always been just that. A house. Some might stretch it and call it a lair.

Not quite a home, as much as she tries to keep it cold, to make it feel like one when she closed her eyes, and look like one when she dared open them up.

That place is still a land of fire. Lava below her, the sun all too hot, not a single break in his wicked reign.

She misses the polar winters. They’d always been so good for weeding out the weak and the fiery alike.

Perhaps her glasses are tinted blue, contrasting all too sharply against the blood-red of that place.

But the point still stands in her mind. That place is no real home.

It doesn't have the foundations to be one.

It doesn't have the people to make it one.

There’s no Kana or Panuk or any of the children running about. There is no tribe to embrace her, no new stories to tell around the campfire. No dealings with the neighbors, and no polar-bear sled dogs to lead to the market every month.

There’s only the oppressive loneliness of a single person lost in the sea of snakes.

But for now, she can rejoice in the luxury of a new toy. One that can be mended, sewn and filled up with the truth. A child of ash, all hers.

(Malleable as the water she’d once sculpted into ice.)

Slow footsteps, steady smile. A bit of excitement, despite the bits of a lazy cat in her demeanor.

The doors of the inn, all open and empty.

Until the locked closet.

It’s their smallest room. It’s perfect for someone that small, that frail.

A plant left in a pot too big will soon spread, grow out of control.

If he grows up well enough, if his leaves twist and bend and his roots stretch out as he tries to reach the sun, she will put him on a leash.

Hama had been wanting something to keep her entertained.

He sobs and heaves and nearly vomits once or twice.

Snot and bile, no comfort, no caress.

Not a word amidst the fit. Nothing that he can hear, nothing that can make itself noted in his mind.

His body hurts, but there is no infection to take him away, to lend him a hand.

He can’t think straight. Repulse fills his throat whenever he thinks of himself, whenever he opens his eye for enough time to truly see himself.

And he can’t do this, he thinks.

Like any child does, he slips into a spiral, falls down and down.

Thoughts swirling in his head, screams that his throat can't force out.

Until something breaks through, snaps him out of it.

The sound of a door creaking open.

A tiny stream of the morning’s light drifts into the room, so gentle yet so bright, revealing dust that doesn’t quite form bunnies and mold growing on the walls of a cramped closet.

The decrepit coldness is suddenly accentuated, with the gentle warmth that hits his back.

He shudders, suddenly, as the light is taken away.

When he turns, a figure stands, back-lit in the doorway.

Old and hunched, his blurry eyes barely able to focus on anything but her kind smile.

He turns to her, ready to question why she left his legs tied up, why she locked him there, how long he'd been alone, what she wants to do now-

“Are- Are you-” he tries stuttering out a question, but suddenly, he realizes he doesn’t know just what he wants to ask.

She comes closer, looks down upon him.

“Bow down and ask, young one.” she says, gently. “Be respectful of this old woman, won’t you?”

Vaatu growls at the back of his head, and, for a second, he forgets that his friend is simply locked inside his mind, with no real effect on the world once they’re not alone.

So, he breathes in deep, pretends there’s nothing wrong inside him.

And drops down in a rigit bow, so the kind woman won’t burn him.

“I am Hama. Who are you?” a cane pokes his burnt side, the arm that’s no longer there.

Deep breath. He knows who he is, and so will she.

“I’m Zuko. Son of-”

“Nobody.” she says. The harsh word startles him, slipped in such a gentle voice. “Not anymore. Not after what happened to you.”

He tries again.

“Zuko, son of P-”

A poke from the cane, right in a blister. He flinches and hisses, unable to stop himself.

“You are a son of nobody.” she says, her voice sweet as the smell of moldy grain. “After all that must’ve happened to you, it’s better as that. Poor thing.”

That silence lasts for a few seconds, before her voice returns, kinder, to his sight of nothing but fetid floorboards.

“Now, young one, tell me, what have they done to you?”

He won’t say. He won’t speak out again.

Not when Vaatu hisses, pure in his anger, taking over his head.

“Don’t you think you owe me that, after all I’ve helped you with?” a cane pokes his head, gently thumping against his skull. No real intention for pain, not on his bad side.

He gulps down something.

A single tear hits his lip, salty against the bitterness in his mouth.

Why does he cry? Why do the tears betray his mind, why does his gut feel so raw?

“I- I was burned.” he says.

“That I can see.” she says, gently. “Now come on, darling. I must know your affliction to heal you.”

“I was burned and banished.” he says. Words spilling out dirty and fetid and spat out like falling teeth.

But he tells no more. Hopefully, she won't see any tales of spirits, any curses or blessings to destroy.

(What if she wants to cleanse him, too?)

“Oh, dear.” she says, voice perfect in compassion.

Be careful, Vessel, Vaatu says in his head. His voice no longer a hiss, just a thought at the back of his mind. Do not trust her. Do not.

“That is very unfortunate.” she says. “Then, you aren’t Zuko, are you? As a banished boy, you have no name.”

“I- I still have my honor.” is the only defense he can give her.

And she laughs.

It would be warm, infectious as any other disease, were it not happening at that moment, when he felt raw and when his vulnerability was so easy to turn into anger.

“I am Hama, and you are Nobody.”

This is the point where the scene should end. Here, it should all fade away to silence, to maybe a sob or two, a twitch or whine at his own discomfort, until he is instructed to get up.

But please, remember just who we are talking about.

Nothing ends when or how it should, down here.

“B-But-” he tries stammering out, his heart thundering in his chest. His voice can’t come out as a scream, but it tries.

Maybe, a part of him thinks, his voice will be heard then.

She pokes him again, straight at the ribs.

“Nobody.” she says. “Nobody, with that attitude.”

If only she knew, he wanted to say.

Be nobody, Vaatu whispers, locked inside his head.

Zuko wants to fight. He wants to bite and gnash and destroy, to bend and twist and fall upon that state again, that state that made him-

“Not nobody,” he says. “I- I’ll prove to you. I’m not nobody. I swear on my honor.”

He can feel her smile.

“Son of nobody, then.” she says. “But make good on that promise, please.”

Hissing in his head, he looks up.

Tap, straight at a hollowed-out cheek.

“Stay down.” she says. “The light might hurt your eyes, so keep down low, son. I’ll get you something to eat.”

#writing #fanfic #atla #atla aang #atla zuko #atla hama #avatar #avatar zuko #vaatu #avatar vaatu #fanwork #fandom #fanfiction #fantasy #angst #muffinlance #mother hama au #hama #avatar hama

72 notes · View notes

reinerispretty · 5 years ago

Text

beneath the moon. (sokka x f!reader) pt5

thank u so much for reading and for all of your wonderful feedback :) i hope ur having a great day!

pt1

pt4

pt6

“You guys go ahead,” (Y/N) said. “I’m going to stay and help the other waterbenders.”

“Are you sure?” Sokka asked. “You were knocked out pretty bad.”

“I’ll be fine,” She insisted. Katara nodded and went over to Appa to climb into his saddle. Slowly, Yue backed away from her sister and walked over to Katara. Sokka was the only one who remained. He stared at her for a moment.

“Um, stay safe,” He said.

“You too.”

(Y/N) stood patiently in the Spirit World Oasis. Most everyone was forbidden from spending too much time here, for fear that someone would damage it, but it was definitely her favorite place in the entire North Pole. She remembered begging her father numerous times to let her bring her paints and easel in here, but he refused. It was a closely guarded Northern Water Tribe secret, but for what reason, she wasn’t sure.

Yue had brought her, Katara, and Aang here in an effort to get Aang to connect with the Spirit World. Aang sat on the grass with his legs folded. She and Yue both let out a gasp as his tattoos began to light up.

“Is he okay?” (Y/N) asked Katara. She nodded, a smile on her face.

“Don’t worry, he just crossed over into the Spirit World. He should be fine as long as we don’t move his body.”

Yue looked around the oasis nervously. (Y/N’s) own hair rose on the back of her neck. She felt like something was wrong. “Maybe we should get some help,” Yue suggested. Katara shook her head.

“No, he’s my friend. I’m perfectly capable of protecting him.”

“Well aren’t you a big girl,” A voice that (Y/N) didn’t recognize chuckled. She watched as Katara’s entire body tensed. All three girls turned around to see a boy standing there. He could be no older than sixteen, with a scar on his left eye. His entire presence struck fear into (Y/N’s) heart, but she wouldn’t let him see it. “Hand him over and I won’t have to hurt you.”

(Y/N) moved first, since his eyes were trained on Katara. She wasn’t sure who this boy was, but she knew his presence was a threat to Aang. She gathered water from the oasis and shot it toward him. He dodged her attack but Katara hit him with another blast of water. He kicked his legs into the air and shot a stripe of fire at both of them. (Y/N) ducked just in time to not be burned.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Yue run for help. (Y/N’s) heart felt like it would pound out of her chest. This was her first real fight and she was scared out of her mind, but the rush of power she felt from the moon kept her steady. Both girls quenched his fire with their own water blasts. With Katara’s help, they captured the boy in a ball of water and froze him in ice. He quickly melted out of it and ran toward Aang, grabbing him by the collar.

With a yell, (Y/N) raised a large wave and shot it at him, sending him backward. Katara froze the water once more to keep him imprisoned. (Y/N) bent over out of breath, exhausted from how much of her own power she had just used.

Her eyes widened as (Y/N) watched the sun rise above them. Quickly she turned to the boy, raising her hands to fight him once more, but it was too late. He broke free from the ice and the blast sent both her and Katara flying backward.

Katara landed against the gate of the oasis and slumped over unconscious. (Y/N) had been thrown back into the wall. She lay on the ground, coughing and groaning in pain. She watched as the boy picked up Aang and dragged him out of the oasis. She tried to crawl her way toward them but every inch of her body groaned in pain. Eventually, she succumbed to darkness.

---

When (Y/N) awoke, she was staring into two bright blue eyes. Her first thought was that they were beautiful, but once she realized they were Sokka’s, she pushed him away. “Yep, she’s fine,” Sokka grumbled as he helped (Y/N) rise to her feet.

Yue let out a sigh of relief before taking her sister into her arms. (Y/N) groaned, holding her head as her eyes searched their location. “Is Katara okay?”

“I’m fine,” Katara assured her. “We made a pretty good team.”

“Not good enough,” (Y/N) sighed, staring at the empty spot where Aang once sat. “Who was that guy, anyway?”

“Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation,” Sokka said bitterly. “He’s been hunting Aang since we met him.”

“Seems like a pleasure to be around,” (Y/N) said sarcastically.

“I can’t believe I lost him,” Katara’s eyes welled with tears.

“It’s not your fault,” Sokka reassured her. “You both did all you could. Come on, Zuko couldn’t have gotten far.”

“You guys go ahead,” (Y/N) said. “I’m going to stay and help the other waterbenders.”

“Are you sure?” Sokka asked. “You were knocked out pretty bad.”

“Um, stay safe,” He said.

“You too.” He ran to the others, hopping onto Appa’s back and sending them soaring into the air. (Y/N) watched as they left the oasis, Appa growing smaller and smaller as they flew away. She put her jacket back on and buttoned it up.

She ran back into her city to find it being overcome by Fire Nation soldiers. Their tanks ran over the ice, breaking the intricate sculptures and decorations that had been there for centuries. Her people were doing a good job of fighting them off by freezing their tanks and sending the soldiers back over the wall with plumes of water.

(Y/N) walked through the city, trying to find anywhere that she could help. As she looked around, a Fire Nation soldier grasped her harshly by the arm. She shouted in pain, trying to wrench herself free from his grasp. “You’re coming with me,” He said, his voice warped from behind his mask.

With her free hand, (Y/N) lifted the water from the canals and doused the soldier in it. He released her from the initial shock and (Y/N) grabbed him by the uniform, using all of her force to send him over the railing of the bridge and into the canal. The corner of her mouth tilted up just a bit as she watched him try to swim to safety.

While she wasn’t a master waterbender by any means, (Y/N) still utilized the skills Katara and Aang had taught her to defend her home from the Fire Nation. She shot icicles at them from high above, either knocking them unconscious or pinning their uniforms to the ground. She shot blasts of water to knock them off of her feet, and the other waterbenders in her tribe froze them in place. They stared at her, surprised to see one of the princesses utilizing her waterbending talents to fight, but she just gave them a shrug and continued along her way.

As she raised a wave to fight another Fire Nation soldier, the water fell to the ground, splashing at both of their feet. (Y/N) looked up at the sky to find that the moon had turned red. She tried once more to send a whip of water at the soldier, but nothing happened. Her face contorted in shock.

“Nice try,” The soldier said, grasping her by the hood of her coat. She stomped on his foot with her heavy boots and he shouted in pain, releasing her. (Y/N) ran away as fast as she could, back to the Spirit World Oasis. She reached her destination just as Sokka, Yue, and Katara were arriving.

“Where’s Aang?” (Y/N) asked.

“Inside!” Katara informed her. They crossed through the gates and watched as Aang stood face-to-face with Admiral Zhao. The man held a bag that writhed and twisted.

“Don’t do it, Zhao,” Aang demanded. “Destroying the moon won't hurt just the Water Tribe. It will hurt everyone, including you. Without the moon, everything would fall out of balance. You have no idea what kind of chaos that would unleash on the world.”

(Y/N) inhaled a sharp breath as she realized what exactly Zhao was holding in the sack. The fish within the oasis weren’t regular fish: they were the spirits of the moon and ocean. They were the ones who had given her the gift of waterbending. They were the ones who had saved Yue’s life when she was just a baby.

“He’s right, Zhao,” An old man said.

“General Iroh, why am I not surprised of your treachery?”

“This is no treachery,” Iroh said firmly. “The Fire Nation needs the moon just as much as the Water Tribe. We need balance. Whatever you do to that spirit I'll unleash on you ten-fold. Let it go, now!“

Zhao hesitated for a moment and (Y/N) watched as slowly, he let the Moon back into the oasis. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. But suddenly, Zhao released a loud shout and sent a column of fire down on the Moon spirit.

They all watched in horror as all of the color and life of the world dissipated. Everything around them was now black and white. (Y/N) lifted her hands to her mouth in horror.

“There’s no hope now,” Yue cried. “It’s over.”

“It’s not over,” Aang said, but it didn’t sound like his voice. It sounded like the voice of thousands of people. (Y/N) and the others watched as Aang’s tattoos and eyes began to glow the same brilliant blue hue that she had seen earlier.

The water within the oasis began glowing the same color. Aang entered the water and it formed around him, lifting him up into a giant blob that resembled the ocean spirit. It traveled through the water that led out of the oasis and into the city.

(Y/N) and Yue rushed over to the pond where the koi fish had once swam. The fish of the Moon spirit lay floating at the top, a deep red burn etched into its skin. The old man that had stood up to Zhao, Iroh, held the fish in his hands before placing it back in the water.

“Maybe...maybe I can heal it,” (Y/N) said hopefully, but her voice wavered despite herself. She reached her hands toward it, but Katara grabbed her wrists.

“It’s too late,” Katara whispered sadly. “It’s dead.”

Iroh turned to look at Yue, noticing how her eyes remained blue despite the world losing its color. “You...you’ve been touched by the Moon spirit. Some of its life is still in you.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Yue said, her face turning the most serious (Y/N) had ever seen it. “Maybe I can give it back.”

“No, absolutely not,” (Y/N) said, just as Sokka said, “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s my duty,” She told them both. (Y/N) shook her head furiously.

“Your father told me to protect you,” Sokka pleaded.

“I have to do this.” Yue said decisively. (Y/N) grabbed onto her sister’s hands, shaking her head. Her eyes welled with tears that spilled over one by one.

“Please, Yue, no,” She begged. “It-It can take me instead. Please, you can’t do this. Please, Yue, I can’t lose you!” (Y/N) had spent her entire life looking after Yue. She had tried her best to protect her. But in this moment, she felt absolutely helpless.

Yue held her younger sister’s face between her hands, forcing her to stare into her eyes. Yue’s own eyes filled with tears. “You promised you’d support me, no matter what,” Yue said. Her voice did not waver once. “You have to let me do this.”

(Y/N’s) lips quivered, her body shaking with sobs. “I can’t, I can’t let you go. I don’t want to.”

“I love you,” Yue whispered, kissing her sister’s forehead. “You have no idea how much I love you.” Yue turned away, placing both of her hands onto the koi fish. (Y/N) reached to pull her away, but by the time her hands landed on Yue, it was too late. The koi glowed with a bright white light and Yue collapsed into Sokka’s arms.

“She’s gone,” He said quietly. “She’s gone.”

(Y/N)’s first memory of Yue was when she was four years old. She had sat in her bed in the middle of the night, crying and crying over a scary dream she had had. It had been a reoccurring experience and the elders had assured her parents that if they did not succumb to her cries, her nightmares would pass.

She remembered her door opening just a bit, the light of the moon shining onto her bedroom floor. Five year old Yue poked her head into the bedroom, clutching her blanket. (Y/N’s) cries had calmed into shaky breaths and sporadic tears as she watched Yue crawl into bed with her. “It’s alright,” Yue had whispered to her as she wiped away her tears. “I’m here now. I’ll always be here.”

The pond of the oasis glowed with a bright white light and from it came a ball of glowing energy. It formed into the shape of Yue, adorned in a beautiful white dress. She leaned forward and held (Y/N’s) cheek in her hand. “I’ll always be with you,” She said with a smile. She turned to Sokka and whispered something in his ear. “Goodbye, Sokka,” She said to him, before pressing her lips to his. When they pulled apart, she rose into the air and the bright white light of the moon returned to the earth. It showered them in its light, like Yue was smiling down on them.

(Y/N) pulled her knees into her chest and sobbed into them. Katara wrapped her arms around her friend, resting her chin on her head as the girl cried and cried.

---

Tag List!!

@aangsupremacy , @treestarrrrrrrr , @beifongsss , @mdgrdians , @aroyaldarknessblr , @musicalkeys , @aimee1602 , @plxstic-rose , @davnwillcome @squeamishdionysus , @clowninfortodoroki @thia-aep , @jinxed-tea @sara5208 @valiantprincessthea @alrightazula , @awesomelupe , @itsivyberry , @thebluelcdy , @samsmultifandomblogs , @loganrwebb , @minifruity , @cuddlykoala101 , @dionnaea , @alive-ahahah-fuck , @pipsqeak1326 , @krxliesdexd , @wastelandbbyg , @milk-n-cheese , @the-firebender-girl , @zukosvice , @justab-eautifulmess , @awkwardnesshabitat , @tomshollandz , @mmmidek-blog , @lavendercrystals , @dailytrashypanda , @bigbuckyenergy , @honey-ruel , @jackbamexpress , @astralsaf , @thebluelcdy

#atla #the last airbender #sokka x reader #zuko x reader #aang x reader #katara #sokka #aang #toph #zuko #azula #iroh #momo #appa #suki #writing #fanfiction

320 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 4 years ago

Note

I'm a Chinese, nationally and racially. Racial projection seems to be a common practice in western fandom, doesn't it? I find it a bit... weird to witness the drama ignited upon shipping individuals with different races, or the tendency to separate characters into different "colors" even though the world setting doesn't divide races like that. Such practice isn't a thing here. Mind explaining a bit on this phenomenon?

Sure, I can try. But of course, fish aren’t very good at explaining the water they swim in.

Americans aren’t good at detecting our own Americanness, and a lot of what you’re seeing is very much culturally American rather than Western in general. (In much of Europe, “race” is a concept used by racists, or so I’m told, unlike in the US where it’s seen more neutrally.) Majority group members (i.e. me, a white girl) aren’t usually the savviest about minority issues, but I’ll give it a shot.

The big picture is that most US race stuff boils down to our attempts to justify and maintain slavery and that dynamic being applied, awkwardly, to everyone else too, even years after we abolished slavery.

There’s a concept called the “one drop rule” where a person is “black” if they have even one drop of black blood.

We used to outlaw “interracial” marriage until quite recently. (That meant marriage between black people and white people with Asians and Hispanic people and others wedged in awkwardly.) Here’s the Wikipedia article on this, which contains the following map showing when we legalized interracial marriage. The red states are 1967.

That’s within living memory for a ton of people! Yellow is 1948 to 1967. This is just not very long ago at all. (Hell, we only fully banned slavery in 1865, which is also just not that long ago when it comes to human culture.)

Why did we have this bananas-crazy set of laws and this idiotic notion that one remote ancestor defines who you are? It boils down to slavery requiring a constant reaffirming that black people are all the same (and subhuman) while white people are all this completely separate category. The minute you start intermarrying, all of that breaks down. This was particularly important in our history because our system of slavery involved the kids of slaves being slaves and nobody really buying their way out. Globally, historically, there are other systems of slavery where there was more mobility or where enslaved people were debtors with a similar background to owners, and thus the people in power were less threatened by ambiguity in identity.

Post-slavery, this shit hung around because it was in the interests of the people in power to maintain a similar status quo where black people are fundamentally Other.

A lot of our obsession with who counts as what is simply a legacy of our racist past that produced our racist present.

The other big factor in American concepts of identity is that we see ourselves as a nation of immigrants (ignoring our indigenous peoples, as usual). A lot of people’s families arrived here relatively recently, and we often don’t have good records of exactly where they were from, even aside from enslaved people who obviously wouldn’t have those records. Plenty of people still identify with a general nationality (”Italian-American” and such), but the nuance the family might once have had (specific region of Italy, specific hometown) is often lost. Yeah, I know every place has immigrants, and lots of people don’t have good records, but the US is one of those countries where families have on average moved around a lot more and a lot more recently than some, and it affects our concepts of identity. I think some of the willingness to buy into the idea of “races” rather than “ethnicities” has to do with this flattening of identity.

New immigrant groups were often seen as Other and lesser, but over time, the ones who could manage it got added to our concept of “whiteness”, which gave them access to those same social and economic privileges.

Skin color is a big part of this. In a system that is founded on there being two categories, white owners and black slaves, skin color is obviously going to be about that rather than being more of a class marker like it is in a lot of the world.

But it’s not all about skin color since we have plenty of Europeans with somewhat darker skin who are seen as generically white here, while very pale Asians are not. I’m not super familiar with all of the history of anti-Asian racism in the US, but I think this persistent Otherness probably boils down to Western powers trying to justify colonial activities in Asia plus a bunch of religious bullshit about predominantly Christian nations vs. ones that are predominantly Buddhist or some other religion.

In fact, a lot of racist archetypes in English can be traced back to England’s earliest colonial efforts in Ireland. Justifying colonizing Those People because they’re subhuman and/or ignorant and in need of paternalistic rulers or religious conversion is at the bottom of a lot of racist notions. Ironic that we now see Irish people as clearly “white”.

There are a lot of racist porn tropes and racist cultural baggage here around the idea of black people being animalistic. Racist white people think black men want to rape/steal white women from white men. Black women get seen as hypersexual and aggressive. If this sounds like white people projecting in order to justify murder and rape... well, it is.

Similar tropes get applied to a lot of groups, often including Hispanic and Middle Eastern people, though East Asians come in more for creepy fantasies about endlessly submissive and promiscuous women. This nonsense already existed, but it was certainly not helped by WWII servicemen from here and their experiences in Asia. Again, it’s a projection to justify shitty behavior as what the party with less power was “asking for”.

In porn and even romance novels, this tends to turn up as a white character the audience is supposed to identify with paired with an exotic, mysterious Other or an animalistic sexy rapist Other.

A lot of fandoms are based on US media, so all of our racist bullshit does apply to the casting and writing of those, whether or not the fic is by Americans or replicating our racist porn tropes.

(Obviously, things get pretty hilarious and infuriating once Americans get into c-dramas and try to apply the exact same ideas unchanged to mainstream media about the majority group made by a huge and powerful country.)

Politically, within the US, white people have had most of the power most of the time. We also make up a big chunk of the population. (This is starting to change in some areas, which has assholes scared shitless.) This means that other groups tend to band together to accomplish shared political goals. They’re minorities here, so they get lumped together.

A lot of Americans become used to seeing the world in terms of “white people” who are powerful oppressors and “people of color” who are oppressed minorities. They’re trying to be progressive and help people with less power, and that’s good, but it obviously becomes awkward when it’s over-applied to looking at, say, China.

Now... fandom...

I find that fandom, in general, has a bad habit of holding things to double standards: queer things must be Good Representation™ even when they’re not being produced for that purpose. Same for ethnic minorities or any other minority. US-influenced parts of fandom (which includes a lot of English-speaking fandom) tend to not be very good at accepting that things are just fantasy. This has gotten worse in recent years.

As fandom has gotten more mainstream here, general media criticism about better representation (both in terms of number of characters and in terms of how they’re portrayed) has turned into fanfic criticism (not enough fics about ship X, too many about ship Y, problematic tropes that should not be applied to ship X, etc.). I find this extremely misguided considering the smaller reach of fandom but, more importantly, the lack of barriers to entry. If you think my AO3 fic sucks, you can make an account and post other fic that will be just as findable. You don’t need money or industry connections or to pass any particular hurdle to get your work out there too.

People also (understandably) tend to be hypersensitive to anything that looks like a racist porn trope. My feeling is that many of these are general porn tropes and people are reaching. There are specific tropes where black guys are given a huge dick as part of showing that they’re animalistic and hypersexual, but big dicks are really common in porn in general. The latter doesn’t automatically mean you’re doing the former unless there are other elements present. A/B/O or dubcon doesn’t mean it’s this racist trope either, not unless certain cliched elements are present. OTOH, it’s not hard for a/b/o tropes to feel close to “animalistic guy is rapey”, so I can see why it often bothers people.

A huge, huge, huge proportion of wank is “all rape fantasies are bad” crap too, which muddies the waters. I think a lot of people use “it’s racist” as an easy way to force others to agree with their incorrect claims that dubcon, noncon, a/b/o, etc. are fundamentally bad. Many fans, especially white fans, feel like they don’t know enough to refute claims of racism, so they cave to such arguments even when they’re transparently disingenuous.

Not everyone here thinks this way. I know plenty of people offline, particularly a lot of nonwhite people, who think fandom discourse is idiotic and that the people “protecting” people or characters of color are far more racist than the people writing “bad” fic or shipping the wrong thing.

But in general, I’d say that the stuff above is why a lot of us see the world as white people in power vs. everyone else as oppressed victims, interracial relationships as fraught, and porn about them as suspect. Basically, it’s people trying to be more progressive and aware but sometimes causing more harm than good when those attempts go awry.

#Anonymous

169 notes · View notes

drunk-onsunlight · 4 years ago

Text

The Jones family

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Category: F/M Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) Relationship: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker

Summary:

HAPPY @mjweek EVERYONE!!! Meet the Jones family and MJ's backstory. See you tomorrow :D

Read on Ao3

MJ arrived home on a rush. She ran to her bedroom and hid her bag under her desk, then moved to organize the books she had all over the bedroom to a pile on the corner of the room. While stacking the books she noticed they could fall down if she placed more books on the same pile. How she managed to have so many books scattered around the floor?

Three piles of books later she moved to her desk where a bunch of sketches where, next to her notes from school and even more notes for the decathlon team. Her white dressing table could wait to be cleaned up.

She opened the white door that lead to her dressing room and a bathroom to collect the t-shirts that were on the floor. She kicked some converse to the cabinet at the bottom of her closet. She opened the doors where all her dresses were and tried to pick one.

“Shelly, are you cleaning your room?” MJ’s older sister was standing on the dressing room door watching MJ.

“Becca can you help me pick a dress? I’m not sure about the yellow one or the blue one.” MJ took the dresses out of the hanger and showed them to her sister.

“Ew. None of those! The yellow one has an awful neckline and the blue one has awful patterns. Let me see that closet.”

“Ouch. I like those dresses, Becca.” MJ’s sister crossed the dressing room and looked to all the dresses MJ had.

“Where is the black and red dress I gave you, M? You wore it, like, once at Christmas and then totally forgot about it.” MJ remembered that dress. It was totally beautiful, at first she thought it was not her style but once she tried on she loved it. But she didn’t know where it was.

“It has to be there. What are you wearing tonight, by the way?” Becca just shrugged and kept looking around MJ’s closet. Contrary to what people think, MJ loved wearing dresses, but they weren’t as comfortable as you would like to certain activities. Like going for a swing with your superhero boyfriend.

“Found it!” Becca shouted bringing MJ back from her internal ramble. MJ’s sister took the dress from the hanger and took it in her arms like it was a treasure. MJ followed her sister to the foot of her bed and watched while Becca placed the black and red dress above the bedspread.

“Thanks Becca! I really like that dress” Becca gave her a side hug and left telling her to check on the dinner before they set the table. After Becca left, MJ kept looking at her dress. How could she forget about it? It was truly beautiful. It wasn’t too long, it touched her knees. The dress was black with little red dots and a few red flowers. It has a cute V-neck and it was sleeveless. Nothing too crazy for her. And she couldn’t help thinking that the colors where very appropriate for the occasion.

MJ went down the stairs to the first floor and crossed the small dining room that lead to the kitchen. Her house wasn’t big per se. But she lived in the suburbs and that gave her the possibility to have a bigger house than most people. Her dad worked hard to buy that house and Becca and she tried to keep everything under control, like paying bills or buying food.

She missed her dad. Being the CEO of a company was amazing, it paid the house, Becca’s college and MJ’s school but the prize was high. He wasn’t home most of the time, but he tried to be there for them on important days, like today.

Francis was on the kitchen when MJ entered the room. She had worked for them since forever. She was like a mom to MJ and Becca.

“Hey Fran! What are you cooking today?” MJ’s family wasn’t a very intimate family. They all loved each other but they didn’t hug or kiss, goodbye or hello, often.

“Hey Shelly. Your favorite, Mac and Cheese with smashed potatoes and some veggies. How was school?”

“Sounds good! Remember to put an extra plate today Fran and school was normal. Nothing extraordinary” MJ grabbed an apple from the kitchen island and gave it a bite.

“I remember your dad is gonna be here tonight, don’t worry! What about decathlon? All good?”

“Yeap, but some else is coming too. All good with decathlon, preparing for nationals.” Let’s say she told everyone she wanted to introduce someone, she just left out a little detail. She was introducing her boyfriend, her superhero boyfriend.

“No details like always.” Francis knew when not to push MJ and she deeply appreciated that.

“You know me. Fran I’m going to get ready. Dad is going to be here soon and I need to take a shower.”

“Okay Shelly, see you later.” MJ walked out of the kitchen to her bedroom. After a short shower she applied her usual product for her hair and let it dry on her own. She wasn’t trying to impress Peter, he already knew her.

“Shelly! Becca! I’m home!” MJ heard her dad calling them from the first floor and she went down stair to say hi.

“Hey dad! How are you?” MJ greeted his dad with a peck on his cheek. The tall man played with MJ’s hair and looked at her dress.

“You haven’t used that dress in a long time! You look beautiful, Shelly. I’m perfect now that I’m with my girls. Where is Becca?”

“Here! Hey, dad!” Becca came down the stairs using a pink and white summer dress and heels. A white cotton fabric molded her figure and embroidered tulle with pink flowers.

“Becca, isn’t that like a little too much?” MJ told Peter is was quite formal but not like etiquette formal kind of dinner.

“Oh Shelly! But you were cleaning your room! This is huge dad, you should have seen her. She even organized her books.” Becca said while kissing her dad’s cheek.

“You organized your books? This is huge, then.” MJ’s dad looked at her with amusement in his eyes. MJ recognized she uses to have more books in her room than the bookshelves on the office but she liked to have them close to her, just in case. The bell rang and MJ felt her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll get it!” MJ walked to the door and cleaned her hands on her dress before opening the door “Hey Parker.”

“Hey, MJ. You look beautiful, I like your converse” Peter was wearing a black suit without a tie. The look made her remember of that night in Prague when he invited her for a walk. He looked good.

“Thanks. Come in” MJ moved aside to let Peter walk into the house. When she turned around her sister and dad were looking at her like she had grown a third head while opening the door.

“Amm. Peter this is my dad, Nick and my sister Rebeca.”

“Nice to meet you, Sir. I’m Peter Parker.” Peter and MJ’s dad shake hands while MJ tried not to show how nervous she actually was.

“Nice to meet you Peter.” MJ’s dad greeted Peter formally and then Peter moved to shake Becca’s hand.

“Nice to meet you Rebecca.” MJ was mostly afraid of this particular interaction. Her sister knew a lot of things about how MJ felt about Peter

“I’m finally meeting you in person! Shelly, your sketches don’t make this guy justice. Now I totally get it, girl.” MJ took a deep breath and ignored the comment. Becca started asking about Peter when MJ started to draw him. A few sketches scattered around her bedroom floor and Becca was visiting, she found them and started asking a million questions about him.

“Shelly?” Peter turned to look at her with a teasing face. MJ was praying he didn’t notice the old nickname her family used for her but of course it was a fail.

“Don’t mention it. Ever.” Peter was going to say something more when Francis came out of the kitchen and called their attention.

“Hey Nick! Welcome back! And who is this guy, Shelly? Your special guest?” Francis moved closer to the group to greet MJ’s dad and then shook Peter’s hand.

“Peter, this is Francis. She works for us. Francis, this is Peter, from high school and the decathlon team.”

“Oh! The decathlon team! You were with Shelly for nationals in Washington? Congratulations for winning.”

“Well…” Peter started but MJ knew how bad at lying he was.

“He got sick but he was with us at the hotel, yeah.” It wasn’t a lie, well, kind of. It was what he told everyone.

“Yeah… my tummy.” After a few awkward seconds Francis announced that dinner was ready. They all moved to the dining room and the plates were already waiting for them.

“Francis, why don’t you sit with us before going to your home?” MJ’s dad offered and Fran accepted by placing a new plate next to Becca. They all started eating in silence but MJ knew better. It wouldn’t last long.

“How was your trip dad?” Becca broke the silence and MJ thanked her with her eyes.

“Pretty good, but Atlanta is too hot this time of the year.”

“Where are you going next?” MJ and Becca had stopped asking if he was staying for more than a few days. The answer was always the same and they all knew that, he couldn’t stay.

“Paris. We need to close some business there. Oh Shelly, it’s a shame you didn’t get to Paris on your trip, but London was quite nice too, right?” all the heads turned to MJ and she shrugged. She wasn’t going to tell everyone she was hiding from killer drones so she couldn’t enjoy London that much.

“As talkative as always. What do you think of London, Peter?” Becca asked him and MJ turned to see what he had to say.

“Cold. A little windy too but the Tower Bridge was the best part of the trip.” Peter looked at her with a goofy smile and MJ couldn’t help but smile with him. He was right, the Tower Bridge was the best part of London.

“Aww, Shelly! I haven’t notice that necklace! I love it, but wait… is it broken?” MJ haven’t noticed when her hand went to the black dahlia.

“Yeah. Peter gave it to me in the Tower Bridge but before it got to me it went on a full ride on its own. I love it just the way it is.” MJ deep down knew she would never hear the end of this from her sister, but she didn’t care either.

“What a lovely present, Peter. Where did you get it? I haven’t seen something like that here in the States.” MJ’s dad asked and Peter and MJ answered him at the same time.

“Venice.” everyone on the table laughed when they answered so in sync.

“Looks expensive too.” it was the first time Francis interacted while they were eating.

“Maybe some of my Star Wars figurines did a noble sacrifice.” Peter answered shyly.

“You what?” MJ didn’t know how Peter got the necklace but his beloved Star Wars figurines? Wow. Peter didn’t look at her but she could see his blushing cheeks “I can’t believe you did that. Please don’t tell me you also sold that Lego Death Star because Ned will hate me his whole life.”

“No! That’s Ned’s. I sold my things but I would never sell his things. And he would never hate you.”

“Ned is another friend, Shelly?” MJ’s dad was looking at them with curious eyes.

“He is Peter’s best friend. We have a few classes together and he’s on the decathlon team too.” MJ would like to say “yes, he is my friend” but she didn’t feel they were too close. Were they actually friends? Maybe not yet, but soon.

“He is you friend too, Em. Just like Betty, Cindy and even Flash.” Maybe Peter was right. They were her friends, even Flash. After the Europe trip she even understood Flash more. MJ smiled softly at Peter and they kept eating peacefully.

“Francis did MJ’s favorite meal today, Peter. She loves Mac and Cheese since she was little. She used to say she wanted a pool full of Mac and Cheese to swim in it.” MJ could hear Peter’s giggle and she was going to kill her sister.

“Don’t.” MJ threated Peter and he tried to hide his giggle while eating more veggies.

“I wasn’t going to.” MJ and Peter shared a side look and giggled a little before they kept eating.

“So… Michelle, Peter.” oh oh, MJ’s dad called her by her full name when she was in trouble or they needed to talk about serious business “how long have you been dating?” Peter got stuck with a bite of his food and he looked at MJ with worried eyes.

“London.” they answered at the same time and looked at MJ’s dad.

“Shelly! Why I didn’t know that! It’s been like six months since that trip! I’m offended now.” Becca called MJ’s attention and she could see that she was annoyed with her. They shared everything…. Well, Becca shared everything.

“You were gone those six months Becca. It’s not like you are here all the time to have a girl’s night and speak about boys or whatever.” MJ was trying to not spill truths like that but she couldn’t right now.

“Shelly has a point, Becca. We are never here and look, she told us to be here to introduce her boyfriend properly to everyone. Well done Shelly.” MJ’s dad hated leaving her alone all the time and she actually loved how he tried to be on her shoes before judging her.

“Thanks dad. Sorry Becca.” Peter was a little taken back for the exchange but didn’t say anything else.

“Don’t worry. All good, baby. It’s good to see you so sappy.” they all shared a laugh and Peter took her hand under the table.

After they finished dinner, MJ’s dad, Becca, Fran, Peter and MJ moved to the couch on the living room to chat more about how Peter and MJ meet, the details of their trip in Europe and some random things about MJ’s family and then Becca started to tell all sort of stories about their childhood. After a while MJ decided to take Peter on a small tour on the house and they left the room walking next to each other.

“The house is not as big as you probably think. Its three bedrooms, four bathrooms, an office, the living room and the kitchen. The main room it’s mine because I spend the most time here, dad and Becca have the other two rooms and Francis comes to help one day per week or special occasions.” She told Peter while walking up the stairs and then through the hall.

“Wow. You already know my apartment, two bedrooms, one bath, the living room and the kitchen May loves to burn. Seriously Em, this house is amazing.” MJ giggled a little while opening the first door that had the office.

“Yeah, but you have May and Ned around all the time. I’m alone here most of the time.” In the six months they have been dating, she learned to be more open with Peter. She could trust him, he wasn’t like most guys that just wanted a good time with her on her huge house.

“You are welcome any time you want. For homework, movies, dinner, just to chill. You don’t have to be alone in this house if you don’t want to MJ. May, Ned and I are your family now too.” They entered the room and she turned the light to show Peter some books.

“Thanks Pete. Well, this is the office. Most of my books are here, along with Becca’s and my dad’s books.” Peter scanned the bookshelves and after a while MJ could feel he wanted to ask something “What is it, Peter?”

“I noticed a few photos on the living room of you, you dad, Becca and… you don’t have to tell me anything, I don’t want to intrude.” MJ knew what he was talking about. The family photo on the living with her mom in it.

“Ammm. It’s fine. She was my mom, Claire. She passed away a few years ago, cancer. When she was here Becca was still in high school, my dad was traveling but tried to be here more often. After she died Becca had to go to college, my dad kept traveling and well, here I am.” MJ walked out of the room with Peter and she showed him Becca’s room while speaking to Peter.

“Again, you have me, Ned and May! Even Happy, he was quite impressed after London.” MJ remembered Happy, he was a nice guy.

“Thanks. This is Becca’s room. She comes here every once in a while. When college allows her. The next room is my dad’s.” They crossed the hall and MJ opened the next door “Here it is. He just arrived so his bag it’s there probably to unpack some stuff and then pack some more for his next trip.”

“That’s why I never saw anyone come get you after Washington and London. They were travelling.” It wasn’t a question, he was right. They checked on her but couldn’t be there. She was very grateful they checked on her at least, Flash was another story and she couldn’t imagine how he must feel.

“Yeah. They check on me when they can or I just send them a few texts to let them know I’m alive and good. For important things they do video calls or come over.” They closed the door and MJ lead Peter to the next room, her room.

“This is my room.” MJ opened the door and exhale a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“This is huge!” Peter entered the room and immediately walked to her desk. Thank all the gods she saved the sketches that were there.

“Yeah. I love it. I have my bed, the desk, my books, a cool dressing room and my own bathroom.” she opened the door that lead to the dressing room and she could see Peter’s eyes shine like she had just shown him the door to Narnia.

“I always thought this was for movies. How many pairs of converse do you have by the way?”

“Lots of them. I don’t like wearing heels so for me converse and boots” Peter took his time checking her closet, it was quite an intimate moment and they weren’t even close to each other.

“Is this my sweater?” Peter took a sweater MJ had taken after a movie night at Peter’s from one of the drawers of her closet.

“Maybe. But I’m not giving it back, I sleep in that one.”

“You can be really sappy some times and let me tell you something, I love it.” Peter made MJ laugh and he crossed the room faster than a normal person would to kiss her on the lips. “You can keep it, by the way. It probably looks better on you than me.”

“Right. Whatever you say Spider-Man.” MJ remembered the first time she actually saw Peter. Not the boy with flannels and sweaters, the superhero underneath all that. There was no way in this planet a normal skinny kid would have those abs and those biceps and there was no way in the universe she actually looked better than him on that sweater.

“I really like your family MJ. They love you a lot. I always worried about your relationship with your family. You were so closed about them I was really worried but now I know how much they love you. Thanks for sharing this with me.” MJ gave Peter a soft kiss before speaking.

“I’m a box full of secrets, Parker.”

#michelle jones mcu #peter parker mcu #michelle jones #peter parker #mj week 2021

20 notes · View notes

clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years ago

Text

Breathe ~ the Doctor (part 8)

A/n: So I tried to go lighter with this one and failed a bit not gonna lie? Just... bare with me I forgot that Mr. Connolly was like THAT and I absolutely had to address it. This one goes on a bit because of that, sorry.

Word Count: 12,000+

Warnings: Implied physical/mental abuse, past homophobia, backlash of PTSD (light), possibly upsetting memories, discussion of abuse

MASTERLIST

"How does this look?" Y/n had changed out of what originally been planned for him this time. He didn't like layers like the Doctor did unless it was quite cold, and it wasn't, so he'd lessened the whole thing by ditching the blazer, looking overly casual like he usually did. The suit pants were blue, close to but just a bit nicer than the jeans he'd mostly been wearing up until now. He'd absolutely refused to do his hair like the Doctor had, so it was loose and messy instead - different than the way he did it every other day, but all he could manage after the gel had hardened the strands. Rose had tried to get Y/n to comply and it had failed for both of them. He felt too casual to be wearing dress pants, and his hair looked weird to him in the mirror. He was thinking about taking a quick shower and going for an entirely different look.

When he looked at Rose and the Doctor for input though, the two looked back at him with eyes widened, lips parted. Upon realizing they were staring, the Doctor looked away. Rose just smirked. Y/n went quite red. "You look fantastic," Rose complimented. "I didn't realize you could pull off messy so well."

"You pull off everything well," the Doctor followed up softly. It was unsure if he'd meant to keep it in his head and slipped, or had wanted to say it louder but didn't have the confidence. Y/n thanked him, but the Doctor just nodded dismissively, a blush of his own coloring his skin before he nodded to the TARDIS door. "You both ready?"

As always, Rose was first. She pulled the door open, popping outside to may her skirts swish. It was becoming quickly apparent she was in love with how her dress moved. "I thought we'd be going for the Vegas era. You know, the white flares and the-" she did a sort of growl, and Y/n raised an eyebrow but realized she'd been mocking rather than being genuine. He was going to say - if she was into that, she was out of luck with her current partners.

Like an echo of Y/n's thoughts, the Doctor leaned around the TARDIS door, his shoulder pressing against Y/n's chest. "You're kidding aren't you? If you want to see Elvis you go to the late '50's! The time before burgers!" He dipped back in and Y/n leaned against the doorway, keeping both of the other two in view. "When they called him "the Pelvis" and he still had a waist!" The Doctor continued from inside. "What's more, you see him in style!" Y/n saw it first from his vantage point in the doorway, and thankfully so because as the Doctor rolled out of the TARDIS in a fully functioning moped, Y/n would have been run over if he hadn't gotten out of the way quickly. He circled before stopping, looking at Rose with an amused smirk. "You going my way Doll?" He said in a low voice. It was a bad attempt at Elvis and made Y/n laugh.

Rose pulled out a pair of glasses that matched her dress. "Is there anyway to go, daddy o?" She shot back, her voice higher and more nasally. She approached the Doctor with an added, "Straight from the fridge, man!"

The Doctor grinned. "Hey, you speak the lingo!" He held out a helmet for her. Y/n was amused to see that it was pink, like her glasses, so it also matched her skirt. Y/n dipped inside as they continued their back and forth, looking around before he saw what he was looking for. A bike! It wouldn't be as fast as the moped mechanically but he was down to coast. Also he had a secret: he was a devil when it came to bicycling. Rose had refused to stop biking with him for a few years now; she could never keep up well enough and tired easily if she tried.

When Y/n rolled out on the bike, the Doctor rose an eyebrow. Y/n closed the TARDIS door behind him, grinning. "Don't give me that look," he dismissed. "Just lead the way. If you can keep up." Rose and Y/n laughed as he took off on the bike, surprising the Doctor with how fast he actually went. After a bit of joking, the Doctor did slow down a bit to keep pace with Y/n, the three chatting - or, the usual, which was that Rose and the Doctor chatted mostly and Y/n inputted every so often - on the way.

"Where we off to?" Rose asked at one point.

"Ed Sullivan TV studios," the Doctor yelled back in response, having to be loud over the sound of the motor. "Elvis did Hound Dog on one of the shows. There were loads of complaints. Bit of luck, we'll just catch it."

"And that would be the TV studios in, what, New York?" Rose inquired further.

Y/n immediately saw where she was going with that. The Doctor did not. "That's the one!"

The trio paused at a four-way stop as a bus passed. Rose laughed. Y/n smiled, soft and fond. "I don't think we're in New York, Doctor." And indeed it was anything but. All around them was small town views. The sky was clear and the buildings were all very similar: one story, brick, two windows, one door, colored red. There wasn't even much traffic.

"Well," the Doctor mumbled. "This could still be New York. I mean, this looks very New York to me."

Y/n rolled his eyes. "And you've memorized New York have you?" The Doctor shrugged, but before he could speak Y/n got to it first. "You forget how well I know you, Doctor. I know you have general ideas of how certain places on each planet work and that's why you usually end up in the general same place every time you come to Earth. You probably would think we were on a different planet if you went to... Australia, or France. Have you ever really been to America before?"

The Doctor glowered, but without any offense or anger. Just the cutest irritation a being called out. After all, you couldn't get mad at someone just because they were right. "I've got a lot going on in this head of mine."

A smirk rose to Y/n's face. "Is that why we always get lost?"

Rose cut in. "What are all the flags for?" And indeed, she had a point.

The first thing he noticed other than the very not-New York state of the very London town, were the flags hung above the streets. Y/n could appreciate pride for one's country, but there were flags EVERYWHERE he looked. It seemed a little odd that a town so small you could see it even in the way people talked to each other, would hang a bunch of flags around every inch of every place. What, was the Queen coming to visit?

They parked the bike and moped, going around to get a closer look and understand exactly what was going on. In their wanderings, they came across a man at the back of a truck, and boys next to him who seemed to be picking up and moving a TV. The older man said something. "There you go sir." Y/n noticed another man who was older than the boys but younger than the older gent. Maybe the father. "All wired up for the great occasion."

The Doctor approached. "Great occasion? What do you mean?"

"Where you've been living eh?" the older man asked as the boys and their father left with the TV. "Out in the colonies? The coronation of course."

Unfortunately, that didn't clear up much for the group. "And what coronation's that then?" the Doctor asked in favor of all of their cluelessness.

The older man stopped, looking at them like they were insane. Nervous, even. Skiddish. Y/n watched him, that familiar feeling twisting in his chest. Something was about to happen, and it wasn't good. "What do you mean?" the older man asked. "The Coronation."

"It's the Queen's," Rose realized. "Queen Elizabeth." Y/n felt silly then. Of course! He was getting as bad at the space man over there, so much other knowledge in his head making him forget how his own planet worked.

"Oh!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Is this 1953?"

"Last time I looked," the older man affirmed. "Time for a lovely bit of pomp and circumstance. What we do best."

Rose was looking around, her voice next distracting from the older man with his van. "Look at all the TV aerials. Looks like everyone's got one. Which is so weird, because my mum said tellies were so rare, they all had to pile into one house."

"Not round here, Love," the older man cheerily corrected. "Magpie's Marvelous Tellies." He pointed to the side of his truck, feigning proud. Pride that should have been real but so obviously wasn't. Pride that was, for some reason, very obviously strained when Y/n looked at him. Magpie - Y/n assumed that was the man's name, as the branding suggested - caught Y/n giving him an analyzing look and turned away. Hiding. "Only five quid a pop."

Before Y/n could push, the Doctor chirped, "Oh but this is a brilliant year! Classic! Technicolor! Everest climbed! Everything off the ration! A nation throwing off the shackles of war and looking forward to a happier, brighter future!" Rose laughed, and Y/n almost dismissed his weird feeling and grinned along.

Then there was screaming.

"Someone help me! Please!" The trio spun to the sound of the woman's voice. "Ted! Leave him alone, he's my husband!" The Doctor shot off, triggering Rose to follow close behind. Y/n stayed back, something eating at him. "PLEASE!" the woman begged as the other two got onto the scene where two men in black suits were pushing what seemed to be a man. It couldn't be sure because he had a blanket over his head, and he was rushed into a long black car, but the woman had called him Ted so...

"What's going on?" the Doctor demanded.

"Oi! What are you doing?" A young boy continued when the Doctor was ignored.

"Police business," was what they all got. "Get out of the way, sir." That was directed at the Doctor, who was scrambling to find some way to either intervene or understand. Y/n looked away though, his eyes drawn by some reason to Mr. Magpie, just in time to see the man's face wrought with regret and self hatred. He seemed intensely distressed, and nearly tripped over himself to leave the scene when he met Y/n's gaze. As Magpie peeled from the scene in one direction, Rose and the Doctor chasing the black car on the moped in the opposite direction, Y/n had two thoughts.

One, this happened a lot.

Two, this town was either very tight knit, which didn't seem to be the case as no one but the boy from before had tried to come to Tom's rescue. Even the boy had been pulled inside by his parents, who seemed eager to ignore the situation entirely. So if that wasn't the case, how upset he'd been only made sense if... he was somehow involved in what was going wrong with these people. Or knew something about it.

There was a scream coming from the house where the boy from earlier had disappeared into that caught Y/n's attention first. His instincts perked up, his defenses quickly activating. It had been muffled, like maybe a window was cracked and that alone was why he could hear the conversation inside, but it was enough to set him on edge. Before he could orient himself enough to go after Magpie, Rose and the Doctor pulled up and caught him up on losing the back car to a dead end, as well as their plan to ask around to the neighbors about what was happening.

When the Doctor noticed Y/n's gaze returning time and time again to the house the yelling had come from, he put a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "You okay?"

"There was yelling," Y/n explained softly. He switched gears upon hearing the frail note in his voice. "It was where the boy from earlier disappeared. I think we should look into them."

Unsure if the other two had caught onto the real reason Y/n was suddenly a little out of it, he followed along as the other two lead the way toward the house and inside. Something about how they were there in the name of the Queen, which seemed to work well enough. They were inside at least.

"Very nice," the Doctor complimented as the three filtered into the house. "Very well kept. I have to congratulate you, Mrs...?" Y/n was astonished at the Doctor's ability to slip in so easily and effortlessly, like he really was here for what he said he was here for.

The woman smiled warmly, flattered by the Doctor's praise. "Mrs. Connolly," she answered in response to his prompting question.

"Now then Rita," the man who'd answered the door dismissed. Y/n recognized his voice - he had been the one to yell. "I can handle this. These gentlemen are proper representatives." Y/n was instantly put off by the way he dismissed both of the women in the room - Rose and his wife. How he referred to the gentlemen, which would be Y/n and the Doctor, and not the woman who was with them. How he shut up his wife who was only responding to being directly spoken to. Y/n hated him immediately. "Don't mind the wife. She rattles on a bit." This he said to the Doctor, ignoring Y/n as he leaned into the back of the room and stayed quiet. That was even more annoying as it seemed he'd been trying to weed out the alpha male in the group since they walked in and address that person only. Rose was a woman and Y/n was quiet, so he addressed only the Doctor, as if he was the only stranger in the house right now.

"Well maybe she should rattle on a bit more," the Doctor responded quite easily. "I'm not convinced you're doing your patriotic duty. Those flags." His eyes fell to a box of flags on the ground. "Why are they not flying?"

Mr. Connolly, who'd looked horrified at the Doctor suggesting he wasn't being patriotic, now rushed to prove how good of a citizen he was and Y/n had to swallow a laugh to hide it. "There we are, Rita, I told you." Mrs. Connolly seemed to be suddenly upset, and Y/n felt a burning urge to step in between the two of them. He held his place only because the Doctor shot him a warning look. "Get them up. Queen and country."

"I'm sorry," Rita apologized to the Doctor.

Before she could continue, Mr. Connolly ordered, "Get it done. Do it now."

Y/n's hands tightened into fists but the Doctor was already stepping forward. "Hold on a minute." Mr. Connolly kept talking and the Doctor spoke again over him, repeating, "Hold on a minute. You've got hands, Mr. Connolly. Two big hands! Then why is that your wife's job?"

Mr. Connolly seemed derailed again, and Y/n and Rose exchanged thrilled expressions. "Well it's housework, isn't it?" It seemed like it was supposed to be expected. A simple question with an obvious answer. And, I suppose in a world where men were aggressive and angry and hard and women did what they were told and everyone else was ripped apart, it was a simple answer.

"And that's women's work?" The Doctor continued casually.

"Of course it is!" Mr. Connolly spat, astounded.

That seemed to be exactly what the Doctor wanted him to say. "Mr. Connolly, what gender is the Queen?"

Immediately Mr. Connolly was uncomfortable. "She's female."

"And are you suggesting the Queen does the housework?" A thick silence fell like cement into the room, and Y/n accidentally made eye contact with the boy from earlier. They shared two repressed smiles, and Y/n winked at him.

Finally, the Doctor's question was given an answer. "No!" Mr. Connolly gasped, incredulous. "Not at all!"

The Doctor reached down and scooped up one of the flag lines, handing it to Mr. Connolly. "Then get busy."

"Right, yes sir," the stupid man mumbled as he took the line, moving to the wall to hang it up. "You'll be proud of us sir. We'll have union jacks left, right and center."

Rose, who'd taken a seat at some point, now stood up again. "Excuse me Mr. Connoly. Hang on a minute. Union Jacks?"

Mr. Connolly froze, looking back at her with a stunned expression, taken far aback by her hot headedness and strong voice coming from a woman. "Yes, that's right, isn't it?"

"That's the Union flag," she continued. Her voice got angry and Y/n's eyes widened, his attraction to her sky rocketing. "It's the Union Jack only when it's flown at sea."

"Oh," Mr. Connolly nearly whimpered. "I'm sorry. I do apologize."

Y/n smirked, turning away from Mr. Connolly so he wouldn't see. Rose wasn't about to go easy on the man though, and Y/n appreciated that. "Well, don't get it wrong again. There's a good man. Now get to it!" She snapped the last bit, spinning around again when she'd finished with a satisfied smile on her face and moving back to the couch to sit down. Y/n stepped forward so he was leaning on the back of the couch, behind the pair.

"Right then," the Doctor continued with eyes wide and impressed. "Nice and comfy. At her majesty's leisure." When they were settled the Doctor turned to Rose with a very quiet whispered, "Union Flag?"

Rose was eager to explain. "Mum went out with a sailor."

The Doctor chuckled gleefully and Y/n shook his head, amused. "I bet she did." In a normal voice he turned to Mrs. Connolly. "Anyway, I'm the Doctor, then there's Rose and Y/n." He introduced them all to Mrs. Connolly, Rose and Y/n giving a nod or a wave respectively when they were mentioned. "And you are?" That he said to the kid.

"Tommy," the kid responded, looking at the trio like they were something amazing.

The Doctor and Rose pushed apart to make room for someone to sit between them. "Well, sit yourself down, Tommy." The Doctor pat the spot between them for Tommy, and then the chair next to the couch to encourage Mrs. Connolly to sit down as well. Y/n moved around to lean against the wall next to the fireplace, slipping his hands in his pockets and trying to seem as least threatening as possible. "Have a look at this," the Doctor continued when everyone was settled, turning attention to the TV. "I love telly, don't you?"

"Yeah, I think it's brilliant," Tommy agreed with a smile.

"Good man," the Doctor complimented. After a beat he leaned back to add, "Keep working, Mr. C!" and then leaned forward to watch the black and white program. Or, that's what Y/n thought he was doing before the Doctor suddenly turned to Mrs. Connolly with a low, soft, quiet voice that Mr. Connolly wouldn't be able to hear. "Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong?" His voice wasn't forceful but comforting, and he looked at her with a soft concern. He was open and tender - ready to help and slow to disbelieve, dismiss, or judge.

Mrs. Connolly responded to it immediately. "Did you say you were a Doctor?"

Y/n felt his heart seize, knowing what it meant when the Doctor confirmed, "Yes I am."

"Can you help her?" Y/n noticed the desperation on the woman's face. The way her hair fell out of her hairdo, and her hands clasped together, stress and every line of her face. "Oh please. Can you hep her, Doctor?"

Like an unwanted Lego you step on while walking through your house, Mr. Connolly spoke up again. "Now Rita, I don't think the gentleman needs to know.

"Yes he does." It was the first thing Y/n had said the entire time, and when Mr. Connolly looked at him to argue, the look on Y/n's face shut him down immediately. "There's something going wrong, but the Doctor can help. He can fix whatever problem you have, because he's absolutely amazing like that." He turned to Mrs. Connolly with a softer expression. "Please, continue."

Mrs. Connolly suddenly broke, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she began to cry. Rose stood up to move to her side and comfort her. "It's all right," she eased. "It's all right, come here." She hugged Mrs. Connolly, keeping the older woman against her side. "Oh, it's okay. It's alright."

"Hold on a minute," Mr. Connolly seemed to realize, fiddling with the flags still in his hand. "Queen and country's one thing, but this is my house." His voice was rising and Y/n locked up immediately. "What the..." He looked at the flags in his hand before tossing them aside. "What the hell am I doing?" He locked eyes with the Doctor, who was almost smirking. The smug look was tainted with a threatening darkness in his eyes that seemed to be brewing. A storm about to hit hard. "Now you listen here Doctor," Mr. Connolly continued. This was a man who was never questioned or put in his place, and it made Y/n begin to come undone. "You may have fancy qualifications, but what goes on under my roof is my business."

"No it's not."

Mr. Connolly turned to face Y/n with a rage in his features, but Y/n wasn't having any of it. He'd lost something suddenly. The thing that kept him quiet when he was afraid. That made him step back and close his eyes and hide. The thing that had driven him to run every time he'd been chased by things he was afraid of when he was small. Because you know what, he wasn't small anymore and Mr. Connolly was not even semi close to the scariest thing he'd seen.

"You," Mr. Connolly seethed.

"Me," Y/n confirmed, stepping forward. He glared, his eyes burning with wild, hot fire. "Am I the type of man you like to be around? The type that's easy to push around and get what you want from? Is that why you've ignored me for so long, and turned to me so quickly, because the Doctor is scarier and bigger and you know that despite the fact you shouldn't be afraid of him, you are?" Y/n pushed off the wall, standing to his full height. "You act like because you live in this house it's your special little place where you're in control and nothing can stop you? Well let me tell you," Y/n sneered, stepping forward again, his eyes narrowing. "This might be your house, but it is not up to you to control everything in it, because your wife and your son are their own people and not objects for you to put into the places that you want them and you will learn that or your son will grow up hating you and your wife will wait for the day you die, and every day of your life will be spent playing pretend king and trying to ignore how absolutely miserable you are."

Mr. Connolly seemed to be stunned, seeing nothing but truth that terrified him when he looked into Y/n's eyes. "Who are you?"

Y/n finally calmed, becoming even more terrifying by doing so. "Your worst nightmare." All of the blood drained from Mr. Connolly's face as a shadow passed over Y/n's expression that sent a chill down Mr. Connolly's spine.

"Now-" the Doctor began, but he was interrupted by Mr. Connolly turning around weakly and demanding-

"Get out."

"Excuse me?" The Doctor hissed.

"Get out!" He sounded less angry and more terrified, but scared animals were always more volatile than angry ones.

"I'm trying to-"

Mr. Connolly snapped. "I am talking!"

The Doctor shot to his feet, getting into Mr. Connolly's face. "And I'm not listening!" Mr. Connolly finally shut up, eyes wide and hands shaking. "Now you Mr. Connolly, you've dismissed my friend over there but I'm about to tell you, you will absolutely not dismiss me. You are staring into a deep, dark pit of trouble if you don't let me help. Now I'm ordering you, sir-" he spit the word, mocking rather than respectful. "-Tell me what is going on!"

Before anyone could say anything or bounce back from the Doctor absolutely losing it on this idiotic man, there was suddenly a thumping sound over head. Like someone was banging a stick on the floor above them. The family in the room finally broke, even Mr. Connolly finally looking at the Doctor with fear in his eyes and saying, "She won't stop." The paused and the rhythmic thudding came again. Four slow thuds. "She never stops," Mr. Connolly added, shifting uncomfortably.

Tommy sat forward. "We started hearing stories all round the place," he began. The Doctor turned to face him, Rose only having to look over to move her attention to the boy. Y/n's eyes had shot to the stairs when the banging had started and had not moved away. "People who have changed. Families keeping it secret because they were scared. Then the police started finding out. We don't know how, no one does. They just turn up. They come to the door and take them. Any time of the day or night."

At some point Y/n had moved from his spot before o the bottom of the steps, and when he got there, he paused only a second before he took a step up, and then another, and then another. The Doctor told Tommy one thing: "Show me." But by the time the group moved to get the key and went up the stairs so the Doctor could see what was going on, Y/n was already standing in front of the door with a distant, glassy look on his face. "Y/n?" The Doctor's voice was soft, concerned.

Y/n didn't respond. He raised a hand and it hovered over the door. He almost touched it... there was something, almost calling to him. Drawing him in. Y/n forced himself to focus. Ripped himself away from the thing that was pulling his body around without his permission. The last time this had happened, he had felt the death of hundreds and hundreds of people all being so horrified and agonized that it killed them. He couldn't feel something like that again. So he stepped back, using his other hand to force the one reaching for the door to his chest. away from the wood. He leaned against the banister behind him, a grim expression on his face. Rose and the Doctor shared worried expressions before moving to the door to unlock it and see what was going on. It was always the first step to solving the problem.

The door opened with Tommy entering the room first. They'd all agreed it would be best if she saw someone she knew first, so he was the one who greeted her. "Gran? It's Tommy. It's alright Gran. I've brought help." The door opened wider, revealing a dark room light only by the moon outside coming in through the window. There was someone inside, but only her silhouette could be seen. She began to walk toward the group coming into the room, and Y/n felt his heart seize in his chest. He wanted to reach out and pull the Doctor and Rose back, but he couldn't move.

Tommy turned the light on.

The woman in the room was revealed, in pristine, perfect condition... except that her face was gone. She had no mouth or eyes or even a nose. There light dents where all those things should be, but weren't. She just stood there, as if looking at them. But she couldn't.

Rose and the Doctor moved to her after a second. The Doctor got very close, eyebrows creasing. "Her face is completely gone." He rose his screwdriver to scan her. "Scarcely an electrical impulse left," he told them. "Almost complete neural shutdown. It's just ticking over. It's like her brain's been..." He seemed to struggle for a second. "Wiped clean."

"What are we gonna do Doctor?" Tommy asked, desperation in his voice. That was what got Y/n to move. He stepped toward the boy, his hand reaching out to comfort Tommy. Before he got there, his shoulder brushed Mr. Connolly's and a realization hit him like a freight train. He spun to face the man as Tommy added, "We can't even feed her."

Y/n made eye contact with Mr. Connolly. The men were the only ones out of the room, and therefore no one heard him when he whispered, "This is your fault."

"What?" Mr. Connolly spit.

Just then, the door downstairs banged open, and heavy footsteps could be heard on the stairs. "We've got company," Rose nearly groaned, too upset by the faceless woman to be as sassy as she usually was.

"They've come for her!" Rita lamented, clinging to her son and looking at the Doctor with desperation.

The Doctor jumped into action. "What was she doing before this happened to her?" He demanded. When Rita and Tommy looked at him with stunned confusion, he snapped, "Tell me, quickly! Think!"

"I can't think!" Tommy snapped back. "She doesn't leave the house! She was just..." He reached out to his mother as she covered her face, his words fading as men in suits suddenly surged into the room.

Stepping between the men and the grandma, the Doctor held up his hands to stop this from happening. "Hold on! There are three important, brilliant and complicated reasons why you should listen to me. One-"

He was cut off before he could finish, by the man closest to him snagging him with a solid right hook. The Doctor went flying to the floor and Rose scrambled after him, screaming, "Doctor!" The men threw a blanket over the old woman's head and began to lead her out of the room.

Rita tried to stop them; bless the woman. "Leave her alone!" She demanded, pulling weakly on one of the men's arms. "You'll hurt her! Mum!" She was shoved off by one of the men and Tommy rushed to help her land safely and get back up again. Which left Y/n as the one standing. But he didn't do anything. He stood as Mr. Connolly guided the men out of the house, and he followed behind slowly. Rita and Tommy were after them much faster. "Don't hurt her!" Rita begged. She followed them all the way outside, Tommy right behind her. Once outside the commotion kept up, but Y/n at the top of the stairs didn't hear it. He did however jump into action upon hearing Rita begin to cry.

Whatever spell he was under shattered and he shoved past Mr. Connolly with force, running to the moped the Doctor had left behind to go into the house, kicking it into gear and revving the engine, watching the car with the old woman inside begin to pull away. He paused only to lock eyes with Mr. Connolly yet again, accusation set in his eyes with a cold tone that made the man step back into the house to hide from it. Unfortunately for him, Tommy saw the look as well.

The moment allowed the Doctor to catch up, slipping on the bike behind Y/n and pulling his feet up just in time for TY/n to surge forward, leaving them only a beat behind the car ahead. They chased the vehicle until it turned a corner... a corner that lead to what seemed to be a dead end. There was a closed gate and a cart in front of it. Even a boy swept the street in front of the cart, seeming as if the whole operation had been there for ages.

"Oh, very good," the Doctor congratulated the two men, smirking. The man sweeping smirked back. It clicked in Y/n's head immediately. "It was like this last time too," the Doctor explained anyway. "I chased it and ended up right here, on this street, in front of that gate, with those two people set up in front of it."

"Set up indeed," Y/n sighed, shaking his head.

They settled on a simple solution. They parked the moped and went around the back, walking around the enclosure to find any other entrances or weakened points on the gate. Of course, they found it. It was a door into the building. Something small, too small to be used by people as an entrance. Big enough to be used if one had to though, and no lock was scary enough to go against the sonic screwdriver. They were inside with no problem at all.

It seemed to be some sort of factory. There was the clattering of chains in the distance that they followed into a big room with a a gated enclosure in the middle. Inside the enclosure was dozens of people, all missing their faces. The clattering was coming from the men who had come to the house, who were now locking the grandma inside as well before locking the gate again. They waited for the men to leave before jogging up to the enclosure. The Doctor took out his screwdriver, busted the lock, and they were inside. It seemed a little more complex than it had from a distance though because after opening the first gate, there was a second one that lead to where everyone was actually held. Y/n wondered briefly why there were two gates as the Doctor opened the second and the pair moved into that room, pushing their way into the crowd gently to get a closer look at the faceless people.

They were dormant at first, but as the Doctor took out a torch and began to shine the light on them, their bodies began to twitch and move. Hands began to curl into claws, heads tilting threateningly. And they all turned to Y/n and the Doctor, closing in and pressing the two men against one of the gated walls. They crowded and pushed but didn't harm, and that surprised Y/n at first. Unfortunately, they did cause a commotion, which only occurred to the men when a huge light came on behind both of them, from outside the gate. They tried to see who had turned it on and saw only two silhouettes. A man's voice rung out, "Stay where you are."

They were pulled out of the enclosure and taken to two different rooms, sat in chairs, and faced with who seemed to be detectives. The man interrogating Y/n was rather calm and pleasant. "So who are you then?"

Y/n found himself sighing. "My name is Y/n."

The officer smiled, seeming pleased with Y/n's cooperative approach. "What are you doing here?"

"We're trying to figure out what's happening, so we can help and stop it," Y/n answered without hesitating. He said it with conviction, his body so relaxed but his eyes so full of honesty that there was simply no room to doubt him. He was telling the whole truth, and nothing else.

It was the best move to make, and it went over well. "What do you know?"

"Probably as much as you guys do. Bunch of people. Faces missing. What you might not know is that their brains are basically shut off. Like someone's taken their entire consciousness. A body with no person inside it, thinking and feeling and walking. It's a wisp of a ghost of humanity. No one's manning the controls." His shoulders dropped. "They're dormant."

Fairly enough, it was upsetting to the detective as well. "That's all you know?"

Y/n scoffed. "Maybe if you did less interrogating and tying me to chairs, I could be out there figuring out what's going on. My partner, where is he? We need to start working on this. Sitting around asking someone who knows barely more than you do is getting neither of us anywhere."

Sitting back, the officer gave a sort of amused smirk. "Down to business then. Alright, let the man go."

"But sir," one of the other men questioned. "Shouldn't we wait for the DI?"

The officer shook his head. "We need to find them and reunite these men who are here to help us. Come along, we've got work to do." And with that, Y/n was untied and they all headed to where the Doctor was being kept. A man who Y/n suspected was the DI was sat with the Doctor, looking non too far off from where the man who's been with Y/n had ended up - perplexed but trusting.

When they came into the room, the Doctor grinned upon seeing Y/n. "I can always count on you to get them to trust us, Y/n. Why do people listen to you so much better?"

"I'm approachable?" Y/n offered.

The Doctor nodded. "No that sounds about right."

Once the Doctor was untied as well, they all moved into the office where the DI began to catch up the other two men. "We started finding them about a month ago. Persons left 'sans visage'. Heads just... blank."

"Any sort of pattern?" The Doctor asked, eager to get down to business.

"It's spreading out from North London, all over the city. Men, women, kids, grannies. Only real lead is, there's been quite a large number in-"

The Doctor cut him off as he began to riffle through papers, finding the information himself. "-Florizel Street," he finished. His brow was creased in the way that it did when he was thinking and trying to understand. Looking at information and dissecting it. Taking it all in and organizing it to make sense of any kind of madness. It was a look Y/n had come to look on fondly.

There was a knock at the door to the office and Y/n went from admiring to in pain rather quickly.

"Found another one sir."

All eyes turned as the DI gave a half hearted, "Oh, good man, Crabtree. Here we are, Doctor. See what you can deduce." Y/n noticed that it was a woman immediately. There was a blanket over her head, but she was wearing a skirt. A pink skirt. A pink skirt that Y/n had seen recently, and could recognize almost immediately.

No.

No!

The one who had walked the woman into the room took the blanket off of her head, revealing-

"Rose," the Doctor lamented weakly.

Y/n's body went weak. He trailed after the Doctor, moving closer to her in order to reach out and touch her cheek. If she were normal, she would have leaned into it, a smile on her face. Maybe even winked at Y/n. But now... her face was blank, all features gone, leaving only shallow dents where they all should be.

"Do you two know her?" The DI asked.

"Know her? She..." The Doctor trailed off, a tension to his face as he struggled to voice what Y/n so often did. That she was his girlfriend, or companion, or maybe something else that explained what they all were better, in stronger words that painted the picture more clearly and drove home the feelings they shared. That he so much more than just knew her.

When he said nothing else, Y/n offered something. "She's out partner. We travel together." He wished he hadn't said anything. That he'd stopped as the Doctor had, because those words weren't sufficient, but he also knew he had no right to speak for the Doctor's feelings when he couldn't even admit them to himself. And... I mean, would these old fashioned people understand it anyway, when they couldn't even be okay with the Doctor and Y/n being together, let alone Rose as well?

To fill the sudden painful silence in the room, the man who'd brought Rose in began to fill in missing information. "They found her in the street apparently, down by Damascus Road. Just abandoned. That's unusual. That's the first one out in the open." He went to talk more, but Y/n was finished right there.

"I'm sorry say that again?"

"Sorry?" the DI offered, not sure as to what part Y/n had meant.

The Doctor spoke again. "Where did you say they left her?" He kept his eyes on Rose, his features being replaced with anger where the concentration and focus and puzzle piecing had been before. Gears turned now so much faster, the fire that drove him burning brighter. He was the sort of man that moved slower when angry, because every single move counted. It was when he was soft and slow that the Doctor was most dangerous.

The other men in the room seemed to sense that. "Just... in the street."

"In the street," the Doctor repeated, his face relaxing as he rose his eyebrows. "They left her in the street. They took her face and just chucked her out and left her in the street." His voice was dropping, the anger curling around his words as his body relaxed. All his hesitations that usually kept him so in line melted away and he was calmer than he ever was. "And as a result, that makes things..." He paused, eyes still trained on where Rose's face should be. "- Simple. Very, very simple. Do you know why?" He took his glasses off, finally looking away from Rose in favor of turning to face the others in the room.

"No," the DI answered, his nervousness plain.

"Because now, Detective Inspector Bishop" the Doctor seethed. "There is no power on this Earth that can stop me." He looked at Y/n. "You ready?"

Anger had a vastly different effect on Y/n. Unlike with the Doctor where anger calmed him, anger fueled Y/n. It drove him, energized him. I suppose it was because the Doctor was a man capable of great evil, and therefore a man who had many rules that usually held him back. These rules locked that potential up tight so he could channel it into good things. When he was angry, those rules flew out the window and let him loose so that he had no inhibitions or hesitations. His potential, either good or evil, was at full capacity and would be stopped by no one. Y/n was the exact opposite. He was always calm, always level headed. His mind was a machine, and it flowed smoothly. He never felt the need to lead, only to support and pop in when it was necessary. But when he was angry? Oh, when he was angry, it blinded him and clogged those gears so the machine was stopped. All the energy that usually went into keeping him calm and level headed went into charging his mind to think better and harder, and his body into working faster and going further.

Usually, the Doctor was a man of great power and goodness and when he slipped or needed help, Y/n was there to keep the peace and fill in holes the Doctor had missed and pick up the slack. The Doctor pulled the chariot and Y/n picked up the things that fell out.

Now, Y/n was unhinged and the Doctor was unleashed and neither were about to stop the other. There were only two men on the path of vengeance for someone who had hurt the woman they both loved, and nothing - NOTHING - was going to get in the way of them getting her back.

Y/n smiled. "Always."

So they were off.

They headed out, blazing a trail of fire behind them, headed right back where they'd come from. The sun was up, and Tommy Connolly opened the door to find Y/n and the Doctor. "Tommy," the Doctor said in a voice that left no room for negotiation. "Talk to me." Tommy threw a glance to the inside of the house before coming out, closing the door behind him. "I need to know exactly what happened inside your house."

It was then Mr. Connolly decided to intervene. "What the blazes do you think you're doing?" the pathetic man spat at his son.

"I wanna help, Dad!" Tommy begged weakly.

"Mr. Connolly-" the Doctor began.

And then Mr. Connolly made a huge error. He turned to the Doctor and sneered, "Shut your face, you."

Y/n reacted immediately. He surged forward, ramming Mr. Connolly against the wall of the house. Their noses almost touched, and Y/n practically growled, "I've had enough of you. You think you're bigger than you are and I've had enough of it. You're going to stop intervening and you're going to stop disrespecting your family and the Doctor and myself, and you're going to let your son be helpful like the decent human being he is and you're going to be grateful that Tommy didn't turn out anything like you did, do you understand me?"

There was something in Y/n's eyes. Something that made Mr. Connolly genuinely cower. The Doctor put a hand on Y/n's shoulder and the man backed down immediately, letting Mr. Connolly go. "You don't understand," Mr. Connolly groaned. "You two are ruining everything! I have a position to maintain. People around here respect me. You don't care what people think of you and that's fine, but those successful know that it matters what people think!"

"Is that why you did it, Dad?" All eyes turned to Tommy.

"Did what?" Mr. Connolly asked his voice tinged with panic. "You ratted on Gran," Tommy accused. "How else would the police know where to look? Unless a coward told them."

"How dare you," Mr. Connolly hissed quietly, still beaten down by Y/n's previous actions, but fueled again by Tommy's insult. "You think I fought a war just so a mouthy scum like you could call me a coward?"

Tommy was having none of that though. "You don't get it do you? You fought against fascism, remember? People telling you how to live. Who you could be friends with. Who you could fall in love with. Who could live and who had to die. Don't you get it? You were fighting so that little twerps like me could do what we want. Say what we want. Now you've become just like them. You've been informing on everyone, haven't you? Even Gran. All to protect your precious reputation!"

"You'll learn, Mr. Connolly," Y/n said in a low voice. "It doesn't matter what OTHER people say or think about you. It matters what your friends and family think. It matters that you go to bed at night with a clear conscious and look at yourself in the mirror and see someone you like. Be honest. Have you been able to look yourself in the eye since you started tell the police where everyone was? Since you betrayed your own family, all so you could look good to what you think people wanted you to be? Cause I can tell you now, no one's going to like you for this. For taking away their family and ratting on them. For making everyone scared in their homes. On their own streets."

"Everyone who matters will appreciate what I did," Mr. Connolly spat defensively.

"So it's true then." The door opened, revealing Mrs. Connolly. Mr. Connolly reached out for her but she pulled away.

"I did it for us, Rita," Mr. Connolly explained, panicking at the betrayed look on the poor woman's face. "She was filthy! A filthy, disgusting thing!"

Y/n took a step back, and then another. He tripped on the second step as he hit the end of the concrete, but was thankfully far enough out of view that no one saw. But he saw. And what he saw... He wished he hadn’t.

"I wish people like that wouldn't go about. It's disgusting."

"Oh look away dear, it means nothing to you."

"It's just gross! Can't they do it somewhere else?"

"They're only holding hands."

"She kissed her cheek!"

"And?"

"And it's not right. I'm trying to spend time with my family. Why can't they be normal? Look, even Y/n looks upset by it."

"Are you upset, Y/n? We can go."

Y/n looked at his parents, feeling small. He was small, but he had never felt small. He'd always quite big, actually. Too big to hide in the spaces he wished he'd fit better in. Too big to run as fast and as far as he wanted to. Too big to fade away and be gone from this moment. Too big, in the middle of a quart yard, feeling like every set of eyes that could see him did. That was how he usually felt. But now... now he felt so small that he was terrified of being stepped on. He looked into his father's eyes, soft but distant. Too far away to reach. Too dislodged to understand. Y/n looked at his mother next. The way she looked at the two women who had eventually felt her stare and looked back, leaving to escape the horrible feeling her nasty glare left under their skin. Y/n wished he could go with them. How could one person hate two people being happy so much that it made one's skin crawl? That it made people run, just with the power of the look in her eyes alone. Why did she feel the need to say anything at all? Why couldn't she be pleasant and far away like dad?

A hand rested on Y/n's shoulder and he was pulled into the present. He looked over at the Doctor, who had a very knowing expression on his face at that moment. They exchanged a look and Y/n nodded, both to recognize that they would talk about it later and that he would be okay until then. For now, they had much more important things to worry about.

With that clear, they both turned their attention back to Tommy and his parents. It seemed Y/n had missed something, as the door was now closed. With the way Mr. Connolly was yelling anguished cries for his wife to open the door, Y/n got the feeling that Mr. Connolly's world had just come crashing down.

"Tommy," the Doctor said, reaching out for the boy. Tommy moved closer to him, and those two, Y/n, and DI Bishop all left Mr. Connolly at the door. They had important business to get to, and Tommy had a lot to catch them up on. As they walked, the Doctor got to business. "Tell me about that night. The night she changed."

As they walked, Tommy watched his feet, trying to remember. "She was just watching the telly," he offered weakly, obviously feeling guilty as not giving what was being looked for. How wrong he was though.

"Rose said it," the Doctor realized. He spun around, eyes shooting to all the different antenna. Too many dishes for this year, this time. "She said it from the start. All these aeriels in one little street. How come?" He settled on looking at Tommy for an answer.

The boy delivered. "The bloke Mr. Magpie. He's selling them up the street?" The Doctor and Y/n looked at each other before taking off, Tommy and the DI pausing only a second before kicking into gear after the Doctor yelled at them. The four made it to Magpie's place, the Doctor breaking the window on the door to reach through and unlock it, pushing inside. The DI actually tried to stop him - which was fair since he was a cop and all -but the Doctor wasn't listening.

The second they were inside, the Doctor was at the desk in a flash, ringing the little desk bell heatedly. "If you're here, come out and talk to me!" the Doctor screamed. "MAGPIE!"

Y/n skipped the desk and went directly behind, searching the whole place for any signs of the man, vengeance in his eyes. Luckily for Magpie, he didn't appear to be in. "No one," Y/n announced as he went back to the front, in answer o the Doctor's heated, questioning gaze.

The Doctor went behind the desk as well, beginning to dig through the drawers for any hints of clues. He was successful as always. "Oh hello," he grumbled, pulling out a sort of portable television, from what it seemed to be. It was rectangular shaped, but almost like an etch-a-sketch, with dials below a blank, dark screen.

Moving to the Doctor's shoulders, Y/n squinted his eyes as he got a better look at the thing. "That's not supposed to be here." Y/n tilted his head. "Not on Earth. Not anywhere near humans. That's too advanced for hundreds of years from now, let alone 1970's or wherever."

In response, the Doctor licked the device. "Tastes like iron." He looked at Y/n. "Bakelite." He put the thing on the counter in front of him, pulling out his sonic screwdriver to scan it. "Put together by human hands, I'll give that. But you're right, the design itself..." The sonic sounded, following by the Doctor making a noise of appreciative surprise. "Oh, beautiful work. That is so simple."

"That's incredible," DI Bishop mused. "It's like a television, but portable. A portable television." Y/n almost smiled at the amazement in his voice. He briefly wondered how the man would react to Netflix.

The thought was derailed as the Doctor lifted the screwdriver to eye level, and tellies began to switch on around them in the room. Each screen was just filled with white static, but the fact that they'd reacted so strongly to the signal in the first place wasn't the greatest of signs. "That's not the only signal in this room," the Doctor told the others. Suddenly the static died and the screens cleared, the static falling away to reveal a bunch of faces. Just faces on dark screens, all sad or scared. Some screaming, some crying, some silently shaking as they looked into a void and tried to find a way out. It was only a few seconds, each clip, and it repeated, so that people were stuck in two or three seconds of utter fear.

Y/n launched forward, eyes scanning each screen frantically until he squatted down, pausing as his hands rested on either side of a screen with the face of a girl screaming one word over and over again. It was Rose, and she was calling for the Doctor. When Y/n felt a presence beside him he scooted over to let the Doctor squat beside him, both men looking at Rose call for help over and over and over again. She looked so afraid, and in the blackness of the screen around her was reflected two expressions. One, the Doctor, whose eyes were full of pain and whose face was lined with love and worry. It was a sad expression, easy and delicate and affectionate. The other face was Y/n's, which was curled in anger. Not like it had been before, where it was hot and unforgiving and hard and terrifying. No, this anger was painful to look at. Like he was about to cry. He reached out a hand and gently touched the screen, wishing he could touch Rose's face and tell her everything was going to be okay.

Next to him, the Doctor reached out a hand too, to touch the other side of the screen that Y/n did. "We're coming," the Doctor promised.

The sound of beads being moved sounded. The same sound that had happened when Y/n had rushed into the back, searching for Magpie. Because there was a curtain of beads in the doorframe-

"What do you think you're doing?" Y/n and the Doctor looked at Magpie at the same time, pain being replaced with that anger from before. Merciless anger that could only be described as wrath.

The Doctor stood, marching toward Magpie with determination, every move fast and full of threat. "I want my friends restored and I think that's beyond a little back street electrician, so tell me, who's really in charge here?" Y/n backed him up, both of them leaning into Magpie who looked downright terrified.

Suddenly there was a voice. "Yoohoo!" It was such a shock because it was a woman's voice. A voice which shouldn't be possible as all men were in the room. Everyone turned to see a new woman on one of the screens. Except she wasn't just a face, she was hair and a body and a dress and arms as well. She sat on the telly as if she was a program, except her smile was too smug and her eyes were too cold. It probably was even more of a give away when she added, "That would probably be me," in what was definitely a response to the Doctor's question. A question she shouldn't be able to hear as she should have been a recording of something that had happened weeks ago. "Ooh," the woman hummed. "This one's smart as paint. And look at his little guard dog, ready to bite." She almost chuckled, the laugh sitting on her face even as the noise didn't come out.

"Is she talking to us?" DI Bishop asked.

"I'm sorry gentleman, I'm afraid you brought this on yourselves," Magpie apologized rather pathetically. "May I introduce you to my new-" he cut off, probably choking as he finished, "Friend." He swallowed and Y/n almost rolled his eyes.

"Truly nice to meet you," the woman on the screen greeted.

"Oh my god it's here," DI Bishop exclaimed. "That woman on the telly."

The Doctor's expression was dark. "No. It's just using her image."

"What?" Tommy asked, dumbfounded and confused. "What are you?" he asked the woman when neither the Doctor nor Y/n responded to his first question.

"I'm The Wire," the not-woman responded. "And I will gobble you up, pretty boy." On instinct Y/n pushed Tommy behind him; Tommy didn't resist. When Tommy was gone, the Wire's eyes moved up to look at Y/n instead. "Every last morsel. And when I have feasted, I shall regain the corporeal body, which my fellow kind denied me." As she spoke, the black and white screen suddenly filled with color, and Y/n realized she was showing off. Threatening and she flexed to show how much power she already had, just from the few people she'd fed off of. From Rose.

"Good lord." DI Bishop's eyes were wide. "Colour television!" Once again, Y/n had to try to not roll his eyes. To these people, that was a miracle.

The Doctor cut in on the moment. "So your own people tried to stop you."

"They executed me," the Wire spat. "But I escaped, in this form and fled across the stars."

"And now you're trapped in the television," the Doctor taunted. At his words, the color on the screen faded and it returned to black and white.

"Not for much longer." Despite her words, it gave Y/n hope to see her color fade. Her show of power had been quite temporary, which meant she was far, far weaker than she was trying to seem. That meant she would be much easy to defeat than she wanted to let on.

"This is what got my Gran?" Tommy asked, hands reaching out to tug on Y/n's sleeve.

Because Tommy was touching him, Y/n responded first. "Indeed. You don't know this yet I don't think, but people's minds work off of electricity. Little shocks all throughout the mind that send messages and information all around so it can power the rest of the body. She traps the minds and feeds off of them, and she does it by sapping away their faces. Ever heard, 'the eyes are the windows to the souls'? Well it's wrong, they're actually the doors, and once you open it it's very hard to close."

Feelings eyes on him, Y/n looked over to see the Doctor was surprised. It didn't last long though as the Doctor looked to Tommy, his anger coming back again as he added, "Problem is, it gorges itself like some great, over-fed pig." His eyes moved back to the Wire, spitting as he continued to get even angrier. "Taking people's faces, their essences, as it stuffs itself." The Wire looked very amused by that and Y/n was almost tempted to step forward and add some nasty words of his own, if Tommy hadn't still been holding onto him, keeping him back.

Probably for the best.

"And you let her do it, Magpie," the DI sneered at the electrician still cowering where the Doctor had left him before.

"I had to! She let me keep my face," Magpie whined. It was like a shark biting you then getting mad when you lashed out. It only made Y/n more angry. "She's promised to release me at the time of manifestation."

"What does that mean?" Tommy demanded.

"The appointed time," the Wire responded evenly. "My crowning glory."

That sentence set off the DI and Y/n at the same time. the DI shouted, "Doctor, the Coronation!" at the same time that Y/n lamented, "Oh my god the Coronation" as he rose a hand to cover his mouth, horrified as he began to realize the Wire's plan.

"For the first time in history, millions gathered round a television set," the Doctor confirmed. He turned smug as he took a step toward the screen. "But you're not strong enough yet, are you?" The Wire seemed to want to say something, but had nothing to throw back. The Doctor was right. "You can't do it all from here. That's why you need this!" He held up the screen from earlier, which Y/n only now realized he'd been carrying around the entire time. "You need something more powerful. This will turn a big transmitter into a big receiver."

"What a clever thing you are," the Wire sarcastically congratulated. "But why fret about it? Why not just relax? Kick off your shoes and enjoy the coronation. Believe me, you'll be glued to the screen."

"Well obviously we wouldn't-" But he didn't get to finish his sentence, because before Y/n could quip out a snarky response, suddenly there was a bright light and his whole body was beginning to ache. Slowly, starting at his fingers and toes, a sort of sharp numbness began to spread through his body. Began to eat at him, but by bit, until he was consumed. It never did get all of him, but even when the numbness faded and the world should have come back into view, that bright white light didn't go away. Y/n closed his eyes and felt a sort of fuzzy distance, but that white light didn't go anywhere. It was just muffled a little behind his eyelids.

For a while, Y/n didn't want to look. There was a fear in his heart that kept his eyes very closed. The white light wasn't too bright to look at or painful or consuming, it was just... terrifying. There was something that told him if he opened his eyes, he would see something terrible.

Unfortunately, Y/n was a companion of the Doctor. He maybe even had a little bit of what made the Doctor so wonderful and fantastic and brave inside of him, put there by experiences and memories that weren't his. Things that made people on such a deep level; mistakes and terrors. Things more terrible than some stupid white light could scare him with. So he opened his eyes, and he saw. And it was just as terrible as he thought it would be.

Suddenly he sucked in a breath and shot up into a sitting position, scrambling away from the wall of TV screens. He was breathing heavily, head spinning and heart racing. He looked around and saw DI Bishop, who was much more still but who seemed a little jarred himself. Though I suppose, no one was as upset by the experience just had as Y/n was. The Wire placated her victims, holding them in a cocoon of disconnection. Uncomfortable, but not upsetting. Not anything like what Y/n had just seen.

The door to Magpie's shop opened and the Doctor was there, eyes finding Y/n with an expression that was a mix of victory and worry. The worry grew as the Doctor realized Y/n seemed to be in a far more stable state than the Detective had been, which he didn't seem surprised about. Kneeling down, the Doctor placed a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "What happened?"

Y/n swallowed. "She took my face."

Even before the Doctor spoke, Y/n knew that was wrong though. "No, she didn't. You were fine. She was focused on the detective, and hadn't gotten to you, me, or Tommy yet. But when I got Tommy to wake up you just... lay there." He swallowed. "I thought you might have died."

At that, Y/n gave the only reassurance he could. "Well you and I both know that's not the case."

The Doctor nodded. "Right so. Stay here, I'll be back." He went and got Tommy, and then the four men - reunited again - all moved out of the shop. Shakily, as Y/n seemed to be having a hard time staying on his feet. Finally though, with a little help from Tommy, they managed to get Y/n out of the shop and down the street to head back to where all of the people who'd been taken were. If this was one of those happy endings, everyone would be back to normal. And considering Rose was one of them... well, they all had fingers crossed.

It didn't take long. They got far enough that Y/n only needed a little help from Tommy, and they moved a lot faster. They turned a corner, and saw a crowd of people surging out of the place where all the Wire's victims had been held. Y/n recognized a few body shapes and hair colors and outfits. Everyone was fine, just as they'd hoped. With the Wire gone, all consciousness had been returned to their bodies and people were in great condition. Well, good condition. Y/n was sure there might be some emotional damage. Disassociation was detrimental enough, without your very being being fed on.

But anyway, that wasn't the important thing. The important thing was that everyone was more or less completely fine. Which meant-

"Gran!" Tommy explained.

Tommy went to run, but paused as Y/n was still leaning on him. The man leaned away from the boy, waving him on. "I'll be fine. You go." With that, Tommy was gone. Y/n stayed where he was, leaning against the wall, afraid if he leaned off he might collapse. But then he saw Rose. He saw the Doctor surging toward her grinning face, and he felt his own body moving as well. Despite his worries about his current state of being, Y/n pushed off the wall and headed over as well. He was proud of himself for only limping a little bit.

Rose and the Doctor had the cutest reunion hug, and Y/n approached them as they parted. There was a grin on his face as he said, "All good now?"

"More than," Rose agreed. She hugged Y/n next, jumping in surprise as he groaned in pain. She leaned back much quickly, worry on her face as it had been on the Doctor's earlier, and was again. "Are you okay? You seem... hurt. What did you let happen to him?" She shot this at the Doctor, who was about to defend himself when Y/n did it for him.

"I just didn't handle the TV sucking my mind out of my body as well as you did," he tried to dismiss. "Really I'm fine. We fell after we got all zapped. I might have just landed wrong, really. Lots of different reasons, none of them anything you need to worry about." He reached up both hands, holding Rose's face. She was taken aback by the look in his eyes when he looked at her now. Like they hadn't seen each other in years, or he had believed he'd never see her again. To be fair, after the events of today, it was a fair look for one to have. "I love you. Have I said that recently?"

Rose cocked an eyebrow. "No partic-" Y/n kissed her, cutting her off. The kiss was hard and desperate and full of emotion that rocked her to her core. Rose felt her head rush and her heart race and her body shivered a bit before she registered the way he was holding her face. He was gripping it. Clinging to her like if she let go, she'd be gone forever. When they parted, she realized he was crying. "Y/n, are you sure you're okay?" She whispered, reaching a hand up to wipe the tear.

"Yeah." His voice cracked though, so it was quite unconvincing. "I'm just... I'm so glad you're okay, Rose. I really, really am." He stroked her cheek. "I'm never letting anything like that happen to you ever again."

She almost told him that he couldn't control what happened to her in this life of theirs, but Rose got the feeling that if she did, he might break down. So she just nodded and smiled and reassured, "Of course you will. You and the Doctor would never let anything really terrible happen to me. We're gonna be together forever, the three of us."

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. "Right," Y/n weakly agreed. He turned away, collecting himself. "Forever." His eyes moved across the crowd. "I think we deserved a bit of celebration. Come on!" And suddenly he was perfectly fine. Every few steps he winced just a little, but his smile was wide and his eyes were cleared. Like he had never been upset or hurt at all. The Doctor had been silent and nervous, constantly looking at Y/n again and again, but eventually the celebration got to even him and they were all forgetting their troubles and having a great time. Together again and inseparable.

For now.

Amidst all the fun, they ran into Tommy again and the Doctor gave his scooter as a present. It was a nice moment, but quickly messed up by Tommy seeing his dad again. Mr. Connolly seemed to be packed and suited up. Going somewhere. Leaving. "Good riddance," Tommy mumbled, face torn with hate.

"Is that it then, Tommy?" The Doctor asked, turning to watch Mr. Connolly go as well. "New monarch, new age, new world. No room for a man like Eddie Connolly."

"That's right," Tommy confirmed solidly. "He deserves it."

Rose leaned closer to the young boy. "Tommy, go after him."

Y/n cut in right there. "Never ever feel pressure to forgive someone who has abused you." He looked right at Tommy, and the Doctor and Rose went silent. "You are never required to let that person back into your life and don't you let anyone say otherwise." Y/n cleared his throat, his voice softening. "You should forgive him. If you don't, that anger you feel right now? It'll stay there inside you forever, and it'll turn you into him one day. You can't let it. You're too good to let someone else's mistakes ruin your future like that. You deserve better. And... you can give him another chance if you want. You can. But understand something: losing a parent is terrible. It sucks and it hurts, and it leaves a hole in your life forever. But that hole will always stay the size it is when that person leaves your life. Letting someone like your dad back in cold just widen that hole. Make it worse. Hurt it more. I'm not saying he will make it worse or he hasn't learned better. You can go after him, and that's your choice, and you're allowed to do that." Y/n reached out, placing his hand on Tommy's shoulder. "But you can't save him Tommy. Not from himself. You can't save anyone from themselves. You have to prioritize yourself and keep yourself safe first. So if you go after him, go because you want to. Not because he'll be sad or lonely or you think he needs you. Okay?"

Tommy had a very soft look on his face. One full of relief. Y/n's words had lifted a large burden off of his shoulders, and he nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Y/n. I... God, thank you."

Y/n smiled. "You're very welcome." With that, Tommy left the group. He walked back to his house, hesitated, and then did go after his dad. Y/n smiled to himself. "What a good lad."

"Very good," Rose agreed. But when Y/n looked over, she was looking at him, not Tommy.

Looking at his hands, Y/n cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cut you off I just-"

"No," Rose rushed to reassure. "You were right. I forget, sometimes... that not having a dad. It's not the worse thing that can happen to you. Sometimes it's better." She swallowed. "I was lucky to have a good dad. And an even better mum." At that, she pulled Y/n's chin so their eyes met. "I never properly apologized to you. For what happened in the parallel world. I pushed you to forgive her, and you knew from the beginning you shouldn't. She really hurt you and I pushed you to get there so she could."

Y/n shook his head and then wrapped his arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his side. Her arms went around his middle to hug him, her cheek resting against his chest. "It's not your fault, Rose. It's hers. Don't you dare blame yourself for that." The Doctor moved closer, using the table behind them and his body to block the view as he took Y/n's hand.

"All that matters if we're safe and together," the Doctor finalized.

And for now, that was true enough.

Story Tag List: @e-reads-fics @shoochi

Male reader taglist: @sheepfather

110 notes · View notes

fallenangelontheceiling · 4 years ago

Text

Thoughts on The Finale

Pros & Cons

CONS:

Most of these can be categorized as problems with tone. This has been a problem throughout the series and unfortunately it was most clear at the finale.

John Walker's Character Arc - I guess I can buy that he didn't want a truck full of people to die instead of taking revenge... but it feels too quick. In 1x04 there was blood on the shield and the stinger for 1x05 (the thing that primed us for this episode!) telegraphed him as unhinged. Now he has Sam and Bucky's reluctant approval. Talk about tonal whiplash.

And then at the end - were we supposed to think it was cute that this mentally unstable man is all excited to go out in the field again? I think we were. And I kinda hate it because he'd be a great villain. He went from Everything Wrong With Entitled White Men to an insecure doofus who happens to have the strength to lift a car. I think that was a very sanitized decision.

Ironically I think the reason behind that decision is because they didn't want Lemar to just be the Dead Black Dude. John is the one that gets to tell Karli the truth: "Lemar mattered," and by saying that he illuminates everything wrong with Karli's fight. And I guess he really did care about Lemar as a person (on some level, at least - everything else about John points to narcissistic tendencies imo).

Bucky's Confession - Felt rushed. We didn't see Yori get any bittersweet closure. I don't understand what the last shot with Bucky, Yori, and Leah was trying to convey - especially Leah's little nod at him. Look, I appreciate how this show doesn't always spell everything out, but all that shot did was take me out of the scene - does Leah know he was the Winter Soldier now? that he killed Yori's son? and at the minimum shouldn't she feel mad or awkward about the way Bucky ditched her lol?

And now I'm gonna sound like a real bitch... but because that scene didn't hit the right amount of bittersweet Bucky's happiness at the party later doesn't feel earned enough for me. I love smiley SebStan as much as anyone, but facts.

[In retrospect, one interesting thing about the confession was that Bucky said "I was forced to do it. It wasn't me." That's character growth. I wish we had seen the journey to that realization more, but I'm okay with that likely being incited by him being able to actually rescue civilians of his own free will for a change.]

This is more of a personal belief creeping in: Bucky, just because you're done with the book doesn't automatically mean you're done with therapy lol. I think Bucky should need therapy for the rest of his over extended life, and that is not a sign of weakness or infantilization. I think that would be a far better message for the show to give about mental health. (And I was sent out of the scene AGAIN because I was wondering um, isn't that still court mandated?? I thought the schedule was just more flexible, not terminated.)

Karli - Isn't it weird how I can agree with a villain's motives so much but not find them interesting at all as a character? Like how lol?? I think if they had fleshed out her and Sharon's relationship she could have been a very tragic figure. Or her relationship to Mama Donya, for that matter. Instead we get her with mostly nameless Flagsmashers that narratively operate more like goons than comrades.

Sam - I started this series pretty convinced that Sam should get rid of the Cap mantle and shield due to racism, nationalism, populism... a few other -isms that I am not smart enough to elaborate on. But after episode 5 I was on his wavelength. I was hyped by his training montage! I screamed for him to put on his sexy costume uniform!

And then the costume sucked. Okay it definitely didn't totally suck (more on that later), but the colors and goggles look horrendous.

Maybe I'm just in too jaded a mindset to enjoy a superhero show but I rolled my eyes that an impassioned speech would make any difference. I hated that the senator looked ashamed, like that would never happen, especially not in public lol. I wanted him to do something a bit more subversive -what exactly I can't put my finger on, but this was too much of a buy-in that powerful institutions work. I thought it was really corny how suddenly everyone started listening at the exact same time. I know throughout the show we've seen civilians constantly monitoring with their phones in the background, but the way this was shot was too on the nose for me. Maybe if it had been just one news camera nearby? Idk idk...

The Power Broker - It could have only been Sharon so I didn't really care.

PROS:

These are shorter because I'm tired and it's always easier to say more about things we dislike lol.

Sam's Utilities and Fight Scenes - The costume looked awful but it worked great! Loved the two redwings and what they can do, the way the wings and jet back move when he fights, and I have to admit I like the angelic look of the wings.

I love that Sam still takes more punches than nearly any superhero in the MCU but he doesn't let that stop him. "I can do this all day!" is very Cap. I adored how he collaborated with the civilian (senator?) in the helicopter to get everyone to safety. That also felt very Captain America and in line with Sam's strengths. That scene worked as a strong opening.

Isaiah Bradley - Just. Carl Lumbly needs an Emmy. I kinda love Eli as well.

Sarah Gazes Up at Bucky as He Shows Off and Plays with Children and Brings What is Clearly a Costco Cake to the Cookout - Same, girl. Same. I want a slowburn Hallmark movie about them.

Sharon - I enjoy Emily VanCamp getting ~revenge~.

Zemo's Butler (Of All People!) Taking Out the Last of the Super Soldiers - Is it bad I cheered? This is what creepy Batman-esque butlers are for, yes?

#tfatws #tfatws meta #sam wilson #bucky barnes

12 notes · View notes

settersprouts · 4 years ago

Text

꒦ ikanaide : chapter two ! ꒦

怪我

. . : oikawa stresses out after having lost to shiratorizawa yet again, and decides to take out his frustrations on volleyball. however, he loses himself in the midst of it all and tears a ligament in his leg, and there's no one there to help him. iwaizumi senses something's wrong and rushes to his side.

or, oikawa's an idiot and iwaizumi is just the pillar he needs.

again. they won again.

he could never win against them. they were too strong. too brilliant. too skilled. too talented, in ways that he never was, never could be. and it made him sick, all the way down to his very core.

it should’ve been impossible for shiratorizawa to defeat them over and over again. For three whole years, kitagawa daiichi has never been able to win a single match. and that record followed him all the way to seijoh. every single time, that wretched team would shut down every attack, close every opening the opposite team had. he even used his new setter dump, but they still managed to pick it up and slam the ball right back at them.

and it made him sick.

oikawa slammed yet another ball onto the court, his serve more powerful than any other serve he’s ever done. all the pent-up rage and frustration echoed onto the volleyballs, and he imagined each and every ball was going straight for ushiwaka’s stupid face. the bruise that would appear the next day on his face made it seem all the more appealing to him.

again.

and again.

ball after ball, serve after serve. he wouldn’t stop, not even after he used up all the balls in the bin. he just grabbed the second bin in the storage room and kept on going. no one would disturb him- everyone already left a couple hours ago. he was going to keep practicing until he got better, until he could defeat shiratorizawa.

and ushiwaka. he couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he defeated him in their next match. the thought of his disappointed face sent thrills throughout oikawa’s body, and he kept on serving, chasing that dream. he wanted to see the look of disappointment on ushiwaka’s face. he wanted to make him feel what it was like to lose to your greatest enemy. he wasn’t going to let shiratorizawa win another match.

he had to make it to nationals this year. it was his last chance. the first qualifiers were only in a couple of months, he had to practice to perfect and hone all his skills. ushiwaka wasn't going to get the chance to beat him.

in the back of his head, he heard a voice yelling at him. it was quiet, but loud at the same time.

``do you think you're fighting by yourself? you've got to be kidding, you dumbass!``

oikawa shook his head vigorously, trying to get the voice out of his head.

``there's no one on our team who can beat ushiwaka one-on-one! however, there are six players on a volleyball court!``

he threw the ball up in the air again, hand colliding with the colored leather, sending it flying over the net and into the court.

``even if our opponent's some genius first-year, or ushiwaka, the team with the better six is stronger, you dumbass!``

he paused before serving his next ball, realizing who those words belonged to. if he found out what oikawa was doing, he might just kill him. a shudder went through oikawa's body, the room suddenly getting a couple of degrees colder. yep, iwaizumi was definitely on his way here. there was no doubt about it. he would burst through the door, headbutt oikawa, and yell at him while he dragged him all the way home.

encounters with him didn’t stray far from that. so oikawa didn’t really fear the upcoming future. it wasn’t like he was new to the abuse from his childhood best friend, it just came with the package. iwaizumi engraved that idea in his head, without even realizing it.

he did care about his best friend’s wishes, he did. but right now, iwaizumi was the last thing on his mind. he felt bad about it, but volleyball mattered more. he had to get better. for him. for the team. for seijoh.

defeat was bitter. the taste of it nearly made oikawa hurl every time. he wasn’t going to lose again.

and with that, another ball flew up in the air.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

iwaizumi was pissed.

very pissed. extremely pissed. his rage scared a couple of kids on his way home from aoba johsai. he muttered an apology to their parents, leaving them to attend to the crying children as he rushed home. he felt bad and was slightly offended that his face was that scary to them, but at the same time, he really couldn’t be bothered.

the events of the match rung in his head, the sound of balls slamming onto the court rivalled cymbals.

``ace my ass.`` he muttered, kicking a pebble into the road. ``what kind of ace can't manage to spike a ball they can't receive?``

he stopped at the intersection, looking at his surroundings. it was the area where he and oikawa would usually separate, as their houses were in different directions. it felt weird walking home without him. he had told the team he would clean up, claiming he needed some alone time. it was suspicious, but it made sense. who wouldn't want to be alone after losing to ushiwaka and his undefeatable team?

in all honestly, iwaizumi was worried about his friend. he could sense the tense aura around oikawa's body, the frustration emitting off of him when he told everyone to go home early. the sudden change in emotion scared the wits out of the first-years- they were the first ones out the door. matsukawa and hanamaki tried to reason with oikawa, but it was like he was unreachable. they both knew- no, they all knew oikawa's intentions. he was going to practice until his arms fell off, until he collapsed on the gym floor.

the ace of seijoh let out a sigh, and turned away from oikawa's street, heading down his own. the setter could manage himself. he was a third-year, too, he was capable of taking care of his body. he wouldn't let that happen to himself.

a bird flew alongside iwaizumi, tweeting at him. its melody wafted through the air, reminding iwaizumi of how oikawa's laughter flew with the wind, like a bird's song. he grimaced. that seemed to be ages ago, when oikawa was actually happy. everything was fake now, iwaizumi knew so. all the smiles the setter sent to his underclassmen when they asked him questions about volleyball, all the chit-chats he had with the millions of girls that crowded his locker- none of it had been genuine. oikawa knew what he was doing. smile and wave, and then everyone would leave you alone.

``dammit.`` iwaizumi cursed under his breath. he didn't think to talk to oikawa about any of his suspicions. he knew that he was just going to spiral into another of his self-hate episodes, taking out his frustrations on countless of volleyballs.

stop worrying about him. he'll be fine. he's eighteen, for fuck's sake.

iwaizumi pulled his necklace from out underneath his shirt, opening his front door with the key that hung from the thin ball-chain. there was a loud click, and it swung open. he called for his family, letting them know he was home, slipping his sneakers off and sliding into fluffy white slippers.

when he looked up from his feet, his mother and father were standing in front of him. ``oh, hey.``

``hajime.`` his mother started, tears in her eyes for her son. ``we heard what happened. we're so sorry.``

iwaizumi nodded, pushing past his mother, but not after giving her a warm embrace. ``thanks, ma. it's okay, we tried our best.`` his father watched as his son walked off, the number four on his back seeming to sag with the sadness that the ace felt.

the mattress creaked under iwaizumi’s weight as he flopped onto the duvet, spreading out his arms and legs like a starfish. kumo bounded up next to him, lapping at the sweat on his face, causing the teen to smile a little. he scratched behind kumo’s ears, laughing as she started giving him more kisses all over his face. it felt good. it felt like home.

he leaned over kumo to grab the remote, turning on the tv and navigating to the shows he had recorded previously. settling on a beloved godzilla movie, he leaned back with kumo and relaxed. this was nice. it was almost comfortable; he was starting to forget all about the events that happened a couple hours earlier. starting to forget all about the concerns and worries he had for oikawa.

forgetting things was a lovely thing.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

forgetting things was a painful thing.

oikawa had forgot how long he was at the gym for. the sky was pitch black- it seems like minutes ago that the sun was just starting to set. he glanced at the clock. he had been at this for six hours. volleyballs littered the court. beads of sweat were flinging off of his body. his practice jersey was absolutely soaked. he smelled horrible. no amount of deodorant could’ve prepared his armpits for this.

he could hear his phone ringing from the club room. a part of him wanted to answer the countless of calls, but at the same time, his heart was set on practice. practice, practice, practice. he had to get better. he had to practice.

so, he picked up another ball, soared through the air, and hit it as hard as he could.

the sound it made was bone-crushing. literally.

oikawa landed on the court and stumbled, falling to the ground on his side. he let out a silent scream, his mouth gaping but no sound coming out. he glanced down to his knee, letting out a small, sad gasp. the skin on his kneecap was completely red, and he could see some purple in the mix, too. it was starting to swell, but the pain made his concerns about how it looked seem miniscule.

it was like his bones were being crushed by a hammer. the pain came in waves. every time he felt his heartbeat, the pain would travel through his nerves and send the shocks all throughout his lean body.

he should’ve slowed down. he should’ve taken a break. he should’ve listened to iwaizumi.

the pain was almost unbearable- he couldn’t even walk. oikawa could still hear the constant buzzing of his phone going off in the clubroom. he needed to call someone. the police. his mother. iwaizumi. anyone.

he used his elbows to try and crawl over, but each time he moved, his knee would touch the wooden planks that made up the court. it sent more shocks of pain through his body. he resulted to just laying down on the floor and looking up at the ceiling.

people would find him eventually.

as he lay there, his mind rewinded and replayed all the scenes from the match he had against ushiwaka. actually, all the matches against him. all the times ushiwaka teased him, telling him he wasted his chances, and should’ve tossed for people who were worthy of his sets. the fact that he was trying to tell him that his own team wasn’t worthy of him as their setter pissed him off.

he pondered, brown tufts flowing along the cool breeze of the ac.

he wondered, was he ever strong enough?

ushiwaka would never have let himself get injured. he knew when to stop.

when will the pain go away?

when will it all just go away?

a tear escaped from within the prison of his eyes, squeezing out from underneath curled lashes. he wept silently, the surface of his eyes glossing over with his tears. the tip of his nose and his cheekbones began to tint red. he always was an ugly crier, but at the same time, he was a masterpiece. the way his face seemed to flush, how he trembled with each sob, was cause for his beauty.

oikawa was beautiful. he was known as such for his fame and popularity, from being the most notable volleyball captain seijoh’s ever had. he had such amazing form- his back was a legacy to his underclassmen watching him serve. the way his back curved into an arch, his arm shooting up as he aimed his shot. the way the ball would collide with his palm and sail over the net. the way it would hit just inside the boundary lines of the court, and the satisfying smack it made.

it was beautiful.

but judging solely from the state of his leg, he wouldn’t be able to do his famous jump serves for a while, at least; the cause for all his fame.

he wasn’t beautiful anymore.

he was broken. a pawn for shiratorizawa, simply because he was playing right into ushiwaka’s hand. losing over and over again to them resulted in their fame, in their popularity. they gained respect and power through all their wins.

and what was seijoh gaining from it? the fact that everyone now knows that they have never once managed to win a match against them? just a couple lousy sets here and there, that were mostly determined by shiratorizawa’s mistakes?

it was atrocious. seijoh was a powerhouse, after all. how come they could defeat every other team they went up against, but not shiratorizawa?

he wanted to give up so long ago. after losing so many times, he just wanted to give up. but he didn’t. because iwaizumi was right beside him, slapping his back and telling him to snap out of it.

the ace was always by his side.

where was he now?

``..iwa-chan? ``

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

iwaizumi tossed and turned in his bed, unable to get comfortable and close his eyes. nothing lulled him to sleep- he even warmed up some milk a couple hours ago and chugged it, but it didn’t help him.

he groaned, rolling out of bed and sitting on the floor. it was dark in his room, but he could still make out certain things. kumo sat upright at the sudden noise, tilting her head to the side. iwaizumi smiled grimly at her.

the ace checked his phone, the veins in his forehead popping out once he realized oikawa still hadn’t viewed or responded to his messages.

iwaizumi was worried, he was. more pissed off than worried, but he still feared for his best friend.

the door to his room burst open, startling both kumo and iwaizumi. his mother stood in the doorway, worry lining her face. ``mama? are you okay? what happened?``

she padded over to her son, holding his hands and looking into his eyes- forest green mixing with ocean blue.

``honey, have you heard from toorū?``

iwaizumi faltered. their conversation had just started, and he already knew where it was going. ``n-no, i haven't. i've been texting him, but he hasn't read or replied to my messages. mom, what's going on?``

she smiled sadly, brushes a stray strand of hair behind her son's ear. it popped right back up, as expected of his unruly bedhead. ``oikawa-san called me, toorū hasn't come home yet, and he said he would come back at eleven. it's three in the morning.``

``w-what?`` iwaizumi gaped, checking his phone. she was right. the clock read three am. panic coursed through hajime's veins, and he stood up abruptly. ``i-i have to go find him. mom-``

iwaizumi-san smiled at him. ``i know. oikawa-san told me not to tell you, knowing that you would try to find him, no matter how late it was.`` she handed him a flashlight and his father's pocketknife for protection, in case he needed it. "do what you need to do to find him. bring him back home safe. you, too.``

he slipped the knife in his back pocket and gave his mother a tight hug. he was gripping onto her like she was his lifeline. ``ma, thank you. i'll call you when i find him.``

she smiled at her son. he was so mature and grown up- he didn't even think about the possibility that he couldn't find oikawa. he was so determined to bring the boy she considered her other son back home safely, so determined to find the boy he grew up with. ``of course. good luck, i know you'll find him.``

``yeah.`` iwaizumi sent her a grin, slipping on his aoba johsai jacket and bolting out the door. ``love you, ma!``

``love you too!``

slipping on his shoes, iwaizumi closed the front door behind him, and stepped out into the chilly morning air. in just three hours, he would have to be in his bathroom, getting ready for school. he sighed. there was no way he's going to school tomorrow- his mother wouldn't let him step foot outside the house after he brought back oikawa. shittykawa. where the hell was he, anyways?

he thought back to when oikawa ushered everyone out of the gym all so he could have some alone time. kindaichi was permanently scarred from the face oikawa had made- one of pain, heartbreak, and determination. the fear in the team's eyes as he turned on them with that expression was immaculate. iwaizumi would have to borrow that strategy.

letting out a puff of air, he started the fifteen minute trek to aoba johsai, wind in his hair and jacket flying behind him like a cape. he switched the flashlight on to light his way, and to avoid obstacles on the road as he ran.

iwaizumi would bring oikawa home, no matter the cost.

after what seemed like hours of running to iwaizumi, since every passing second felt like a minute, he finally arrived at the gym. thankfully, he couldn't hear any volleyballs, or the familiar squeaking of shoes on the floor. but, he could see light seeping from underneath the door, which either meant oikawa was still in there, or he left the lights on.

he put his hand on the door knob, pausing for a second. if oikawa was in there, what would he say? if he wasn't, then where the hell was he? what if he got kidnapped? or, what if he's just at a fangirl's house eating ice-cream and watching alien documentaries because iwaizumi wouldn't?

iwa shook his head furiously. it's fine. he would just open the door and check. if he wasn't in there, he'd turn off the lights and lock up.

taking a deep breath, the handle turned and iwaizumi stepped in.

oikawa was there. laying sprawled on the court, eyes closed.

``hey, oikawa?`` iwaizumi started, padding over to him slowly. he knelt down beside him and nudged his shoulder, his face paling when he got no reaction. he shook his shoulder harder, all the panic and worry coming back in mere seconds. ``oi, toorū! wake up, you idiot!``

it took him a couple of minutes to get oikawa to wake up. his eyelashes fluttered, mouth parted in a groan, and hazy brown eyes met panicked olive green ones. ``hey, iwa-chan.`` he gave him a loopy smile, his face contorted in pain. ``w-what time is it?``

``it's three in the morning, oikawa.`` iwaizumi replied, smiling softly at his friend. he couldn't help but feel a little happy. his heart about shattered into a million pieces when he saw him laying on the floor, and not reacting to him practically kicking down the door. ``you've been here for thirteen hours.``

oikawa grimaced. he didn't think he'd been at it for that long. and he wasn't. he passed out from the pain after eight hours, and just kind of slept on the floor. but iwaizumi didn't need to know that. ``oh, really? i guess i lost track of time, sorry, iwa!`` he laughed and sat up, trying not to let the pain show through his façade. he looked around at all the volleyballs, whistling. ``looks like i made a mess. help me clean up?``

the ace nodded, standing up and extending a hand to his teammate. oikawa clasped it, soft fingers wrapping around calloused ones, and iwaizumi lifted him up effortlessly. ``you good?`` he asked, noticing his stiff stance.

he nodded. ``yep, iwa-chan, i'm-`` he gasped, holding his knee and falling forward, making sure he didn't land on it. he let out a guttural, shaky shout, tears leaking from his eyes. iwaizumi rushed to his side immediately, holding his friend and looking at him with a face full of confusion and concern.

``s-shit, oikawa, are you okay?`` he instinctively held him close to his chest, like he was afraid someone was going to come along and take him. oikawa laughed lightly through his tears, leaning his head back and exposing his adam's apple.

``i fell and tore something.`` he removed his hands from his leg, revealing the swollen knee. iwaizumi's complexion paled- this was the worst injury he's ever seen in his life. no one he's ever known has been injured this badly. he prodded it gently, his heart breaking more and more every time oikawa winced. if it hurt that bad, when would he be able to play again? judging from the look of it, he would have to go through physical therapy, and possibly a cast or splint of sorts, since it was impossible for oikawa to walk on it. the setter's voice creeping into his ears snapped him back to reality. ``hajime, it hurts.``

he nodded grimly, swinging oikawa's arm over his shoulder and lifting him up effortlessly.``i got you. we'll take you to a hospital.``

``but the gym-``

``it's fine. i'll call coach later and tell him what happened.`` oikawa nodded, wrapping his arms around iwaizumi's neck, holding him close. he let his face rest in between the ace's pecs, feeling safe from the warmth.

iwaizumi pulled out his phone, quickly dialing matsukawa's number and holding the phone to his ear. the latter answered the call on the third ring, his little `yo` cutting through the tense silence he and oikawa had surrendered to. ``mattsun. get here. now.``

``huh, where? what's going on?`` his voice with tense, wary with panic and confusion.

``the gym. we need your car.`` iwaizumi met oikawa's eyes, asking for permission to tell him what happened. without any words being exchanged, oikawa understood, and gave him a small nod. ``oikawa injured himself. it's bad, he can't walk. i need to get him to the hospital, but i don't know if i can carry him all the way there.``

there was silence, then they heard the faint jingle of keys, and a door slamming shut. a car engine revved, and the sound of tires squealing made them both wince. ``on my way. oikawa, you there?``

``mh.`` oikawa mumbled in response, looking at iwaizumi with half-lidded eyes. ``i'm here.``

``good. talk to me? what happened?``

oikawa raised his eyebrows at the command, but complied nonetheless. ``i- um, i wanted to practice my serves.. but i tore something in my knee, i think.``

matsukawa cursed, honking the car's horn. ``move, you idiot!- sorry. there was an old man just sitting on a green light. how bad does it hurt, from a scale of 'dang that kinda hurts' or 'i want to cut my fucking leg off right now?'``

the setter giggled, leaning his head back as he did so. ``i-i guess it's a nine, then. i can forget the pain's there when i'm thinking about something else, but i can still feel it.``

``ah, yeah, i'd say a nine's pretty bad.`` matsukawa shut off the engine, and they could hear car doors slamming, and the loud pound of his footsteps. the doors to the gym swung open once again, revealing a very agitated and poorly dressed mattsun. ``i'm here. you okay?``

oikawa nodded, still nuzzling into iwaizumi's chest. ``mh. tired.``

``you can't be tired, we got to get you to a hospital.``

``i can't not be tired. it just happens.``

``well, wake up-``

iwaizumi slammed a hand over mattsun's mouth, the vein in his forehead popping out once again. ``instead of fighting, why don't we focus on getting him to a damn hospital?``

``yeah, right. uh-`` mattsun held his hands out for oikawa, much to iwaizumi's confusion. ``i can take him from here, you want to clean up, right?``

the ace glared up at him, shaking his head. ``i got it. you'll probably drop him.`` ignoring matsukawa's shouts of protests, he pushed past him and stalked to the latter's car. ``i just need you to drive. coach will take care of the mess.`` matsukawa sighed.

``alright.``

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

``how is he?``

iwaizumi had stood up immediately when he saw the nurse walk out of oikawa's room, matsukawa and hanamaki following suit. iwa and mattsun decided to text makki once they got to the hospital, along with coach about toorū's situation. irihata had went to the gym to clean up the mess, and hanamaki had rushed to the hospital as soon as the text was sent, not even bothering to reply.

the nurse smiled at him. ``he's okay. he'll be fine, so don't you worry!`` the group let out a breath they didn't know they were holding, extremely relieved. ``but, oikawa-kun's going to have to stay off his leg for a while.``

``yeah? what's wrong with it?`` hanamaki stepped forward, getting more worried by the second.

``well, he has something called an acl tear. does he play any sports?``

matsukawa nodded. ``yeah, we all play volleyball together.``

the nurse let out a sigh. ``that would explain it. he tore the acl ligament in his right knee, so he'll have to do some physical therapy for a while. it's swelling pretty badly, so i'd advise you to make sure he doesn't put much weight on it, unless he's practicing some leg exercises.``

``w-wait, so he can't play volleyball anymore?``

``no, not at the moment. it'll be too risky and painful for him. he'll have to take a couple months off.`` the nurse paused, placing a finger under her chin as she checked the papers she had of toorū. ``however, he can get a surgery for it, which will decrease the amount of months he'll have to wait to play again. does that sound appealing?``

the group nodded, which wasn't extremely surprising to the nurse. she smiled sweetly at them, before gesturing to the room oikawa was in. ``well, i'll talk that up with his doctor and parents. in the meantime, you all can see him, if you'd like.``

they nodded. ``yeah! arigatō!`` they thanked the nurse, then rushed towards oikawa's room, pushing and shoving at each other to be the first one in. iwaizumi made it through first, being the bulkier of the three. he peeked around the curtain surround oikawa's bed, letting out a tiny gasp. there the setter laid, looking up at him with big brown eyes. he looked so vulnerable in that state. wide-eyed, nervous, with his wrapped leg propped up on a couple of pillows.

hanamaki and matsukawa finally made it through, coming to stand next to iwaizumi with somber looks on their faces. they all looked down at him, and he could read them all like a book. they pitied him.

``c'mon.. don't look at me like that..`` oikawa mumbled, a blush rising to his cheeks. he glanced down at his leg, finally realizing what kind of situation he was in, and was getting embarrassed.

``does it hurt?`` iwaizumi stepped forward and knelt beside oikawa, pushing the brown tufts out of his eyes. the captain smiled at the gesture, appreciating the warmth of his best friend's hand as he had let it stay on his forehead.

he nodded, wincing as the movement jostled his leg a little. he probably shouldn't move too fast. ``yeah. really bad, too.`` he turned on his side, facing away from his friends, and mumbled ``i'm sorry.``

``for what?`` matsukawa asked, his forehead creasing in worry.

oikawa turned to him with tear-filled eyes, the tip of his nose turning red. ``i.. i promised you i wouldn't overwork myself, but..`` he laughed bitterly, rubbing at his eyes. ``look where i am now. i'm such a liar.``

iwaizumi stiffened, and clenched his fist. he knew he should've gone back to check on oikawa earlier. if he didn't fall asleep, oikawa might not have been in the position he was now. it was his fault. his fault that oikawa was in pain. ``kusokawa.``

``what're you calling me that for!`` the captain protested, biting his bottom lip to keep from pouting at his best friend. ``it's rude, you know?``

``you're an idiot.`` iwaizumi reached out and clasped oikawa's hand in his own, looking into his brown-doe eyes. oikawa had to stifle a laugh. the ace's face was so red, it looked like it might burst. ``the biggest idiot i know.``

``are you just trying to insult me?``

oikawa hit his arm lightly, teasing him a little, which brought smiles to all of their faces. they really hoped they would still see his smile, even if he was in a situation as bad as this. iwaizumi took a shaky deep breath, and continued. ``you're an idiot, but i'm so proud of you. i don't know a single person who wouldn't just give up on all their hopes and dreams because of this-`` he gestured to oikawa's knee while talking.

``what makes you so sure i won't give up volleyball, iwa-chan?``

``the look in your eyes. you're determined to get better. i know you won't quit. you're not a quitter, oikawa.`` iwaizumi said firmly, squeezing oikawa's hand. the latter looked down at their intertwined fingers, the blush rising to his cheeks again.

he looked back up at iwaizumi and met his eyes. ``you really know everything, huh, hajime?``

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

toss. run. jump. serve.

toss. run. jump. serve. break.

``phew!`` oikawa exclaimed, swiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. ``that was a workout! iwa, mind if i take a quick break? i won't be long!``

iwaizumi nodded, maybe a little too quickly. ``go ahead.``

the captain grinned, blowing his ace a kiss. ``thank you, iwa-chan~!" he skipped off out of the gym with his bag in hand, probably to get a sweet drink or snack from one of the many vending machines spread out in their school.

he watched the captain go off into the distance, smiling at the sight. just four months ago, it seemed like oikawa would never recover from his acl tear. he was in absolute shackles. a mess. there wasn't a day where he didn't cry in iwaizumi's arms, didn't almost want to give up.

but he pushed through.

he made it.

the amount of mental strength the captain had was atrocious. iwaizumi loved that about him. every time he'd prove that he was strong, the ace would get tingles all over his body. the thrill of having an insanely cool best friend was awesome. he felt like a little kid again, the little hajime who would always brag about how awesome his best friend, toorū oikawa, really was.

he was really beautiful.

``iwa-chan, you dozing off over there?`` iwaizumi snapped back to reality when oikawa's light-hearted voice speared through his thoughts. he put on a grim face, turning away from him.

``screw off and go practice. i'm not dozing off, you just want an excuse to slack off.``

oikawa gasped, putting a hand over his heart. ``i am offended! you know what? i'll show you!`` he stalked off and grabbed a volleyball, muttering obscenities under his breath. ``stupid iwa-chan. slacking off? ha! i'll show him.``

toss. run. jump. serve.

and show him he did.

─── injuries.

chapter 3 !

#oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru's injury #ik he injured his ankle i just wanted to do a knee fic bc acl tears are sucky :(#iwaizumi hajime #iwaoi fluff #iwaoi brainrot #fluff for the soul #matsukawa issei #mattsun lowkey simps for oikawa #hanamaki takahiro #hospitals #mizoguchi #irihata #ushijima wakatoshi #he's not even here but he's mentioned

8 notes · View notes