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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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Omg thank you so much for writing my request for tom :) Can I ask for a part two where you try not to read the comments, but end up doing so, and most are good, so it's fine. Until you post a picture of you on your account, and tom's fans start calling you names, and tom's so tired of all that happening that he posts on his account a whole paragraph about how his personal life it's no one's business?

Posted

This is part two, find the first part here

Summary | previously Tom had accidentally posted a picture of the two of you, exposing your relationship. And so, you decide to purposely do the same on your Instagram, though the response is much different than what his post had received.

Warnings | hate comments, some angst, swear and demeaning words

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Tom was asleep beside you, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, you were able to feel his gentle, slumbering breathing against your skin, and it caused goose bumps to prickle upon the outer layer of your flesh.

The two of you had vastly fallen asleep upon the couch, and your phone was on the coffee table, and to say that you were itchy to reach for it was an understatement. There would be comments on the picture that Tom accidentally put online, and you were hungry to see them, whilst simultaneously nervous.

Tom was a big actor, known for his presence in the marvel cinematic universe upon many other projects, and some of his fans, whilst proven during Comic-Con panels, were borderline crazy. They’d snap if they even so much as saw something that they didn’t like, and this time, you would be on the receiving end of it.

Being motionlessly captured, with your face on show, was certain to bring much attention. You too were within the acting department, but there had been no correlation between the pair of you until now, most of the world weren’t even aware that you knew each other. And not to mention, your span of reaching an audience was smaller, although, certainly not non existent.

You had reprised fame during your appearance on Modern Family, as the friendly neighbour of Phil and Claire, and a classmate of their eldest daughter, and not to mention Luke was crushing hard on the character you played, though, with that said, your character laughed his efforts off due to the age difference, yet still found his pining weird and often uncomfortable.

Another role that you were becoming known for was your character in Netflix’s Irregulars, where you met Harrison Osterfield, Tom’s best friend. Through filming the show, you were introduced to the Spider-Man actor, and the pair of you had hit it off almost instantly, if you didn’t include Tom keeping his amorous distance, wary just in case there was something going on between you and your mutual friend. To his relief, there wasn’t.

And thus, when he received that confirmation, he was far more forward, yet respectful at the same time with his intentions. That was how you had ended up here, as he half used you as a pillow, his arms wrapped around his ribs, and his soft peaceful snores filling the void in the air.

Stretching your arm at its furthest length, your fingertips wrestled with the side of your phone, padding it closer to yourself, so that you could slide it across the small living room table, and closer to yourself. You were victorious in your efforts, and so on you unlocked your screen, going to your camera app, and leaning sideways so that you could snap a few pictures of your predicament with your loving and sweet boyfriend.

Looking at the images that you had captured, a smile arose upon your face; you truly did love this man, and you wanted the whole world to know how much you adored him. You wanted them to see that you cared about him, and that he was in good hands with you, to cool off any of his fans that were processing their hurt feelings for seeing Tom with another woman, show him that he was getting the love that he deserved.

Extreme courage coursed through your veins, focusing within your fingertips as you opened insta, gulping as you readied to post the image. There was no editing required, it was perfect just like him. And so, the caption was something to think about, you didn’t want to make it too obvious that you were dating as the online community already assumed, the priority was to show them that you cared about him.

‘He’s taking a nap, and crushing my hip a little, but I don’t mind 😌’ you typed, your finger hovering over the post button as you chewed your lip. It was easy to press your digit down, and so, taking a breath, you did just that, encouraged by the previous and kind comments on Tom’s earlier post.

Within a matter of minutes, your phone was blowing up, and you were too tempted not to glance at the growing comment section. There were various accounts, some supporting your confidence to show such a domestic version of yourself with Tom, you assumed that they were your followers, and the ones that weren’t so light hearted were those that intently watched anything on the media that involved Tom.

‘He’s too good looking for her, she should be dating someone within her league. Tom is clearly taking pity on this hoe.’

‘Aw look at him, and ew, look at the state of her. He could do sm better 😔’

‘Why doesn’t she look like his exes, they were hot af, and now he’s with some rando that is after his fame and money. Maybe she should just take better roles if she wants to get noticed so bad.’

Your eyes kept reeling through the intentionally hateful words that continued to come through beneath the image. Tears began to fall from your eyes as you tried to stifle the movements and the sound of your gentle sobbing, as to not wake Tom. Quickly, your fingers raced through the social media, and you, knowing that there would still be presence of the image somewhere online, you deleted it, muting notifications and shuffled back into Tom.

The man stirred, tugging you closer by your waist, pressing a kiss to your locks as he awoke. He noticed however the way that you refused to face him, and so he rolled you over with a gentle grip on your shoulder, frowning when he saw the recognisable redness beneath your eyes, and the sad expression floating within your eyes.

“Princess, what’s going on?” He wiped his thumb beneath your bottom lashes, collecting your tears as he worriedly looked down at you. His brown eyes searched every inch of your face for an idea, but found nothing but your broken hearted expression.

“It’s nothing Tommy.” You tried and failed to convince the man, wincing half heartedly as he sat back on his thighs, gripping your hips so that he could pull you up with him, giving him a clearer view of your face. It was clear that he did not believe you, and he hummed, trying to make you give in. Eventually, after much concerned staring, you gave in, slumping your shoulders as you tucked your arms around the back of his neck. “I posted a picture of us, the response wasn’t great.”

Instantly, Tom’s brows uplifted, surprised by your action, though he had a strong inkling of a feeling that the reaction that you had earned was not complimentary. These were not tears of joy, instead they were stricken rivers of anguish and insecurity running down the length of your face.

“Let me see.” He spoke, softly to you, but his intents towards defending you strong. You shook your head lightly, tracing circles upon his knees as you gulped, flickering your guilty gaze up to his watchful eyes.

“I deleted it. I just couldn’t deal with knowing that the longer that it was up, the more hate would be directed at me. I’m sorry.” Tom grasped your face by your tense jaw, his fingers stroking your chin as he sadly stared at you.

“Never be sorry. Now send me the picture you used so that I can give everyone a piece of my mind.” Reaching for your phone, you sent the image to him, and in a second his device pinged, revealing that it had successfully sent to him.

“Cute.” He described the picture, his hands furiously typing away on his phone, his constant unsettling of his rabidly moving fingers drawing anxiousness from you. “And some.” Tom finally breathed, closing his phone as you went to his account, checking what he had posted publicly.

‘This may concern some people, who keep sticking their noses in where it does not involve them. I appreciate you all, the support, the love, everything. But one thing that I do not stand for is people coming at my girlfriend just because they don’t approve of our relationship. If you check mate, I never asked for your opinion, I love y/n, and some online hate, that needs to stop otherwise you are not someone I want to be calling themselves a fan of me, needs to stop. It makes no one happy or feel healthy with spreading such toxicity around the internet, if you don’t like something, then keep your blood mouths shut, this has nothing to do with you, it is just me and my girlfriend. I’d think you’d want me to be happy, because I want the same for all of you, so can people please give my partner some respect, she’s done nothing wrong but bravely chose to reach out to you all, and she had that spat back in her face. It’s not on, and I want this to stop now.’

“Tom...” you were shocked by the paragraph, it came across as aggressive, and very over protective. His action, that could affect how he was cried by people that put him on a pedestal, and that made you feel guilty that he had reached out to them in such a way.

“It’s okay baby, I’d do anything for you, and you know that. No one messes with my girl.” He put his arm around your shoulders as he pulled you close placing a kiss upon your forehead. Not only was he your boyfriend, but he was your protector, your knight on a shining cell phone.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland reader insert #tom x reader #tom imagine #marvel actors x reader #mcu actors x reader #imagines #imagine #xreader

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yannowhatigiveup · 4 years ago

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My One And Only - Chapter 9

Previous | Next

So this chapter is longer than chapter 8 and I think from next chapter, they got longer. As we get closer to the chapter I’m currently writing, the frequent updates will unfortunately die. Just letting you know so you won’t be too disappointed! Oh and my Wattpad name is the same, ‘yannowhatigiveup’. If you know any way I can improve my writing please do tell me!

Gabriel Agreste stood in his observatory after recently detransforming. 'She can control her emotions well but when she's angry, it's incredibly strong. This girl could be one of the strongest in Paris, she could be one that senses auras. I must find a way. I will use her to eliminate all of heroes. All I need is time'.

————————————————————

The bluenette sat in her uncle Jagged's hotel room, tapping a pen against her lips while watching the conversation, well it was more like an argument, between Jagged and his manager Bob Roth. Bob was stating that they should leave the song writing to the professionals while Jagged protested, saying that his niece was overflowing with talent and that she could do it no problem. Penny was on the phone with someone but Marinette didn't eavesdrop in her conversation. She stated at the blank notebook in front of her, eyeing it suspiciously. Then she got an idea and began scribbling down the lyrics she had in mind, not knowing that she had unintentionally gained the attention of everyone in the room. She managed to write the whole song in one sitting which was very impressive even for professional song writers at the time. "Did it" she said putting the pen down. Penny then came over to take the notebook and read what the bluenette had written. 'I hope it's ok'

"Wow Mari, this is great!" Penny said her mouth agape. She passed it to Jagged but Bob had snatched it out of his hands, only to give it back when Fang looked at him hungrily.

"Yeah, this is rock'n roll Nettie!" He praised her while giving his manager a 'I told you so' look.

"Yes this is exactly what we needed, a little change in the album. Thank you for this Marinette. We shall produce the song while you can sing the lyrics-"

"If that's alright will you of course" Jagged said, interrupting his manager.

Marinette nodded hesitantly. "I can give it a shot" she murmured.

Marinette walked home after visiting Jagged and showing Damian the designs she had in plan for his brothers, without showing the design she made for him. She was careful not to shake her purse too much as Tikki was sleeping, it was a busy day for the kwami as Marinette had let her go visit Plagg for some 'Kwami business'. Marinette didn't press for answers though. Soon she entered her parents bakery to find them already there, waiting for her.

"Maman, Papa what is it?" She asked.

"Your father and I are discussing if we should open a second bakery" Sabine answered enthusiastically.

"There's a few spots available in Marseille, we already booked a flight and a hotel to stay at" Tom answered, maybe even more excited than his wife.

"That's great! But isn't Marseille far away? It's closer to Italy than Paris" Marinette answered.

"Well surprisingly, we're already well known there" Tom replied.

"Oh cool! When will you be leaving?"

"On Saturday at 2 am" Her mother replied. "It's late but it was the next available flight. We'll be gone for a week maybe longer depending on all the paper work"

"Well you better start packing then!" Marinette said happy for both her parents. "I'll be going to bed now. Good night!" She hugged both her parents before going upstairs to change and finishing up her designs.

~~~

Adrien sat in front of his computer early before school, looking through all of Kagami's recent posts and he liked the photo that she posted yesterday, the photo was of when they went for ice cream earlier today. Alya and Nino were also in the picture, smiling for the camera but Adrien noticed someone else in the background. 'Marinette...' She was eating her ice cream, unbeknownst to the picture being taken, with the spoon still in her mouth. Adrien felt distracted by the way the sun reflected off her hair. He loved Kagami truly but his new love for Marinette shadowed it. "Plagg" Adrien said. "I think I have a thing for bluenettes".

"So your type is blue-haired girls? What makes you say that?" The kwami replied, not really enjoying the conversation.

"Well I like Ladybug, Kagami and Marinette and they all have one thing in common. They all have blue hair" Adrien sighed. "The last thing I need is another blue-haired girl to come into my life"

"Ughhh this is too cheesy, I much prefer actual cheese" Plagg groaned while looking around for Camembert.

Adrien sighed, smiling while going back to think of the girls he liked. He liked Ladybug for her quick, sly and smart nature. Kagami was incredibly skilled and very easy to relate to. And Marinette had a kind personality as well as unmatchable beauty. He couldn't decide which one he liked most as all the options were as great as the others. Then a notification on his computer distracted him from his thoughts. It was a notification that Jagged Stone had posted something. 'Huh, I wonder what it could be'

~~~

Jason was flicking through the channels on the TV, looking for something interesting to watch when a notification appeared on his phone. 'What's this?' He then realised that it was a trending post from Jagged Stone and went to view it. "HOLY SH-"

"Master Jason, language"Alfred reminded him.

"Oh yeah sorry" he whispered before shouting again. "HOLY MOTHER OF UM SOMETHING!"

Dick and Tim then entered the room, wondering what Jason was talking about. "What?" Dick asked.

Jason then connected his phone to the TV and showed the post he was talking about.

@official_jaggedstone

(Photo of a blue-haired girl with a medium long braid and her back facing the camera, writing on something)

Wonder what MDC is writing up for the bonus track? 🤔🤔🤔🤔

All three of the boys then fanboyed over finally being able to see what their favourite designer, and idol, looked like. Alfred then sighed while exiting the room.

"She's pretty!"

"She looks smart!"

"What's she writing?"

"I'm gonna call Damian, that room looks similar to the room he's staying in"

"Yes do, I want to pester him"

Dick then dialed a number on his phone. After a few rings, the phone finally answered.

"Tt, Yes?" A stern voice came through on the other side.

"HAVE YOU SEEN JAGGED'S RECENT POST!?" Tim shouted into the microphone.

~~~

Damian had already seen Jagged's post, he smiled to himself. He was about to go back to reading his book when his phone rang. He would've picked it up straight away if he hadn't see the name, it was Dick. He let the phone ring for a little while before answering.

"Tt, Yes?" He said in a stern voice.

"HAVE YOU SEEN JAGGED'S RECENT POST!?" Luckily Damian had the phone further away from his ear otherwise Tim would've exploded his eardrums.

"What about it?"

"He posted an image of MDC, the very first one ever on the internet!" Dick answered excitedly. "There aren't any pictures of her anywhere".

Damian smiled to himself knowing that he had seen MDC before his brothers, he had seen her smile. "There aren't?"

"Yeah! Weird right? She doesn't even show up to Jagged's live performances!" It was Jason's turn to speak now.

"Well I'm sure she goes to the performances, she's just never seen" Tim told his brother in a matter-of-fact way.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Tt, bye now" he said, immediately turning his phone off not allowing any of his brothers to protest. He then texted Marinette.

Me: Just got off the phone with my brothers, they were fanboying over you.

Surprisingly Marinette replied straight away.

Angel: They are too? Everyone is fangirling over MDC

Me: Because of Jagged's post, he posted a picture of you. The back of your head specifically

Angel: Oh hah I see it now, I guess that has to be my signature hairstyle as MDC now.

Me: It looks great on you though

Angel: You really think so?

Me: Mhm

Angel: Aw, thanks

~~~

Marinette had blushed when Damian said she looked good in that hairstyle. She really liked him. Then Marinette looked at the time, she was early for once. She decided to make use of this and get ready for school. She had finished getting ready quickly and she was able to walk instead of run to school like she usually did. When she entered, she noticed that there was barely anyone here. 'Perfect! I can work on my designs' that was until a familiar face showed up.

"Hey girl! You're here early wow!" The sound of her best friend made Marinette laugh until her facial expression changed from surprised to smug. Marinette was about to ask but Alya had brought her to the locker room where they were alone. "So girl, spill"

"What?"

"Do you like Chat Noir?"

Marinette giggled but she saw her best friend's face. "Oh you're not joking"

"Nope, now you can tell me so that I can get you both on a date." She blushed profusely. "And I ain't backing down, I've spent too much time on trying to find out who he is. Don't think I haven't noticed how you're jumping at anytime to be with this boy." She said the last statement with a soft voice.

Marinette sighed, grateful of her best friend but hesitant to tell her without Damian's permission as he never seemed like one for social interaction. "I'll ask" she said while taking her phone out.

Me: Shaytan, my best friend found out that I've been sneaking off to go see you.

Shaytan: Césaire?

Me: Yeah

Shaytan: You said she wanted to be a reporter right? Well then I guess this is expected, she did a good job.

Me: So should I tell her your name?

Shaytan: That's up to you

Me: Ok thanks!

Marinette put her phone away and looked at her best friend.

"So?" Alya asked. "Can you tell me?"

Marinette nodded. "So um, his name is D-Damian"

———

Taglist: @little-bluestar, @miracleofadisaster, @frieddonutsweets, @jjmjjktth, @genderfluidmoma, @starlit-dreaming, @icerosecrystal

#daminette #damian x marinette #marinette x damian #maribat #mlb x dc #ml x dc

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 4 years ago

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New York High Rise {1}

Chapter summary; During all your years as the most successful mob boss of New York, no-one have ever dared to seriously battle for the crown with you. Up until now. Steven Grant Rogers, son of the infamous mob boss Joseph Rogers, has suddenly chosen you as his rival. Who will be winning in the end?

Pairing: Steve x reader

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 1/5

Word; 5.9k

Warnings; swearing is standard in my works, mentions of canon-type violence

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: I actually started this series on a whim and all of a sudden ended up having four chapters. I really love it for some reason, maybe because it such a powerplay and I’m a hoe for that trope, especially when it’s a enemies to lovers story. Anyhow, enough of my rambling, I hope you guys enjoy this little mid week update! PSA: If you want to be tagged in the series, jus send me an ask!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Golden chains and champagne. Fancy watches and whiskey on the rocks. Whatever related to the word expensive you were associated with. Although, unlike many others in your business, you hadn't grown up in this world of luxury, nor had you inherited the empire you now were the boss of, enabling you to live the extravagance life you did. No, you were one of the few who'd worked their ass off to earn every last thing you owned.

By most, your efforts looked like a great business mind and some luck. How else could you've become a multi-millionaire on investing in stocks? But to others, those knowing the flipside of the coin, they knew your success in capitals was nothing but a cover for your stealthy work in the shadows. It was a dance, one with feline grace, that you'd performed to reach your position. A status meaning you were one of the most famous mob bosses in New York City.

When hearing mafia, most would think of the old Italian image of people smoking cigars in fedoras, with some moustache that looked similar to pencil lines on their upper lip. Those who owned cities and the whole country knew of it but could do nothing about it.

Perhaps some of these stereotypes suited the older godfathers of New York, who sat proudly on their pedestals and watched the world pass by. But you were different from them. You didn't just watch the world continue and progress by itself. You moved along with it.

You were the new generation.

Compared to the godfathers, who every last person in New York and the bordering states knew off, you had two faces. One you showed the public and one you ruled the underworld with. To society, you were spotless, a name associated with nothing but a sharp mind and benevolence to the public. But you were at the top in the underworld syndicate, the biggest of the biggest. Yet, you didn't rule with fear, simply that of uttermost respect and earned trust. In other words, your reputation or connections weren't bought. They were deserved.

Thus, compared to the older generations, your face could be recognised by a civilian or someone from the underworld, none thinking about calling the police or betraying your trust. You owned the city without it even knowing it.

It was from the way you'd reached this top in stunning silence, together with the grace you played everyone with, that you and your empire earned the alias felines. Like a tiger cub who grew into an adult, your empire was once the smallest but now the biggest. Like a lion, you evoke respect and awe no matter where you went. Like a cat no one cared about, you could cross the streets without an issue in public.

Some of the elders, at least those who were your allies, had expressed their concern of your brassiness. 'Why play cat and mouse with fate?' they often said. But you always answered the same 'I am the cat'. And it was true. Despite some of those opposed to your methods, or just you in general, took the chances they could at picking you off the map. No one ever succeeded. Solely for one reason.

Now, you deemed agreeing to one of your first ever business deals the best choice you ever made. Although it meant you financed some of the worlds leading underground tech corporation with quite some substantial coin, the panthers were nowadays always watching over you. They lingered in the shadows, disarming every try at putting a bullet through your skull.

Albeit not as famous as yourself or the organisation you ran, the Black Panther Operation the sibling pair T'Challa and Shuri operated was, in no shape or form, not impressive. They'd established themselves as the leading organisation, even if not known by half of the people in New York, in the tech area. Not only were they invaluable to the numerous politicians wanting them to work under the radar to get the upper hand on sovereign states, but they also were to you.

They hadn't only supplied you with their physical protection of their elite bodyguards, the Dora Milaje or in common-tongue known as the shadow panthers, but their tech as well. Although, compared to anyone who would've been in your position and chosen the weapons or impenetrable bodysuit that Shuri, ever the genius she was, had invented, you'd chosen one of the other assets. The cloud, the internet.

Hackers were the way forwards compared to warriors. They were the weapon of keeping you one step ahead of anyone by supplying you with the information needed to be able to hold someone's life in your hands.

It was only to look back at the countless occasions anyone tried to persuade you into a business deal you would do nothing but lose at. Thanks to Shuri having dug out the facts that could bring any of your rivals down in the dumps, you'd walked victorious away anyways.

You were certain any of the other godfathers would've killed someone for even thinking, no less trying, to propose a disreputable arrangement with them in the first place. Yet, you knew how much one ever could make a death look like a self-caused accident, that in the end, people would start to wonder why it happened to people of the same background, connected to one and the same empire. However, the former generations didn't really care about bad publicity anyway, so why would they care about lining the street with dead bodies? But the difference was you weren't them.

By all means, some would say your ways was far more torturous than a bullet between the eyes. You wouldn't agree or disagree, only say it was just. Involving a legal and judicial battle was the new way of handling conflicts, after all. It was more efficient than having to wash the blood of your name all the time, according to you. Not only that, you gained a lot more than just a dead body.

You were in somewhat of partnership with most bosses around the city. Those you weren't, rather those you'd only settled a deal with that said "as long as you kept to each of your own territory nothing would happen", did try to bend the rules and use the terror tacit. Either they targeted you personally or something equally as important in your part of the city. It could be anything that would get to you, really. But, no matter what they did, they tried to not do it themselves. Instead, hire a hitman or someone equally as bad. The problem with this was that these people's records were far from innocent, something you used to your advantage.

If you tasked Shuri to find anything and everything these people had done, it was easy to find a person they'd wronged and who sought revenge or justification. The only thing you did was play your hand well, usually meaning you pulled some strings and supply the money. While T'Challa, as the expert he was on it, handed out the information his sister had gathered to reliable sources. Your collaboration made the person you hunted sit opposite someone from their past in a courtroom. Most of the times, they also lost the case.

Choosing to do this rather than go rampage and fire your gun aimlessly meant you settled as a second, or sometimes even third or four-hand source to what went down. So not only did your name remain clear despite answering a rivals offence, your involvement was nearly impossible to track as well. Thus, you could take down five of a rivals' men while they only took one of yours.

Despite one could call you out on hypocrisy, saying that the shadow panthers protecting you didn't own the same benevolence and were quick and silent in their killing, there was one reason you didn't care about the fact. Currently, they may be under a shared command, but their never-ending allegiance was always towards the founders of the Black Panther Operation. If either Shuri or T'Challa said stand back or decided to cut their deal with you, the shadow panther's protection would disappear. The same went if you chose to rip the contract.

However, it was a slim chance that either of the siblings or you would terminate your arrangement. Seeing how now, years later, you still were the sole person working a continuous agreement with them. That was why nowadays, your and theirs organisations were nearly associated as the same by most in the underworld.

Your style of ruling New York and living such different lives in the light and dark made others in your profession joke you were the sole one with an ordinary life. That you were no traditional mafia, simply a highly functioning business-orientated company that invested in stocks. However, both you and everyone around you knew that wasn't true. The reason? You weren't afraid to use every last of your assets to remain in control of your empire. Whatever it took.

And that was a promise someone the last months had put up to the test.

You don't know what set it off, perhaps the old saying of cats and dogs never working well together. Or that because you were at the top drew enough confidence out of someone to try and knock you down. For whatever reason, someone decided to start a ruckus with you.

It had begun small enough you had no idea that someone was behind it. Connections or deals with companies connected to your empire backing out of contracts in the last seconds, saying they got a better offer. The word secrecy, frequently used for ones own safety in the world you lived in, was a term you'd heard enough times by now to grow tired of. It was no significant agreements, seeing how you were well enough to not care about money, but it was plenty bothersome for your pride.

The next step in the escalation had been dealings slightly more important than a question of money, which was your territory and thereby also safety. You still had some meetings with a few godfathers, had fore some time actually. It was mostly those who once had opposed you in the days you weren't a threat or those who just tried to live secludedly enough that they died by natural causes rather than in a cell or from rivalry.

Each of those conferences had been about securing your grip on Manhattan. Primarily to obtain some neighbourhoods closest to Harlem Park and the northern part of the Inwood neighbourhood. Both of which currently was in some sort of grey zone. Meaning neither owned by them nor you. Although those areas were still not written as yours, concerning how those old bosses abruptly didn't seem to want to seal any deals that they weeks ago had agreed on.

Then you'd entered the third stage. The one that made you understand all these cancellations wasn't merely coincidence, but somebody working against you. People from both your closest crew and the Black Panther section had been disappearing. It wasn't uncommon. Your business was nothing but personal feelings and wants most of the times. However, concerning how few men and women you'd lost under your watch, this sudden increase was off-putting.

Closer to the truth was something like this had never happened to this extent before. You hadn't had people close to you or anyone associated with you abducted. However, the worst thing was that the bodies of those disappearing were never not found bloody or in a morgue.

Money or failing to persuade old godfathers wasn't something you took personal, but when people started dropping like flies around you, that you took personally. Hence, you, Shuri and T'Challa worked endlessly on finding who was behind it.

Almost every time, you found the culprit of the act, but not the big boss behind it all. Disabling you from taking more than one person out of play. That your jaw hadn't broken for how much you'd clenched it in frustration, or your teeth shattered from the amount you gritted them was a mystery. You hunted the person ordering these things, yet with no success.

Although one day, when one of the subordinates in your very own team had been missing for a week returned, barely clinging to their consciousness, you'd gotten to know who this new rival of yours was.

Steven Grant Rogers.

The canines, an alias for the Rogers family, were equally known as any of the old US President in the underworld in New York. If one hadn't heard of them in your profession, it was more likely that you already were dead or not in it all because they were notorious.

They'd ruled Brooklyn with an iron fist and was probably the crown specimen of the reputation that accompanied the word mafia. There was a grace in their affairs and killing. But compared to your work, which was performed in shadows and silence, they flaunted it, not scared of running from the police because they already knew they never would be caught.

From what you knew, they'd fallen off somewhat after Joseph Rogers, the head of the Canine Empire, died in one of the rivalries between mobs. His death had been years before you were even born, close to an age it was as high of a chance he could've passed from natural causes. Still, the commotion and continuous dispute following his disappearance and the unclear leadership had served as a fall for the Canine Empire. There was no doubt your rise to the same amount of power as the former union possessed would've been as easy if you'd had them as your opponents.

However, now, it seemed like the past would haunt you down in the form of Joseph Rogers son.

Albeit you never met the new boss of the Canines, there was no doubt you considered, for the first time, to personally put a bullet through someone's head. Steven Grant Rogers was as ruthless as stories told his father had been. He'd even been labelled the golden boy of Brooklyn, rumoured to restore the brutal power of the Canine Empire. Yet, the spot he was reaching for with old alliances regrouping to boost him to the top was a position you currently occupied.

This is where the difference between if you'd had a regular business organisation and the domain you now did, settled in. You went on total offense.

You contacted T'Challa and Shuri, calling them in for a meeting. Even though the pair knew of what had happened so far, they were your partners and thus, you would discuss the actions you would take with them, even if your deal said nothing of that sort. But you knew, compared to your rival, it seemed, how important it was to hold onto your closest allies with other methods than fear and the threat of death. And thus, you also received the help of a friend rather than a business partner.

It must've been the bloodiest month in the last decade from the rivalry that blossomed up between the Felines and Canines the second you started to answer the new top dog's advances. You got reports that the shadow panthers watching your back had cleared more people putting you up as a target than in a long time. As well, did more of the people under your name end up red in back allies.

Then it shifted. As soon as you started getting trails of more people than just the executioners, you were suddenly able to take out divisions of his minions. And while the killing went on, you started winning the big battles. In other words, while Steven continued to play it hard, you started to play smart.

You cut off deals he could do in Brooklyn, much harsher and unforgiving than his initials ones on your side of the East River. It was everything from supplies, to money, to the extra set of eyes. Everything to limit him to sources you knew he wouldn't be happy with having to resort to. While handling this, with the help from Shuri, you also broadened your search to find every little dirty-worker under the mob boss's command. Thanks to those now operating for you on the Brooklyn side, you helped people who'd had a past with Steven's men tip police of and capture them.

Pawn by pawn, you lessened the number of ways the Canine boss could run in taking down your empire. You had him cornered, already several moves ahead of him whatever he chose to do. Only, it was one step you thought he never would do that, in the end, made everything come to a skidding halt.

He'd requested a parley.

"Y'know I don't really like the idea of you meeting him", you didn't look up from the papers you currently were reading to look at Shuri where she lounged on your office's couch.

Though it felt like you should examine the folder that rested in your handbag -the one containing the event plans for the charity event you would host for the many high society individuals and governors, or anyone with money really, in two weeks- those documents weren't the ones you were looking through now.

It was five days ago since Steven had asked for the parlay. Ever since then, you'd worked on the deal you would offer him. You had no desire to sign whatever he would hand to you. And you knew he would propose something. The Canine boss was the challenger, after all. Even more so, the one requesting a meeting from the start. Thus, he, for one, would offer something to cease your continuous confrontations and two, he would try to drag you down while elevating himself. That you couldn't have.

"I know", you finally responded when having read the side you were on in the contract you had put together for your rival. "Still, I want to hear what the man has to say so I can stop losing resources, time and people", you turned to the next page as you said this.

There came no response immediately despite that you felt Shuri was looking at you. You'd gotten good at noticing this, someone observing you. Hence, even though the best of the panthers always were safeguarding you somewhere in the crowds, it never hurt to not solely depend on others for your own safety. Because that was what your constantly high attentiveness was for anyways. To always be keen on your surroundings and try to detect someone's move before they did it.

"It's almost interesting to see someone challenge you for the position of being the big boss, Lekati", it wasn't only at the reserved nickname Shuri used that caught your attention. The rest of what she'd said also made you pause mid-turn of the last page, eyes automatically shifting to her.

Now, instead of sprawling across the piece of furniture the women occupied, she sat upright with a smile ghosting her lips. Your eyes narrowed as you noted this.

"Oh, stop imagining using your sharp claws on me".

"I wasn't".

"You're a bad liar when you want to be", the tech mogul pointed out with a finger directed towards you. Your features stayed indifferent despite the fact that her remark had been correct.

"When will your brother be back?" The dark-haired women cocked a brow at your sudden change of topic.

"Any minute, I suppose, why?"

"He's more pleasant to have around while I try to work, less chatty", an incredulous snort left Shuri as she crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch's backside. Her reaction made your stoic facade drop somewhat, causing the side of your mouth to tug upwards. It was an act she caught and couldn't help but shake her head at.

"I never get tired of not knowing whether you're about to send half of the city after me or simply are in a playing mood", your repressed smile bloomed into a fully-fledged one, amused by Shuri's comment.

"Opt for the latter for as long as those couple of hundred thousand dollars are rolling into your account". Averting your eyes from the women you were speaking to, you once again inspected the bunch of papers before you.

Having worked on them for days and ever since this morning re-reading the contract, you knew it was worded to perfection. There were no loopholes nor any unnecessary losses for either part. So, for as long as Steven didn't belong to the old saying of 'it’s hard to learn an old dog to sit', you knew his signature would decorate the last page.

"However, you should worry about the day when the money is missing", you hummed while stacking the papers orderly, putting them back into the same folder they'd been stored since you'd gotten the paper copies of the transcript.

"Would that be my sign to start running?" You looked up again, instantly meeting Shuri's humoured look.

"It would probably be too late", you shrugged nonchalantly, placing the folder you would have to the meeting in your handbag in a swift motion while swivelling your chair to face her, rather than your desk as you'd done previously. As a chuckle was heard from the dark-haired woman, you crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in your seat.

"It's good that I'm your ally and not your foe".

"Good to hear you view yourself as a friend. Was fearing you would switch sides to my challenger's", you mused, arms coming to prop up against your armrest to support your head when you tilted it.

"I never would, even if I knew he had a chance to win", even though feeling somewhat relieved - because this world and one's alliances could change fast, no matter current contracts or friendships- when Shuri said this, you wouldn't show it. Therefore, instead of smiling at her belief that Steven had no chance of beating you at a game you had been the best player at for years, you simply kept observing the woman as she stood from the couch.

The young tech mogul started to make her way closer to you, a slight sheerness in her step that impersonated the glint in her eye. And you understood why for when she opened her mouth to speak.

"But you can't deny it's interesting someone is seriously trying to take you down", you rolled your eyes while you let your hand fall to tap against your thigh.

"Seems like you're more excited about it than me", you started, spinning your chair slowly to follow Shuri as she settled partly on the empty edge of your desk. She looked expectantly at you, waiting for an answer despite your deflection of it initially. For once, purely because of the topic, you complied. "But no, I definitely do not find it interesting", you sighed out.

"Oh, come on, Lekati...".

"Stop with the nickname", you cut her off with a roll of your eyes. However, instead of earning the quick nod of confirmation to follow your exasperated order, the dark-haired women grinned. Perhaps if it was anyone else than Shuri, you would've been irritated and sent them out of your office, but concerning you viewed her more as a friend than a simple job partner, you did neither when her teasing continued.

"Has the dog really gotten that much under your skin?" She chuckled. "Must be the first one... ever. Or correct me if I'm wrong?" You simply dropped your head and shook it. The young women were right and she knew she was. Steven was the sole one able to make you nearly lose your footing ever since claiming the crown of the underworld.

"Why couldn't he just stay put?" You mumbled under your breath, thumb smoothing out the wrinkles having settled between your brows. "We'd never heard of him before. Why decide to make himself known now all of a sudden? After years of silence?"

"Some men seek the satisfaction of bringing entities down, especially if they ruled it before and now it's overtaken by a woman", you looked up at Shuri. But instead of meeting her gaze, your eyes fell to the piece of paper she held up. Evidently, she'd plucked your Cartier pen and a sticky note from the stack always resting on your desk and written three letters on the piece of paper while you spoke. You, it stood on it.

"Thank you for the flattery", you replied, reaching forward to snatch the note from her. "But I would've prefered if Rogers hadn't, would spare me the task of crushing his ego", the brown-eyed women chuckled at that.

"Maybe he needs to take yours down a step or two too", you stood from your chair as she said this, dropping the slightly crumpled note you'd taken from her into the bin under your desk, then starting to head towards the mirror you had in your office.

"I don't have an ego. I simply know my self-worth".

"Sounds a lot like you're bordering on narcissism", she said in a sing-song voice. "Maybe you and his pride can go on a date. I bet they would rule New York happily ever after", you couldn't suppress a chuckle at Shuri's words, whether you wanted to show how absolutely hilariously unbelievable it was or not.

"Can't your brother come and save me from your antics?" You muttered, spotting the smile the genius behind you sported in the mirror. It was meant for her to hear, so you weren't shocked when she responded to the banter.

"I actually prefer his absence. The two of you together nearly drown me in the seriousness", Shuri complained dramatically. You amusedly rolled your eyes before settling to look at your chosen attire.

Compared to how far away you stood from tradition in the godfather's senses, it was one custom you fulfilled like the rest of them. You believed that the clothes made the man. And, for a meeting like the one you soon would go to, you didn't hesitate to strive for that effect.

You knew Steven was old fashioned. Everything he did cried it. So, of course, you would try to throw him off at every point you could. The skirt and dress were switched out for a suit, midnight black. It was a loose fit and probably matched the high-end fashion more than traditional meeting standards, but you didn't genuinely worry. You were here to show you are the new generation and wouldn't budge because you were the sole women in New York running a syndicate. Doing the best job at it as well.

However, if the man you would meet would frown upon women in a suit, the lace bodysuit, black as well, you wore instead of a dress shirt would probably give him a heart attack. It covered enough but were in no way domesticated and left the upper part of your chest bare. It was a great way to show off the two thin chains of gold decorating your neck.

For some reason, your eyes lingered on the golden metal shining from the light trickling into your office. You started to fiddle with the necklace then, concentrating on how they weren't cold but rather heated up from your body temperature.

You became lost in your own world, fingers splaying over the hollow in your throat to absentmindedly play with the chains there while you thought about the meeting that was rapidly coming closer.

The action, together with the far-away look you stared at your movement in the mirror, was something that caught Shuri's attention.

"Relax", instantly your eyes flickered up to watch her in the mirror's reflective surface as if snapped from a daze. She'd shifted, so she now sat on the front of your desk, head turned in your direction. "It'll go good".

"Wasn't it you who said that you didn't want me to meet him in the first place?" You began to challenge her words of reassurance, hand falling from your skin to instead hang by your side. Not until you'd turned and cocked your brow at her did you continue. "That must insinuate you don't think it will go good", she simply shrugged when you said this.

"I did say I don't like his sudden call for a conference and that you accepted it in the first place", she began, crossing her feet at the ankle and looking down at the movement momentarily before her gaze found yours once more. "But that doesn't mean I don't think it will go good. I know it will. You're good at your job", you smiled at that. You already knew that you worked great under pressure, or else you wouldn't be standing on top of the empire you ruled. Although, it was always comforting to hear it from someone else.

Fittingly, in the next second, a knock on your door echoed in the room, effectively putting an end to your previous conversation with the women perched on your desk.

"Enter", you called without hesitating, as soon as both your and Shuri's attention also turned to the entrance. The guard stationed outside of your room didn't need to inform you of who'd wanted to enter. You already knew it was T'Challa. And as the guard opened the heavy door to your office and held it open for whoever had requested it, indeed it was Shuri's brother stepping through the doorway.

You didn't more than slightly tip your head to acknowledge the guard's nod of respect your way before he closed the door. Primarily because you spotted the slate grey folder the older of the children of T'Chaka held. It was the call about the seemingly insignificant object being completed that had interrupted the earlier discussion you, Shuri and T'Challa had. Your assemblage hadn't been much more than some minor last discussions and to wait for the folder the man now walking through the room held. Thus the portfolio contained a report, the ultimate attempt of finding anything that could aid you in the meeting with Steven.

"Anything good?" You skipped the unnecessary greetings as you gestured to the portfolio in T'Challa's hand while walking closer to your desk, which also was where he was heading.

"Look for yourself", when he said this, the brown-eyed mad held out the folder for you to take. You did but didn't open it until you'd rounded the counter and sat down in your chair again.

You didn't know what you'd expected to meet you, but a photo and a single sheet of paper weren't it.

For a moment, you stared at the picture resting on top of the report underneath it. Presumably, it should've been a photo of Steven sitting in some club. Although it was blurry and had no great exposure, which made it impossible to tell much about his appearance. Still, you knew it was him or else the picture wouldn't be here. However, it did nothing to help you paint a picture of the man which name so far seemed to be faceless.

Putting the picture to the side, you quickly started to eye the document. You scanned it, finding it contained random facts citing what properties the Canine boss had invested in, even owned. Apparently, Steven managed several clubs, which would explain why his first suggestion of a meeting place had been just that. Other than that, he owned some other businesses that wasn't much to cheer for. All infected by alcohol and drugs by the looks and names. Classical.

"This all?" You finally questioned after turning the sheet over, finding the backside blank. When glancing up, you saw T'Challa nodding. You clenched your jaw and looked back down at the paper.

Ever since Steven had asked for an official meeting, between your eyes only, as his message had been clear to state, you'd requested for the siblings to find out whatever they could about him. You wanted the advantage you knew he couldn't get over you. Thus, what was publicly known of you wasn't anything to hide. And frankly, he was more than welcome to read the articles that had written things about you. Yet, every secret of yours, or anything you'd deemed unfitting for anyone to know, had been wiped. No one could ever find something about you that you didn't want on the internet. Though, it seemed you weren't the only one sitting on resources like that.

Albeit the "new mob boss" was discussed in several articles, Steven's name had no face in any of them. In general, there was no picture of him or much information to track him down by either. So, despite your best efforts, now it seemed you didn't have much more than your hunch to go on during the meeting.

"I do not think it's wise to meet him", T'Challa said, much like his sister had earlier. With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, fingers releasing the paper you'd gripped to pinch the bridge of your nose instead.

"Neither of you wants me to meet him, do you?" At first, silence met you, which made you look up the sibling pair. They shared a glance before Shuri turned slightly to look at you and her brother crossed his arms.

"No", they said simultaneously, which made you huff.

"I may like it as little as you two, but it put a temporary pause to the conflict. And if he comes to accept my terms, maybe that will remain".

"And what if he doesn't?" T'Challa inquired, receiving a frown from his sister, while you simply tilted your head down to look at your watch. "What if he refuses to tuck tail?" He continued to push.

"He won't", you stated, rising up from your chair, handbag now in your grip. It was three minutes until your driver would be here, so you needed to start heading down to the spot he would pick you up in. Yet, you were stopped in your tracks by a hand gripping your upper arm lightly.

"But what if?"

"T'Challa!" Shuri hissed at the unrespectful way her brother insisted on having his questions answered. She'd shot up from where she up until now had remained seated but before she could drag the man staring down at you with insistent eyes away, your raised the hand of your free arm. It stopped the younger women's movement, merely making her watch you and T'Challa.

There was a reason the siblings were able to run their tech operation as smoothly as they did. They complemented each other. What one lacked, the other possessed. For example, Shuri may own the belief everything was possible, then naturally, her brother would be more cautious. As in this instance. Hence, you didn't take any great offence to the dark-haired man's action, despite that your aloof tone could imply such a thing.

"What if he doesn't accept my deal after having me listen to whatever godawful settlement he offers me? Then I've kept my promise on meeting him for the parley he requested and one, which in the end, unfortunately, didn't establish an accord. Henceforth, our war will continue", you said, instantly feeling how T'Challa's hand fell from holding you back. Yet, you didn't pursue your track to the pick up you already was late for. Not until you assured him of one last thing.

"Let me remind you that he was the one that asked me for a meeting, not the other way around. He asked me for a temporary truce and a chance to negotiate. In the end, that shows who's the most desperate to settle an agreement, no matter the terms".

Translation:

Lekati = Kitten

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gilded-green · 3 years ago

Note

In celebration of the 10th anniversary, I’ll probably reread GG and send updates/highlight areas and as for commentary. Probably XD

But first. What aspect of Gilded Green was your favorite? What was something you put in a lot of world building for but never got to show either in fic or on tumblr. Who is your favorite character and why, what makes them special in your eyes? Which character has turned into a completely different one as soon as you started writing them? Which part of the fic did you like most when you finished it, do you still like it? Similarly, which part do you dislike most?

Lasty, anything about gg2’s story you want to share/talk about/rant?

-love, the dai li fangirl

Haha, no pressure! But at the same time yes if you do feel free to send me passages for commentary here! <3

What aspect was my favorite? Hmmm. *thinking face* I think, when I first came up with it, I was just thrilled to have these two small things - minor character Lu Ten, overlooked villain organization Dai Li - that I was able to combine into something so big. That was pretty nifty!

As I started developing the story, I think what really caught my attention was the fact that “Wow, all these characters are awful people!” Like. The Dai Li aren’t good.The Fire Nation aren’t good. Lu Ten is a victim but also an oppressor. All off these people have extremely different beliefs and worldviews - Fire supremacist, police state enforcers, classist academic gatekeepers - and all of them think THEY’RE in the right here and none of them are. I think Tien and Hoang might be the only people with a decent, non-oppressive worldview in the story so far. XD I was growing out of the storytelling trope of black-and-white morality at the time, so it was really fun to start experimenting with writing awful people as enjoyable, sympathetic characters.

World building? Hmm. I was just learning how to use my worldbuilding muscles back then. I seem to remember reading up a lot on how brainwashing actually works in the real world and going “I don’t think this is compatible with what we have in ATLA” and just kinda tossing that whole thing out. XD I also recall looking up a lot of stuff for the bits about Jouin, some of which - kalua pig! - has since shown up again in WFFD. I also recall someone on FFdotnet at the time saying “All this chapter did was tell us more about a dead character than the living one” and I was just kinda like -_- yes because he is DEAD and this is your chance to feel sorry about that, we’ll get plenty more of the living one later on account of him still being, y’know, alive. XD

Oh, and Shirong’s personal side projects. I finally got into that a bit in A Meeting of Minds, but the dude DOES have his own stuff going on, which Delun so rudely interrupted to drag him off to see Long Feng about brainwashing a Firebender.

I also did a bunch of research for the birthday party interlude, I think. Mostly appropriate alcohol for such an occasion? And....okay, this’ll sound funny, but.....food containers. I wanted Fen to pack up leftovers for Suyin and Shirong. That’s what my Italian family does after get-togethers, and I assumed that a Chinese family/friend group would do the same! But I also had, like, zero exposure to everyday Chinese life, let alone everyday Chinese life in the 1800s, and I just didn’t have the...idk, cultural osmosis? to figure it out. Like, if you asked me how Victorians would transfer food I’d probably come up with “Idk, wrap it in cloth and stuff it in a basket?” and I assumed people living in modern China would also be able to explain what their people did for food storage/transport 150 years ago but I didn’t have that cultural background, now, did I??? Also this was 10-12 years ago I was looking this up, mind you, the internet was still very different, there was plenty of information on Chinese historical events but not on everyday life objects, CDramas weren’t easy to find if they were translated at all and I certainly didn’t know they existed, and no one was posting beautiful aesthetic videos of life in a rural Chinese mountain village to youtube yet. Eventually I learned that bamboo baskets were a thing, but there wasn’t much info on THOSE either and I wasn’t sure how to describe them, so I just tentatively typed “basket” and called it a day. XD

YOU CANNOT ASK ME TO CHOOSE MY FAVORITE CHARACTER THAT’S LIKE ASKING ME TO CHOOSE BETWEEN MY CHILDREN!!! *shoves Yong off a cliff*

I’m very fond of the Dai family, along with the Trungs and Sais. I’m very proud of how Tuan turned out. I adore Yuan, who you’ve barely met, and Xun, who you haven’t. Huang and Wu Sheng are also definite faves and I can’t wait for y’all to get to know them better.

Characters do usually behave for me in terms of personality development. They surprise me, but they never really turn out to be the complete OPPOSITE of what I was expecting? They just kinda develop organically. Huang and Wu Sheng surprised me, tho, those boys got deep. I knew they had the potential, but developing their backstory actually caused Stingrae and I to develop Ba Sing Se’s socio-political backstory and Long Feng’s rise to power, all because of an inkling I had. That was a very satisfying few years of worldbuilding and story development.

Um, favorite part of the fic....idk, I’m very fond of the final scene, with Azula and her wall chunk from Lu Ten. I’m doubly fond of it because of how it always resonates with readers. Heck, during Azula week last year, I used that chunk of rock as an ongoing theme in Sandstone, and someone commented like “I DIDN’T REALIZE YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WROTE GILDED GREEN” and that made me really happy!

Lu Ten’s time stuck underground - I used the seven stages of grief to get through that one and it was very helpful in structuring that part of the story, and I figured it was deep or something because PSYCHOLOGY.

I’m also proud of myself for getting through the dark brainwashing scenes. So, like, FYI, fanfiction could get...very dark, back in the 00s. People love to play purity police these days and complain about how nasty people get can, but listen. Listen. Do you have any idea how dark FFdotnet got back in the day? Legolas And Aragorn Get Captured By Orcs And Brutally Tortured was an entire genre. I feel like torture fic was actually a lot more common back then, and darkfic in general - I’m sure someone could write a whole thesis on why it’s not so prevalent anymore, I’m gonna guess the fact that fandom is less-insulated and more public now could be part of it, maybe also the fact that the internet is more social media/influencer culture based so people care about their image, and also the purity police which is its own kettle of worms, but I also think that the Bush Administration had something to do with it? You have all these kids who were pre-teens when 9/11 happened, growing up during the Iraq War with an awful presidential administration while everyone was scared and conservative Christianity started to realize that their control over the nation’s “morality” might be slipping and reacted accordingly......yeah there was a lot of darkfic back then.

And I read a lot of darkfic too, but, uh....well, statistically speaking, a lot of writing is bad, okay? A lot of those fics were just weird; you could see where the writer had this idea, and also where they failed to execute it in a way that resonated or made sense. And whatever, writers were young and just wanted to pound out some catharsis, it’s cool, but it still just felt narratively awkward when you could tell how the writer was more focused on LET’S MAKE THIS AS DARK AS POSSIBLE instead of “Let’s tell this as well as possible.”

So the first several attempts at writing the brainwashing scenes, I was nervous because I didn’t want to get TOO dark, and when I finally decided “eff it” and said to Stingrae “I think I need to let this be as dark as it needs to be” I was still nervous because I didn’t want it to end up WEIRD. Idk if that makes sense, but anyway I seem to have done a decent job at it!

As for parts I dislike the most, uhhhhh Iroh’s retreat (I didn’t care, I just wanted to get it over with), Enlai might’ve been promoted too fast? idk, the fact that I came up with Nanyue AFTER I finished publishing GG so I couldn’t work that into the Quy bits, the fact that I was young and innocent and didn’t understand sexual slang or innuendo and randomly chose Dong as the name of the court physician which could lead to some awful puns except no one ever seemed to pick up on that and maybe I’ll regret pointing it out but the man IS going to appear again so I might as well get the first shot in myself. XD

I might have GG2 stuff to talk about but not sure, if I do I’ll make another post on that!

#GG tumblr escapades #GG 10th anniversary

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faulty-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Warning: Mentions of Big Brother Like Utopia.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: ProHero!Inasa Yoarashi x TimeTravel!Reader

[ Okay, so this is a prompt from @bnhabookclub I normally don’t do syfy, time travel like AU’s. But, I actually had an idea for this. Partly inspired by the song Future Girl, Retro Style by I Hate This Place.]

[ What happens when you feel as though you don’t fit in your world? Where quirks are overanalyzed and you’re placed into careers based on what the government thought your quirk was most suited for? Where you can only become a Hero if you were among the lucky selected? Where advances in technology are beyond your imagination and where time travel exists? What happens when you decide you’d rather live in the past? ]

You couldn’t handle this lifestyle anymore. Most would think this perfect parallel dream world was better than anything your imagination could possibly dream up. It was something only novels from the past described. In your world, amongst the already vast wonders such as quirks, daily space travel, robotic limbs, brain enhancement chips, and virtual reality. Teleportation was the most recognized and beneficial device.

You just had to scan your identification bracelet, select where you in the world or solar system you’d like to go before stepping into the teleporter, then off you went. When the teleportation device was first invented, it was hidden from the public for fear that it would be abused. However, as they perfected the rules and regulations for it. They slowly released it for public use and time travel followed shortly after thanks to various quirk users who helped bring the device to life. Essentially time travel and teleportation are similar, in fact, the only difference was one teleported you to a location while the other a destination.

Those who purchased time travel tickets were given strict rules and were fairly warned of the limitations they had to abide by in the past. No changing historical events, no trying to meet your past relatives, no using your future technology during your stay. However, each time travel participant was tracked through their bracelet which had a clock that counted down and when your time was up, it would admit an electrical discharge that would send you back to the future

Sounds wonderful, right? To most, but you never felt as though you belonged in your time. Given most think it’s magical. You had gotten a brain chip when you were small, which both improved your intelligence and acted like the modern-day internet. It could search, offer suggestions, tell you your location and match up an identification when you laid your eyes upon a stranger. When you had first gotten your quirk, however, one that allowed you to project electrical-like holographic images.

It had caused your bracelet to malfunction and as a result, your hand had gotten damaged. Your parents had the option of allowing you to undergo surgery. But, it was unsure if your quirk ability would be affected because of it. There was a chance your quirk wouldn't even work with your damaged hand, in addition, the doctor’s determined your quirk was not applicable enough to be placed into an actual career that would be useful. Perhaps theater and special effects.

So your parents opted out for a robotic hand, somehow you still hated them for that. At least you could still project your quirk out of your other hand. All in all, you were someone who tended to stay away from others, and while all quirk users were required to go to mandatory training. You were a different case and had gotten transferred to special training which was often reserved for those that had a quirk disability. These training sessions were put in place to determine what your occupation would be in the world.

If you had a healing quirk, you'd go into healthcare. If your quirk dealt with water abilities, you would have the option of choosing one of the many ocean-based occupations. If your quirk happened to give you the ability of speed and strength you were either reserved for careers that required physical labor or you had a chance at becoming a Pro Hero. It was silly. Analyzing quirks to such an extreme, but as the world advanced and villains became more cunning, violent, and threatening.

The government decided to start a program that would divide quirk users and from there they would select the strongest and most promising to defend our world. That being said, even if your quirk was strong you never had the desire to become a hero. However, you had read that once long ago. Young quirk users had the choice to go to various schools that would train them to become great heroes. You always imagined how nice that would be, having somewhat of a free will to do with your quirk as you pleased.

Maybe that's why you felt as though you never fit in, and as of late, your thoughts were starting to keep you up at night. Which is what finally led you to make a dangerous decision. You managed to stow away on a supersonic time machine. It was similar to a train though trains of yesteryear had long since ceased to exist. Those on the machine would have assigned seats that were labeled with the year and date they wanted to travel to. When the machine reached a certain speed, it would generate enough power to create a rift and send everyone to their destinations.

You weren't sure what year you wanted to go to, however, you had done some studies and at the last moment, made the choice to travel to the time where hero students still went to a physical classroom and Pros were still ranked. Which was rather silly. Still, given the fact you did not purchase a ticket. Your biometric signature was not registered, which meant you wouldn't appear in any location in particular. It would be randomized, but you didn't think it would result in you falling through the sky.

You screamed out and your body swirled and flipped around, unable to control anything. Your arms and legs flailed, hands reached out and fingers parted as if trying to grab onto gravity itself in order to stop. But alas that wasn’t possible, you could see the tall buildings of what you assumed to be Tokyo, and shouts echoed from the citizens below. Your heart was racing, dread filling you as you quickly realized there was no way you'd make it out of this alive.

Go figure, you finally escaped your time only to end up dying. Life was a bitch. You swallowed, feeling your tears float through the air before you covered your face. Just waiting for the impact of the ground, but instead, you felt the wind current change. It was gentle and seemed to carry you. "Hm?" you slowly lowered your hands, gasping as you found yourself floating. Swirls of wind surrounding you and for a moment you felt safe.

You looked down at the crowd of people, all of them in as much awe as you. But when a laugh pierced through the air, you turned your head. You could tell it was a male and your eyes widened as you saw them come into view. They were tall, your chip analyzed them to be approximately six feet, seven inches. They had dark hair, though it was shaved. They wore an enthusiastic smile and their outfit was rather strange. Clad in colors of red and white. He had a furry collar around his neck and short sleeves.

He looked to have a strange glove on his right hand that hooked into a device strapped to his shoulder and a long cape flowed behind him. "YOU BEST BE CAREFUL." he bellowed and you winced at the volume of his voice. Sheesh, could the guy talk normally? Well, it didn't matter. You were more or less happy when you finally reached the ground, though you pressed a hand to your chest. Taking a deep breath to calm your racing heartbeat. That underline feeling of fear slowly disappearing as the man approached you.

You trembled a bit as he laid his hand on your shoulder, "Are YOU alright?" he asked and honestly, you could only shrug in response. The truth was you weren't sure, your trip to the past had been successful. But you didn't know where you were, you had a rough idea of the year. That is if you had exited the machine at the correct moment. "I'm fine…" you replied before looking around, you could hear the crowd shouting and cheering. The name "Gale Force" was repeated over and over again and you could quickly assume one thing.

Your chip offered to search the name for you, but you refused, the direct approach would be better. "Are you a hero?" you questioned and he seemed to get some amusement from your question. "OF COURSE. Please, call me Gale Force!" he said before bowing and you stumbled back as his head collided with the pavement. Your eyes widened at the action and your chip went through suggesting possible mental disorders Gale Force might have.

But you quickly silenced your chip and cleared your throat, reaching up to tug at your shirt before you noticed something. A gasp left your lips as you saw there was a tear in the artificial skin of your robotic hand. Underneath revealed the gray surface and a few small wires that looked damaged, was that from the electrical discharge of the machine? "Hm?" Gale Force stood back up, tilting his head as he noticed you were staring at your hand with great intensity.

“Is SOMETHING the MATTER!?” he questioned and once more you winced at the volume of his voice. “Uh...nothing.” you insisted, hiding your hand behind your back. However, it didn’t seem like he was buying it and stepped closer. “Are you SURE?” his eyes scanned you as your foot kicked up dirt. “Well…” you were a little hesitant to show him, the rules of your time echoed through your head. But, if you planned to stay in this time. Did it really matter?

He watched as you took a deep breath and slowly showed him your hand, he looked confused until he leaned closer. A gasp sounded from him as he noticed the metal underneath your skin. “W-What is WRONG with your hand!?” he exclaimed, and you looked away. A small amount of fear filling you, how were you going to explain the fact you had artificial skin over your robotic hand? Did they have robotic limbs in this time?

You weren’t sure, though his reaction wasn’t as bad as you expected. A faint blush painted your cheeks, you felt a little embarrassed and scared. But regardless, your chip provided different scenarios for you, what you could possibly say or do if the situation went haywire. But you didn’t want to listen to any of it and instead, put on a brave face. “I...have a robotic hand, the skin you see…” you paused and pulled at it, “is nothing more than silicone refinement fused with epidermal stem cells to give the appearance of real skin but still remain flexible enough to-” you paused when you saw the confused look on his face and rubbed the back of your head.

“Uh, it’s like a sleeve to protect it from damage.” might as well cut to the chase, as soon as you spoke those words, Gale Force’s eyes lit up. “AH!” he began, “I see, that’s INTERESTING! I did not know such a THING existed!” you almost wanted to chuckle, in this time they didn’t...yet. “Yeah well...it’s not too damaged but,” you grabbed at the skin once more, taking a look around. You frowned and slowly pulled the skin off, revealing your small metal fingers.

Gale Force’s jaw dropped as he watched you wiggle them, “Some of the wires got damaged.” you said, pointing to the palm of your hand. “Hm?” Gale Force stepped behind you, hand to his chin as he looked over your shoulder. An easy task when he already towered over you, “Hm, AH YES! HATSUME would know how to fix IT!” he declared with one arm raised and you jumped away from him, he went from quiet to loud in a matter of seconds. It was a little annoying.

But you blinked, “Hatsume?” you repeated, your chip searching the name. “YES! Hatsume, she is a rather well-known hero support agent! She is VERY intelligent and GIFTED. Surely she will FIX your hand in no time. Come!” he insisted before reaching out to take your hand, you tried to protest but it seemed like Gale Force was determined to help and there was very little you could do to stop him. He talked the whole time as he guided you to Hatsume’s workshop, though you drowned most of what he said out.

You were too fascinated with taking in the sights around you. A certain sense of nostalgia hit you and it made you smile. There were heroes depicted everywhere and a sense of freedom was in the air. “HERE WE ARE.” Gale Force declared and you snapped out of your thoughts, turning to see a large workshop. You could hear commotion coming from inside and looked back to Gale Force, “Is it safe to go inside?” Usually, you could repair your robotic hand in an instant, all you had to do was place your hand into a cylinder scanner which would take a 3-D x-ray.

Effectively determining the problem before repairing it, which only took a moment. But, you were going to a repair shop instead? How interesting. Gale Force smiled at you, “YES!” he responded, almost a little too happy for your taste. You frowned before looking at your hand once more, a small spark was coming from the wires and you sigh. “Alright.” you squeezed his hand before actually registering you were still holding it.

A blush came to your cheeks, “Uh …” you said, effectively catching his attention. “Yes?” he questioned with a bright smile and you loosened your grip on his hand. “You’re still, you know …” you said, pointing at your conjoined hands. He glanced down, “Oh!” he exclaimed before laughing, “Your hand must be too precious to let go of! SORRY!” he released his hold, though you could see a faint blush on his cheeks as well before he reached up to adjust his hat.

He cleared his throat and walked to the large metal door, you shivered at the eerie sound of it squeaking as he pushed it open. “HATSUME!” he bellowed and you swallowed before quickly walking behind him. Curiously looking around, there were various tables covered in tools and scraps of metal, even some things that looked to be half-finished inventions. It was like a robot’s worst nightmare, you shivered and turned your attention to the sound of humming.

“Hm?” you blinked and looked past Gale Force to see a woman, she was short and had long pink colored dreadlocks. She was covered in oil and what looked to be soot. She was dressed in a baggy tank top and sweatpants with unusual footgear, the pads of which glowed. You reached up to tap your chin, was it an inferior hover device? That was the only thing you could come up with, however, your thoughts were cut short when you heard Gale Force speak.

“Ah! HATSUME! I have something that could use YOUR AID!” you blinked, did he really have to say it like that? The girl spun around and you jumped as soon as you saw that enthusiastic, almost crazy look on her face. Her eyes were unique though, it was almost hypnotizing how yellow they were. “WHAT IS IT!? A new project!? Do YOU NEED a NEW WEAPON!?” she questioned and you quickly came to the assumption that her and Gale Force were close friends.

He laughed at her words and you gasped as he reached back and pulled you in front of him. “My FRIEND uh,” he paused and looked down at you, his hands firmly on your shoulders. Oh right, you didn’t tell him your name. Even though you should have, “Y/n.” you replied and he smiled, “Y/N! Needs their hand repaired!” he said, taking it upon himself to hold your arm up. The girl known as Hatsume seemed to be overjoyed and in a flash, she was in front of you.

You jumped back, hitting Gale Force’s chest. “It’s alright!” he assured as he dropped his hands from your shoulders. “HATSUME is quite EXCITABLE! But she means no harm! We are friends and we BOTH wish to HELP OTHERS!” he explained and you groaned, they were both so loud. “I see…” you responded before watching Hatsume grin. “Uh…” was it strange to feel uncomfortable with someone’s smile? You didn’t have much time to ponder the question before the girl grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward, her eyes scanning your hand up and down.

“WOW!” she chuckled, “I’ve never seen one crafted like this before!” you wanted to groan but instead, you shrugged. “Uh, yeah...it’s a new model.” you lied, obviously you couldn’t tell her it was from the future. “Hm? What’s THIS?” she questioned as she tugged on the skin that you had decided to remove. It still dangled from your robotic hand, bunched up at your wrist. “Uh, that’s a-” Gale Force interrupted you, “A SKIN COVER! Quite impressive, huh!?” he said as he crossed his arms, a big smile on his face.

“Ohhh, very INTERESTING. But…” for a moment her expression turned dark and before you could register her actions, she had already grabbed the skin and tore it off in one go. You gasped, “HEY!” she didn’t seem to care much for the fact you had screamed at her, “There, now I won’t have anything in my way.” you narrowed your eyes. Were all people from the past like this? Well, perhaps you were overreacting. It was nice to be face to face with someone that was willing to fix your hand.

“Now,” Hatsume pulled her signature goggles over her eyes and rotated your hand, “Ah! I see.” she said as she pointed to the palm, “I can fix those wires in a jiffy!” she said as she leaned away, her head turning back and forth. “Now where did I put that thing…” she muttered to herself before walking off, you frowned and turned to look at Gale Force who just continued to smile. As if telling you everything was going to be okay.

Guess he was right, though you were a little nervous when Hatsume insisted you sit on one of the work tables to properly repair your hand. You were more than certain the abused scraps of metal would jump you at any moment and it had taken a few hours for Hatsume to properly fix the wires, but you were grateful when she was done. The past was very interesting and you smiled as you moved your fingers, Hatsume even placed a metal cover over the wires to ensure no further damage.

You were still upset she had ruined your skin, perhaps you could learn to do without it. “So …” you began, lowering your hand as you turned your attention to Gale Force. “Hm?” he looked at you, the curious expression on his face was almost cute. “What’s your name?” you held your hand up, “I know Gale Force is your hero name,” you said and he smiled, “YES! Do you not HAVE one as well!?” you jumped at his question, your eyes wide and an almost hurt expression formed on your face.

You looked down, your hands curling into loose fists. “I...I-I’m not assigned to be a hero,” you said, before covering your mouth. Damn it! Why did that of all things come out of your mouth? Gale Force looked concerned at your words, his eyebrows lowered in an almost suspicious glance. You shivered and kept walking, of course, he wouldn’t understand. “Assigned?” he repeated before he raised his fist in the air. “But ANYONE can be a hero! You must BELIEVE that!” your eyes widened, “Anyone.” you whispered before squeezing your eyes shut.

“Not me. I never wanted to be a hero.” it was mostly due to your quirk, but even if you had a quirk that was impressive. You doubted you’d want to risk your life for people that didn’t appreciate it, for the world you felt like you didn’t belong in. Yet, despite the fact you had only been in the past for a couple of hours, you could already tell the people were accepting. Something you hadn’t experienced in your own time. Gale Force frowned, he wanted to ask you why. But given your reaction, he thought it best to leave it be.

“Inasa.” he said and you turned your head, “Hm?” you looked confused. “My NAME is Inasa! We didn’t PROPERLY introduce ourselves DID WE?” he extended his hand out to you. “Uh, I suppose not,” you replied, hesitantly taking his hand. You cried out as he enthusiastically shook his arm, making you stumble and your free hand reached out for his chest. “Oh!” he blinked and released your hand, a blush coming to his cheeks.

“FORGIVE ME!” he said and looked like he was about to bow again. But, you stopped him with a quick, “I forgive you, just don’t bow!” and while he looked surprised, he nodded. “OKAY! I just don’t want to be rude to you or lose a valuable new friend!” your eyes widened, “Y-You want to be my friend?” you could feel your face light up and gasped when his hand wrapped around yours, you had almost forgotten it was still pressed against his chest.

He smiled at you, noticing that your face was red. He reached out with his other hand, cupping your cheek. His hand felt soft and warm and it was a gentle touch that you weren’t used to. “Are you BLUSHING!?” you jumped, feeling your face grow hotter as you stepped away. “N-No.” you denied and Inasa chuckled, “Of COURSE, I want to be your friend!” you groaned, willing your cheeks to cool. ��O-Oh um, okay,” you said before shyly looking back at him.

His eyes softened as he smiled at you, “Are you hungry!?” he asked and though you found his question somewhat out of the blue, you nodded. “FOLLOW ME! I know a wonderful food cart! I believe it’s around here.” he said and you tilted your head, what was a food cart? Your chip gave you the answer, a mobile kitchen set up on the street to prepare and sell street food to passers-by. You reached up to tap your chin, “Interesting.” Inasa insisted on getting Yakitori, though you didn’t recognize the name.

It was grilled skewered chicken, easy to eat, and a good snack. You could hear Inasa happily eating his portion as you two sat down, the sun was setting and you knew you’d have to find somewhere to stay the night. Perhaps a hotel. “What’s a matter!?” Inasa questioned, yet again making you jump and your heart rate skyrocket for a brief moment. You took your hand off your chest, grateful that you hadn’t dropped your food. But you placed it into the small cardboard tray the food cart had provided and let out a sigh.

“Nothing, I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought,” you replied, your tone flat as you looked at him. He had a small bit of chicken sticking to the corner of his lips and you chuckled lightly at the sight. “Inasa…” you began, “We’ve only known each other for a couple of hours and yet, I’ve really been in your care and…” you trailed off, dropping your hands to your thighs. “You DON’T have to THANK ME!” he declared with another smile. “I was happy to help!” you nodded.

“Yes, I know but…” your hands curled into fists and you looked down, too ashamed to see his reaction when you spoke the next few words. “W-What if I told you, I...I’m not from here…” Inasa frowned at your question and a moment of silence filled the air before he spoke. “OH! Did you just MOVE HERE!?” he questioned before taking another bite of his chicken and you latched onto your lip, hesitant to tell him. But somehow you felt as though he deserved the truth.

“No, I mean I’m not from this time,” you said, wincing softly as you watched his face twist with confusion. “What?” he repeated, blinking as he tried to fully register what you had said. Your stomach twisted and an embarrassed blush came to your face. “Inasa...I…” you squeezed your eyes shut before quickly scrambling to your feet. “N-Nevermind! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said anything!” you panicked and kicked off the ground, though you weren’t sure where you’d go.

You just needed to leave, it would have been better if you said nothing. Damn it, why did you feel as though you could trust Inasa?! Well, it didn’t matter now. “Wait!” you hadn’t expected Inasa to react as quickly as he did and you felt him grab your wrist, your robotic fingers clenching as he forced you to stop. “Let go!” you demanded, “Please! WHAT did you mean!? I don’t want to hold you back, but I do want to know!” he tried to reason with you, but you shook your head.

“Inasa I shouldn’t have told yo-” before you could finish your sentence you felt your bracelet vibrate. “Huh?” you lifted your free hand, seeing your bracelet surge with electricity. Then a projection came up and your eyes widened as you saw it was the government from your time. “Y/n, identification number 03040715. You have committed the crime of an unauthorized time travel and as such, will receive the proper punishment.” your heart sank in your chest, “What!?” tears began to form in your eyes as your bracelet vibrates violently and that discharge of electricity began to circle your body.

“Y/n! What …” Inasa seemed to be in shock, both because of what he had seen and what was currently happening to you. “Inasa let go!” you demanded, there was no way to stop what was happening. But you needed him to let go and desperately began to beat your fist against his, tears streaming down your face as the electricity grew stronger.

Forming a temporal rift in time behind you, it would only stay open until your biometric signature disappeared. Once it did, that was a clear indication you were well on your way back to the future. “Y/n! What is going on!?” he demanded and you shook your head, your hair flying around like wild as you began to get pulled toward the rift. Inasa’s fingers tightened around your wrist, his knuckles turning white which made you hiss.

You choked out some inaudible words before your feet lifted off the ground, Inasa buckled his own down, his legs bending at the knee. His cape flowing with the wind that the rift was creating. You swallowed and looked at him, a faint smile on your face among the tears. “Goodbye Inasa, thank you for making the past a wonderful place,” you said before your body began to dissolve into the rift, it looked as though you were being pulled apart. But it was a normal process, yet Inasa looked terrified and continued to scream your name.

Desperately trying to pull you back, but a loud snap sounded and he stumbled over his own feet. Hitting the ground as you disappeared along with the rift. “Y/N!” he screamed before gasping, in his hand was your robotic appendage. His eyes widened before he slowly cradled it to his chest, his heart was pounding and it wasn’t often that he felt scared. But what he had just witnessed, what had just occurred. It was unexplainable, a person from another time? Could it be possible? Somehow, he wasn’t sure what to think.

He wasn’t even sure what to do and yet he felt a certain sadness fill his heart. Tears began to stream down his face as he ran his fingers over the robotic hand. “Y/n,” he whispered. “What’s going to happen to you...if you’re...back in your time!?” he wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out, but he found himself with a burning desire to save you, and yet he couldn’t. He wouldn’t even see you again, there was no chance of him figuring out a way to the future, and yet somehow he knew the feeling of guilt would weigh his heart down. “If I live to see you in the future...please...be alright,” he whispered.

#bnhabookclub #inasa x reader #inasa yoarashi x reader #yoarashi x reader #bnha reader insert #bnha fanfiction

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honeyctzen · 4 years ago

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scarred leash (prologue) - m.l

IMPORTANT: This is the prologue for my newest fanfiction and is an introductory to the main character and the themes of this story. It involves sex, bdsm, self harm and themes relating to that matter. It will also not just be sex, but have an actual story and characters falling in love. If any of this is not for you, my other works are much lighter and less “plotty”. I really hope this excites you for the rest of the story, I am very much proud of it. Thank you! - Maisie ♡

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I was sixteen when I chose to leave home without even whispering a word to anyone. Sixteen when I decided I had to go out alone into the world, to make my own way with the little experience I had gathered so far. It took a long time to map out my plan, endless days that turned into sleepless nights. I spent most of my last teenage years memorising a singular night, a night that would lead me into the next stage of my life.

My dusty countryside town was a few hours from the monumental London. I thought about the city all hours of the day, the faraway land that was London. The idea of even stepping foot in it was weird and foreign and still, it was the only place I ever wanted to go. I’d lived in one place for my entire life and rarely ever left the town, in fact I’d only left it a few times. All because of hospital trips. The idea of living away from that place was terrifying and yet, completely exhilarating. Given that back then, I’d been pretty naive to how the world works as I’d never been told of it. I wanted a nice house, nice job, maybe I would meet a nice person and we would have a nice relationship. I had come to learn as my research into London and life in general continued that it wouldn’t be that simple. Everything was complicated. If you wanted a place to live, there was several thousand procedures you had to endure. If you wanted a job, you had to have a thousand different qualifications. I thought after realising all this that my hopes of leaving were over, that was when I had begun thoroughly planning.

Through school and college I was able to obtain the qualifications I needed to move away and work in business. I knew I would have to work for a few years before I gained any sort of fulfilling job, but I had endured years of education, I understood patience. Through research I had found a small flat that I would be able to pay for with money I’d saved over the years and earnings from a job I would later procure. Life would still be difficult, I knew this. I was a young, inexperienced girl moving out to a tumultuous city, it would be dangerous. Though I had concluded long ago that dying in this new fantastical place was far better than peddling on back home, where I would die unknown, just another body in the wet dirt underneath the town church.

I knew by leaving that I was inflicting an unimaginable amount of pain upon my mother, who was as neurotic as she was suffocating. Though I understood she didn’t mean to be, I couldn’t bring myself to feel sympathy for her. My father ran, as did my older brother, leaving me and my ailing grandmother the only people she had left. I wasn’t old enough to understand why my father had just abandoned us but once I grew enough to comprehend love, pain, divorce, I got it. This town was the entire world for my mother but as I got older, she realised it wouldn’t be for me. Instead it would be a restraint.

The first time I recall my mother knowing I would be difficult is when I was eleven. I developed much quicker than most children my own age, breasts already sprouting on my chest, hair spreading over my body. There was a huge wave of name calling, little jabs at my appearance, and while I tried to ignore it, eventually it burrowed beneath my skin. That was the same year I cut myself for the first time. My fingers coiled around a pair of scissors, pressing the metal over the flesh of my arm until a litter of red scratches appeared over the pale skin. Back then, it was just a punishment, a way of controlling myself from completely losing my mind. I stopped it for a while. In natures due course, the other girls grew into their bodies and I was planted back into an unremarkable place among my peers. There was no bullying and so, I forgot about cutting myself for a couple years.

While I had physically matured much quicker than others my age, mentally, it seemed I had been halted somewhere. There appeared no reason for it but the things that my schoolmates were interested in disgusted me. When a friend first showed me porn, I remember feeling vomit rise up in my throat. A woman, bundled up with rope, a muscled, balding man arched over her. The blood curling shrieks that filled the room felt torturous. I couldn’t understand how people liked this, how they liked it enough to pleasure themselves to it. I suppose that was when my fascination with sex begun. Initially, it was hatred, a complete abhorrence for the thing, a vexation that appeared randomly and intensely. If a classmate would mention it, or describe any sort of sexual act, I felt ill. My stomach twisting uncomfortably as the boys all called out derogatory names for the women they had seen in the films and then once again, I grew to hate my body.

I was fifteen the next time I cut myself. It was much more deliberate, much more intense. I had swapped out the dull scissors, for a pocket knife a friend had gifted me. It was able to bury itself much deeper than before and immediately, with the first slice, a tsunami of relief rolled over me. Though, it was a different kind of relief than it had been those years before. I found myself thinking back to the woman I had seen in the porn, the intricate ropes that clasped themselves over her limbs, the pained screams that passed her lips. The man leaning over her figure, how his fingers gripped the flesh of her waist, how he bevelled his teeth down onto her neck until it bled. I found myself recalling each detail of the images I had seen so long ago, and I found myself cutting down into the flesh as the memories scurried across my brain.

I felt guilty afterward, an awful guilt that followed me around for weeks. But then, a boy would mention shapes they had seen in porn and suddenly, I would feel the urge to damage myself again. It spiralled quickly. So quickly that I, myself, was shocked. Instead of recalling images I had seen, I created my own imaginations. Blurred, colourless visions of violence, and sex dulling into one, all as I pulled a knife against my own skin. It continued for months, months of fantasies and cutting and by the time my sixteenth birthday hurdled toward me, I had a plethora of thick scars covering my arms and legs. Though that didn’t faze me when finally, three years after all my friends, my mother bought me a cell phone.

She would scour over the phone from time to time, checking my messages, calls, emails, and all other forms of communication. Yet, of all the applications on the phone, my mother was the most ignorant to the internet. She didn’t understand the concept of it, let alone know it was built into the mobile and so, I was able to roam free for the first time. And I roamed. My inexperience meant I didn’t know what sites to go to, nor did I know which keywords to search. The titles of the videos that came up almost seemed to be in a foreign language but after a couple of trips to the websites, I gathered the premise of each category. After locking myself in the bathroom, I would go to the sites and type in words such as bondage, submissive, sadism, pain and the things I liked would appear. Though I now understood how people looked at porn, I still didn’t understand why they touched themselves to it. Merely pushing a blade into my leg as I watched seemed to be enough. I wasn’t sure if it was sexual for me, or if it was a punishment thing as it had been when I was younger.

My understanding of my own sexuality went little further than this and my adventures on the websites dwindled until they stopped. It had grown to stop making me feel any better, and so I began inflicting more serious physical harm upon myself. The hospital visits followed soon after, as did my mother’s rantings about how unhealthy that stuff all was for me. For once, she paid attention to me. It almost felt nice, deserved. But I couldn’t hold it for long, as quite abruptly, my grandmothers health began to decline. She died a while after growing sick, and the absence of her in the house made my mother somehow more insufferable. And though we lived in the same house, it was almost as if we were separated by an unseen barrier.

I didn’t completely mind, it gave me enough solitude to go about my planning. Endless research into where I could live in London, what jobs I could obtain with the qualifications I would acquire after leaving sixth form. It took a while to find what would suit me right but after I finally latched onto it, my future suddenly felt full, meaningful almost. I now had something to look forward to, something to work toward. So, I studied harder, concentrated on the daydreams of my new life away from the idle cottage town. My grandmother had left some money to both me and my mother, more to me. I insisted I was able to tend to my own finances and after long bouts of pleading, my mother agreed. I had money, two months left at sixth form and then I could leave.

Time blurs together, memories jumbling, I can barely remember the last few months back home. But what I do recall vividly, is the night I left. I had booked train tickets the week prior and planned to stay in a hotel while I found somewhere to live. I needed to be close to the central city, I knew that much, though, not much else. I’d found a job interview for admin staff at a stockbroking company. My business a level came in handy, and my odd passion for calculations and numbers did too. If I could just get this job, if I could get that flat, I could make it.

I chose to leave during the night, climbing from my bedroom window, scuttling across the streets like a fragile hedgehog. I’d never even snuck from my house once before and the first time I was, I was doing so knowing that I would never come back. With every step I took I thought I would be caught and hauled back home by my hair. Each step further from the slanted bungalow made my heart beat a little faster until, gradually my pulse slowed, and the gentle pitter of my feet grew to calm myself. Though I didn’t feel completely secure until I passed the welcome sign to the town. But once I did, I felt a weight pulled from my stomach. A sudden notion that I had done it, I had gotten away like my father and brother did years ago, like my grandmother had in death. I was now free to do everything I had lost the chance to do through my mother’s coddling. I could drink, do drugs, have sex with an endless stream of people, work. I found myself grinning as I wandered further from town, the dishevelled map directing me toward the train station. The smile pulling at my lips until I worried they would rip. And it only widened when I spotted the station, when I saw my train, when I boarded, when the train began to drift from the docile place I had called home.

I knew that now, I was reborn, I was my own person. It had taken three years to map everything, to prepare myself for life away from the secure blanket I had been smothered with all my life. But now, it had all come to fruit. I dreamt of London on the train, my head pressed against the window, my scarred legs trembling with the thought of all the things that I could do. My chest thick, and heavy with excitement.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

London was everything I had imagined and so much more. It was larger than anything I had ever seen back home, with each building bigger than the next and thousands of vehicles filling the roads. As the train eventually rolled into the city, my eyes clasped over each detail that began to emerge. The differences of the people that wandered the streets, the warmth in the chatter that clambered through the train windows. Everything was so different, so good. I found myself smiling away as I watched from my place in the tube container, my toothy grin shining back at me in the reflection. I was finally there, finally apart of everything I had read about.

Walking the streets was even better, even more real. My feet paced the same tempo as everyone else, my body dipping between the mounds of crowd as I ambled through the roads, glancing down at the map I had printed back in my murky home. The directions were confusing, each street twisting awkwardly to the next and what should have been a five-minute walk turned into two hours of working out where I was. Though eventually, after consulting several locals, I found my way to the flat I had seen in the ad weeks ago. It was in what my mother would have called a ‘ghetto area’ but it was still much larger and greater than the street I had lived on all my life. It looked a normal house though split into three different flats, with a garden leading up to the two doors and ivy climbing up the sides of the home. I’d felt nervous to knock, I wasn’t particularly sure why. Perhaps because the person to answer could have been my future roommate but now, thinking back, I shouldn’t have been.

The person that had answered was taller than me, her gangling arms hanging low, one raised to her mouth as she nursed a cigarette. She was beautiful in an odd way, striking, her nose large and hooked, hair shorted and burnt from styling. She smiled widely when she spotted my obviously anxious face, her voice pouring out in its deepness.

‘The tenant?’ She mumbled through puffs of the intensely clouded cigarette.

‘Um, yeah.’

‘Cool, cool, yeah, sorry, come in.’ Her accent was prominent, thick and harsh but calming all at once. I smiled as I stepped into the flat, the stairs immediate at the entry. I stood beside my single suitcase, my backpack still on my shoulders, her gaze dancing across them before she turned away. She climbed them ahead of me, her feet clattering against the wooden steps and I trailed behind, eyes clinging to each detail of the walls. I wanted to take in as much as I possibly could, I wanted this to be my home, my sanctuary.

Once we stood in the depth of the flat, the girl began to speak again, pulling the cigarette from her mouth for a moment. Throwing her body onto the dusty sofa and awaiting me to sit beside her. I allowed the bag to drop to the floor, my feet pushing it further from me. My lanky limbs folded in on themselves as I perched on the seat, features impossibly too bright for the dullness of the flat.

‘You’re eighteen?’

‘Nineteen.’ I corrected abruptly.

‘Okay, you just have to be eighteen to rent, but that’s fine then,’ she said, inhaling from the stick before releasing the dense cloud into the room, ‘so, um, this is it.’

‘Um, what’s your name?’ I ask quietly.

‘Oh, shit, sorry, I’m Rose, and you?’

‘Ellie.’ I mumbled.

‘Are you the owner?’

She snickered, ‘Uh, no, my uncle is so I get a discount, barely, but, it helps. Um, he doesn’t really care who moves in but I, I do, I live here, so.’

‘Yeah,’

‘You’re not from here?’ She asked, finally pushing the cigarette into the ash tray that sat near her. The smell still strong but dissipating enough for me to open my mouth to speak.

‘No, I um, actually moved here today.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah, um, so, I’m new to this.’

‘Where you from?’

‘A little town just outside Sheffield, I, um, hated it, figured it was time to get away.’ I explained as briefly as I could, my fingers instinctively pulling on my sleeves whilst I spoke of home.

‘For a bit or are you staying here long term?’ She questioned, eyes flitting once more over the lack of things I had brought with me. It hadn’t been that I had forgot much, I hadn’t owned many things back home, not things that warranted bringing anyway.

‘Long term.’ I answered immediately.

‘And you’re gonna work here?’

‘Hopefully,’ I chuckled, ‘I have a job interview tomorrow, so, I um, I’d find work anyway, so I could pay, but,’

‘Cool, so, you want to move in then?’ She proposed, her voice soft, speaking the question as though it held no merit. My stomach churned, lips parting in another goofy smile, head nodding vigorously.

29 notes · View notes

kinkstuffig · 4 years ago

Text

Feel Me

*Soulmate AU where the injuries of your soulmate show up on your own body*

Ash glanced down at his leg. The purple stain of a bruise was slowly fading. It didn’t cause him any pain, obviously. It belonged to the person who he would love in the future. His soulmate. Who seemed to end up with random bruises fairly often and in the strangest places.

He was glad that he was the only one who could see these injuries. One of the more recent had been a black eye and swollen lip combo, as if someone had beaten him over the head with something. He felt really bad for his soulmate. They had to walk around school and everywhere with everyone else able to see. Whoever they were, these bruises weren’t something you could get by just being clumsy.

Generally, Ash didn’t really pay attention to his soulmates injuries. In the past, they had been more commonplace. A scraped knee, a paper cut, a blister or two. More recently they had been very heavy. Ash was fairly sure that his soulmate was being beaten. He wished he knew who it was so he could do something about it. No one deserved this.

A few days later

In the middle of his math class, Ash began to feel very strange. There was a tightening in his chest. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. There was something wrong happening. He could feel it. He needed to stop it but he didn’t know what it was.

Ash excused himself from class, before going to hide in the school library. Hopefully no one would find him there. The panicked feeling grew. He tapped his fingers nervously on the floor. It was nerve racking, not knowing what was going to happen.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his wrist. He nearly cried out but he bit his lip instead, tasting blood in his mouth. Raising his wrist to eye level, he saw a thin red line forming over the blue veins crisscrossing his skin.

No, he thought. No.

Another line appeared below the first, this one obviously deeper than the last. It was accompanied by a sort of burning ache.

Why, he asked himself. Why would they do this?

More lines crawled their way up his arm, beads of blood bubbling out of them.

Stop, he whispered. Please.

The line forming on his palm paused. It seemed to be deciding whether it would continue. Then it pressed deeper than the others, cleaving the skin so that it split away.

Ash closed his hand, unwilling to look at the gruesome sight. He curled up in a ball, trying to figure out what he was going to do. He attempt to block these thoughts from his mind but every time he shut his eyes or even looked down, there they were, glaring up at him like evil grins.

There wasn’t really anything he could do, was there?

He returned to his classes and when he got home, he dug around in his closet until he found an old pair of fingerless gloves. That and an old hoodie would be his attire until these scars faded. He couldn’t bear to look at the gashes inflicted on himself. Some voice in the back of his head whispered that this was his fault. He could have prevented this.

Ash pulled his black beanie down over his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He needed some rest after the night he’d had. His teacher had other plans. “Wake up, Young Man. What I’m telling you now is important. You’ll use it the rest of your life.”

Bay struggled to keep his eyes open. He was so exhausted but he really needed to pay attention. His head slumped forward but he snapped it back up again in time to see the teacher yelling at another student. This teacher was quite brutal. He felt bad for the poor soul.

But he had his own problems to worry about. “Sir?” Bay raised his hand timidly.

“What is it?” the teacher snapped, turning his frustration from the other student to Bay.

“I’m not feeling well. May I go see the nurse?”

“Oh my god!” the teacher growled. “Have you not been paying attention? I was just explaining to this young man how essential this unit is to your education. You will not survive in this world if you haven’t memorized the concept of conversions. Why don’t students ever listen to me?”

The teacher rambled on but Bay just tuned him out. It was getting more and more easy to do that with adults. Unfortunately, he was actually beginning to feel ill. In fact-

Bay stood up from his seat and quickly walked out of the room. Once in the hallway, he ran to the bathroom and was violently sick. Nothing came up but it was awful just the same.

Ash had watched the scene play out with zero emotion. He was too tired for this bullshit. Why were teachers such assholes? The teacher was now calling the office to warn teachers about a runaway student. Ash put his head down on his desk. He didn’t feel well. He could have gone to the nurse but he was too tired to deal with this shit. The teacher must have given up on forcing children to learn, because Ash didn’t wake up until the bell rang and he had to go to his next class. The world spun for a moment as he stood up but he just brushed it off. The tacos he’d had last night were probably just disagreeing with him.

Bay stood up from his spot by the toilet and immediately sat back down again. If He was too dizzy to stand up, how was he supposed to get to the nurse? He hauled himself up again and leaned on the wall until he thought he could support his own weight again. He was able to make it out to the hall when the bell rang. Passing time. The worst time to be extremely off balance and disoriented.

Bay staggered around, confused, until somebody bumped into him and he fell over. He groaned at the thought of having to get up again. He just wanted to lay down and sleep.

“Hey, are you alright?”

A boy with shaggy dark hair and a concerned expression was bending over him.

“Mmm.” Bay made an incoherent noise and shook his head. Everything was too loud and he wanted to hide in a dark room and make it all go away.

“Shh shh it’s ok. Let me help you up. I’ll take you to the nurse.” The boy with black hair reached out a gloved hand. Bay took it and was surprised at the strength used to haul him to his feel. He swayed and an arm was looked around his waist, holding him upright.

“Wow. You were not lying about being sick earlier.”

Bay made a confused face and The black haired boy explained they shared a math class. They reached the nurse’s office and the boy dropped him off. Bay was sooo happy to lie down on a cot and finally get some sleep.

The nurse shook Bay’s shoulder. “Honey, you need to get up now.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

She shook a tiny bit harder and he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Do you want to go back to class now or do you need to go home? I can call your parents if..”

“I’ll go back to class,” Bay answered quickly. He stood up quickly and swayed. The nurse pushed him back down.

“If you have a transferable disease, I’m afraid you will have to go home. Let me take your pulse.” She grabbed his wrist. He pulled away slightly and his sleeve moved, exposing a few scabs.

“Oh honey, what’s that?”

Bay yanked his hand away from her. “It’s nothing. I just fell on some glass. I’m fine. Best get going. Can’t miss human bio.” He stood up a bit more slowly and made his way to his next class as fast as he possibly could.

Ash stood in the shower, rubbing shampoo into his hair. He loved the way bubbles felt on his skin. It was a guilty pleasure of his, one which he didn’t bother to share with anyone. Suddenly he felt the panic. Though it was routine for him now, it always upset him. Today the red lines cross crossed his thighs. “No more ripped jeans for me,” he sighed. The pain was greater than usual, which was surprising since the cuts were usually deep anyway. He looked down to see his own blood swirling down the drain. At first he thought it was just part of their connection, a more intense projection of emotions. But when he ran his fingers over the cuts, blood came off on his fingers and everything stung under the water. His soulmate had cut too deep, cut into him.

Ash got out of the shower. He tried to bandage the cuts but they kept bleeding through. This was too much for him to handle. He went to bed, hoping that when he woke up, all of this would disappear.

In the morning, he’d forgotten about previous nights events until he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. There were newly healed scars from his elbows to his shoulders and scabbed over cuts from his elbow to his wrist. The cuts on his thighs were just barely shut and some were still sleeping blood. There were a few thin lines on his torso and by his ankles. There was so much destruction it hurt to look at it.

Ash dressed in some black sweats and a hoodie, hoping to hide the evidence, deceive himself again. But he couldn’t get the images out of his head. He left first period and hid in the library to cry. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this but he just couldn’t handle this anymore. He wished he could help whoever it was that felt this was necessary. He didn’t want to live seeing these everyday. Depression covered him like a blanket.

Bay limped to his English class. His leg burned but he needed to finish his essay and how was he supposed to do that in a hospital? The teacher announced they would be working in the library and Bay almost cheered. That was his favorite place to be in this school. It was very quiet and easy to concentrate. People didn’t mine if he went off in a corner to work by himself. Sometimes he’d even stay there a while a skip his other classes.

He needed another source for his essay on rare marine iguanas, so he headed to a shelf. Unlike many of the people in his generation, he preferred books over internet sites. They had a certain thing about them that made them more comfortable, familiar, and personal. As he scanned the bottom row, he saw a tuft of black hair behind a book about macaws. He turned the corner to find a seemingly familiar figure lying on the floor.

At first he thought the person was asleep but when he knelt down beside them, he saw golden brown eyes searching his face. “Hey,” he began shyly. “Remember me? Sorry I didn’t catch your name the other day. I’m Bay. Thanks for helping me. I was pretty out of it.”

The other figure, who appeared masculine, sat up scrubbing his face with his sleeve. “Don’t mention it.” His voice was strained and rough sounding. “I’m Ash.” He held out his fingerless leather gloved hand. Bay shook it.

“I know this is none of my business but may I ask what you’re doing in here? I’m supposed to be working on an essay, but it looks like you were… brainstorming.”

Ash laughed, though his eyes weren’t smiling. “You could say that. Definitely had some deep thoughts to think.” His face merged back into a frown.

Bay took a deep breath. “Do you think you could use a friend to help you think?”

“Friends are always welcome,” Ash said, smiling again.

“Great.” Bay scooched over next to Ash. “So… what is on your mind?”

“Well,” Ash looked down. “This is sort of awkward.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Bay encouraged. “You’ve already seen me in one of my worst moments.”

“I-I have a friend that hurts them self. They keep doing it often and a lot. It makes me very upset because I want to know why they feel this way. Im worried about them. I’m afraid of… what could come next.”

Bay wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. What do you tell someone when they tell you their friend self-harms? He decided the best option was comfort and he reached over to Ash and hugged him.

Ash was very surprised. He wasn’t used to getting hugs from other boys. Not that he had anything against bugs. In fact, this one felt kind of nice. He relaxed into it. Bay stopped panicking as soon as the tension drained out of Ash.

“Thanks,” Ash said, gruffly. He was starting to tear up but he didn’t want to cry again in front of Bay. “It’s very kind of you to want to help me.”

“Anything for a friend.”

“This is nice, but I really should go back to class now.” Ash pulled out of the hug. Bay felt a tiny bit emptier as Ash’s body heat left him but he tried to ignore it.

“See ya.” He gave a little wave.

“Bye.”

They both stood up, Ash preparing to leave and Bay now scanning this shelf for research materials.

Ash turned around as he reached the end of the shelf. “Hey, can I get your number?”

“Sure…” Bay’s voice trailed off. He was feeling extremely lightheaded.

“Bay?” Ash said concernedly. He ran forward to catch Bay as he fell. Ash held the unconscious boy in his arms for a second, trying to take in the situation. A kid had just passed out in the library. He should really tell an adult but he didn’t want to leave Bay unattended. The teachers were all on the other side of the library, making this the perfect place for crying and working quietly. It was not, however, the perfect place to deal with a medical emergency.

Thankfully Bay’s eyes opened a few seconds later. “W-what?” He mumbled.

Ash gently layer him down on the floor. “You just passed out. Do you remember your name and where you are? Does anything hurt?”

“I’m Bay and this is the school library. And… now that you mention it, I’ve got a killer headache.” He covered his eyes and made an uncomfortable sounding noise.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” Ash walked quickly to the water fountain and back, hoping he wouldn’t be caught. Food and water wasn’t allowed in the library, as it could damage the books and computers. Ash really didn’t want to get in trouble right now.

“Here. Drink this. it should help.”

Bay took the water bottle and sipped slowly. “It still hurts. But I guess dehydration doesn’t go away in a second.”

“Nope. Is that why you passed out you think?”

“Yea. Probably. I never drink enough water.”

“We should probably tell an adult about this, just in case it turns out to be something a bit more serious.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.” To prove his point Bay pushed himself up into a sitting position. His eyes were squinting from the pain in his head.

“Did you eat anything today?” Ash asked, wondering if there could be another possible cause for the episode, but not wanting to alarm Bay with talk of adults and doctors.

“Not yet. I never have breakfast.”

“Did you bring a lunch?”

“I forgot mine today and I don’t have money.”

“I’ll get you something.”

“It’s ok. I’m not hungry.”

“For later then.”

“No. Thanks, but really, I’m good.”

Ash sighed. This child definitely needed some calories in him but he was refusing anything Ash offered.

“Fine. I won’t get you anything.”

Bay almost sighed with relief, but then he caught himself.

“But you’re coming with me after school.”

Bay groaned.

“What? Is the prospect of going somewhere with me that undesirable?”

Bay blushed and laughed. “Never mind. See you then.”

The boys parted ways, Ash returning to a class he hadn’t left and Bay finishing his water before going to turn in some homework.

After school, the boys met in the school parking lot.

“So, I’ll follow you?” Bay suggested.

“Nope. You’re riding with me. I don’t want you to accidentally make a wrong turn. Don’t worry. I’ll bring you back here to pick up your car after.”

“Okedoke.” Bay strapped himself into the passenger seat as Ash pressed the gas.

They drove through a town which they were both familiar with and stopped at a McDonalds. Bay’s hands began to sweat. He really didn’t like ordering things at restaurants.

Ash held the door open for him and the bell chimed as they walked in. Bay looked up at the menu. There were so many choices. The words began to spin, calorie sections looming out at him.

“C’mon Bay. It’s our turn to order.” Ash grabbed Bay’s sleeve and tugged him to the counter. “I’ll have a large double bacon cheeseburger, large fries, a large soft drink, and a large McFlurry in strawberry. Bay, what do you want?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Bay muttered.

Ash mad a pouty face. “My treat?”

Bay panicked. What did they serve here anyway? He said the first thing that popped into his head. “Ummm, small fries and water please.”

“A small fries and a water it is then,” Ash beamed at the cashier.

“Coming right up,” the cashier replied cheerily. “You boys wait here.”

Why did you say that? Bay thought to himself. Stupid. Stupid. stupid. Do you have any idea how many calories are in that? Of course you do. The chart is right there idiot. And there are way too many. All that salt, all that grease. There’s nothing healthy about it.

Their food came out of the kitchen and they took it to a table. Ash bit into his burger with gusto, sauce dripping onto his face and hands.

Bay stared down at his small fries. The smell made him nauseous. Thinking about eating them made him want to throw up. He counted them. 27 small fries. 27. That was too big a number to go inside his stomach. He looked up. Ash was watching him as he chewed mouthfuls of burger. Bay picked up the smallest of his twenty seven fries. He felt the salty grease on his fingers. He put it in his mouth he didn’t want it to be in his mouth. His stomach clenched. It would refuse anything thing he put in it. Should he spit this fry out and say it was burnt? He chewed slowly. He felt the crisp outside of the fry crunch against his teeth. The soft guts of mashed potato spilled out onto his tongue. It felt wrong in his mouth. He swallowed. The potato stuck in his throat. He swallowed again. Saliva pooled in his mouth. He was going to be sick. Bay drank some of his water. The mashed up fry was now in his stomach. He could feel it. It was warm compared to the rest of his stomach’s contents, which only consisted of the water from earlier. He didn’t like the way it felt in his stomach he wanted it out. He tried very, very hard not to throw up and waited for Ash to finish eating.

Ash let out a long belch. “Braaap. Hoo! That was a lot. I think I ate too much.” He poked his belly, which was pushing out from under his hoodie.

“Me too,” Bay said quietly.

Ash looked at Bay with a confused expression. “You barely ate anything.”

Bay looked down. “I know. I wasn’t hungry today. Sorry. You can have the rest.”

“But what did you mean by-“

“Never mind.” Bay shook his head and pushed the rest of his fries toward Ash. “It’s nothing.”

“If you say so.” Ash took the extra fries but he chewed them with concern. Bay had been distant and sickly looking the whole time they’d been at the restaurant. He didn’t know Bay very well so this could have been his modus operandum but to Ash this seemed unhealthy.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Bay said,a little snappishly. A few minutes later, however,he looked even worse. “Could you excuse me for a minute? I need to use the restroom.”

“Sure. I’ll be outside in the car when you’re ready to go.”

“Thanks.” Bay flashed a weak smile before getting up unsteadily and walking quickly to the washroom.

Ash went to stand up and felt a sharp cramp in his middle. He looked down at his belly, which had definitely grown in size since the morning. He was way too full. Thinking about his new acquaintance had distracted him from his stomach’s aching until now. He didn’t feel very well.

He thought he might be sick. He hadn’t thrown up since the third grade when he’d had the swine flu and he was a little afraid of doing it again. Ash hauled himself out of the booth and went into the washroom. He wanted to be prepared, just in case. As he opened the door, he heard retching from one of the stalls. Someone else was being sick. Maybe there was something in the food that was making him feel this way.

The stall opened and Bay emerged. Feeling guilty for not waiting outside like he’d said he would, Ash his behind the door, watching through a crack. Bay washed his hands at the sink and rinsed out his mouth. He stared at himself in the mirror for a few minutes and Ash thought he say a tear trickle down Bay’s cheek. Then Bay scrubbed his face with cold water and turned to dry his hands.

Ash ran out to the car, hoping he would be in and casual looking before Bay came out. He was very worried about the boy. He must be really ill to be having all these symptoms.

Abruptly, something inside him shifted and Ash was feeling more uncomfortable than he had for a long while. He could feel everything he’d just swallowed churning in his gut, which wasn’t very happy with him. Ash thought his intestines might burst. He was really glad he hadn’t ordered dessert.

Bay sat in front of the toilet, fingers down his throat. It seemed so normal, so routine, this ritual that he practiced after every forced feeding. If only he didn’t have to do this. If only it wasn’t needed. But he deserved it. He deserved this punishment. He felt awful, both emotionally and physically.

With all his stomach’s meager contents safely in the toilet bowl, he stood up and flushed. The saliva clung to his hand in slimy strings. It was disgusting. He was disgusting. He ran his hands under the water, washing them thoroughly, and rinsed the acid taste he’d grown accustomed to out of his mouth.

Bay stared at his reflection in the dirty mirror. His lips were chubby. His arms were flabby. Even his face was fat. How could anyone bear to look at him? Why did he even bother existing? He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Being sentimental? “What a pussy. Man up, bitch ass,” he whispered to himself.

He couldn’t be caught looking like he was crying, so Bay scrubbed his face until it looked normal, took a deep breath, and walked out to the car.

As he opened the door, Bay could see the pained expression on Ash’s face. The black haired boy was hunched over, his head resting on the steering wheel. He cradled his distended belly and moaned.

“You ok?” Bay asked, already knowing the answer.

Ash shook his head, not changing position, and moaned again. “That was way too much for any rational minded person to try and fit inside their body. But of course I’m the dumbass with eyes bigger than his stomach.”

“Can I help?” Bay queried, wanting to make his new friend more comfortable.

“Got any suggestions?”

“Well,” He said tentatively, “You could always, you know, get rid of it.”

“Nah, that’s a waste of money. And I really, really don’t like throwing up.” The last sentence came out more like a whimper as an especially powerful cramp squeezed Ash’s belly. He breathed in sharply, clenching his teeth.

“Do you think a belly rub would help?”

Ash looked over at Bay, who was nervously messing with his fingers. “Why not.” Ash groaned. “It can’t make it worse.”

Bay locked the car doors and helped Ash recline his seat back. Having his tender tummy exposed to someone else’s hands was a prospect Ash hadn’t considered for his first outing with a person. Bay gently pulled the lower part of Ash’s hoodie up, revealing a very swollen, very unhappy looking tummy. It bulged out, audibly sloshing and gurgling. An angry red line ran down the center, showing how much it had stretched.

Bay placed his hands on it. They were still cold from the sink water and Ash pulled away in protest at first. Eventually, though, he pushed his hot middle into the cool soothing hands running across it. Bay’s talented fingers massaged out cramps and pressed into pockets of air, resulting in burps and embarrassed looks from Ash.

Secretly, Bay loved the feeling of the taught, feverish skin against his fingertips. the elastic give of human skin was fascinating to him. Occasionally he would playfully poke the belly, gaining surprised yelps from its owner.

Eventually, Ash’s belly had calmed down enough that it wasn’t drowning out their conversation with it’s gurgling and Ash’s pain was tolerable.

“So, did we learn a lesson about overdoing it today?” Bay asked playfully.

“I know I did,” Ash laughed. “But I can’t promise I won’t have to learn it again.” He paused and became a bit more serious. “What about you?”

“What about me?”Bay was suddenly wary.

“I heard you in the bathroom. Are you sick?”

“No.” Bay bit his lip.

“Tell me the truth.” Ash really cared about his new friend. He knew something wasn’t right and he wanted to help him.

“I promise, I’m not sick,” Bay said, his face unreadable. “At least, not in the conventional way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ash demanded.

“You can’t really drive right now,” Bay said, changing the subject. “Would you rather I drive you home and you take me back to school tomorrow or I drive you to school and you chill out there until you’re feeling better.”

Ash frowned. He could tell Bay was avoiding the subject and he knew he could get it out of him. “You didn’t answer my question. And why couldn’t we go to your house?”

“Well, you didn’t answer mine either.”

“I asked first.”

Bay shoved Ash over into the passenger seat. “Your house it is then. Address please?”

“Not until you answer my question.”

“My dad’s home. Address please?”

“Huh?”

“I answered your question. We can’t go to my house because my dad’s home. Address?” Bay was becoming visibly unsettled. Ash knew he really didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that was bothering him.

“I’m not done with this,” Ash said quietly, before telling Bay the address.

A few minutes later, the car pulled into the driveway of a one-story brick house in a residential neighborhood. It was small, but the bursting garden and light catchers in the window made it cozy and homelike.

“Nice flowers,” Bay commented. He could smell the blooms without rolling down his window.

“It’s my mom’s thing. She likes crafts and projects. Gives her something to do. Keeps her from being bored.” Ash hauled himself out of the car. He could walk on his own and the food was settling, but his large belly was unmissable.

They walked to the porch and Ash opened the door. “Hey Mom, I’m home,” he called as he stepped inside, beckoning for Bay to follow him.

A chubby lady, seeming to be in her late forties and with a multitude of blonde curls came running towards them. She hugged Ash, probably a bit too tightly as his face changed color for a few seconds, and then stepped back. “Honey, you’re home kind of late. Anything you want to tell me?”

“Mom, this is my friend Bay. I took him out to a late lunch and brought him over to hang out. We left his car at the school so is it ok if he stays over?”

“Well, I don’t see why not darling. Should I cook up something extra scrumptious for dinner then?”

Bay shook his head slightly at Ash, pleading with his eyes. Ash complied. “Actually, we just finished and we’re really full. We might have overdone it. But thanks for the offer, Mom.”

“I can tell,” she said, playfully poking his belly. “Well, run along then. Don’t break anything.”

“I won’t, Mom.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Come on, Bay. I want you to meet my dog.”

The boys walked down a hallway and entered Ash’s room. It was as punk/emo/goth as you’re picturing, with band posters hung up everywhere. Dirty clothes, mostly in black, were scattered across the floor. An unmade bed- really a mattress with sheets- was tucked in one corner of the room, while a battered wooden dresser sat in the one diagonal from it.

Ash flopped down on his bed, propping himself up with a few ratty pillows. Bay made himself a sort of nest out of the clothes on the floor, though he had a very strong urge to wash them, fold them neatly, and shove them all back into the dresser.

They made small talk for a few minutes before Ash again brought up the dreaded subject. “Why aren’t you eating?”

The question caught Bay by surprise, even though he had been expecting it. He could feel the tears returning to his eyes and he really didn’t want to cry. “This topic makes me uncomfortable. Could we please not talk about it?” He asked meekly.

Ash felt bad for prying. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you upset. But this seems like a serious issue. I know we haven’t know each other that long but you’re my friend and I care about you.”

Bay’s heart pounded nervously. He hadn’t told anyone this before. But maybe he would feel better once it was out in the open. “I,” He began slowly. “I have an eating disorder.” He tensed, preparing for the blows he was used to but none came. He searched Ash’s face for signs of anger and disgust. Instead he found confusion.

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what that is. Could you explain it for me please?” He looked genuinely curious, not like he was teasing, so Bay decided to risk it.

“I just don’t eat. Or when I do, I purge it. If I can’t purge in time, then I punish myself but that doesn’t happen often.”

“Why?” This question was something Bay hadn’t exactly thought about before. He knew what he felt when he did it but the actual cause he wasn’t sure of.

“I deserve it, I guess,” he answered.

“You know that doing that can result in death, right?” Though not intended or toned to be sarcastic, Bay felt like his trust had been betrayed already.

“Like I said, I deserve it,” he muttered, no longer looking at Ash.

“You’re so young to die, though. You’ve got the whole rest of your life to do something great.” Ash honestly didn’t understand how anyone could want to die. Even on his worst days, like this one, he knew there were people he had to live for, people who needed him. He’d feel so guilty even considering the idea.

“Everyone dies,” Bay said darkly, as he unlaced his shoe. “Why does it matter when it happens?

Ash didn’t really have an answer to that. He wasn’t sure what to say. He rolled over, leaving his back toward Bay. He needed some time to think.

Now along with his soulmate, who’s life wasn’t great, he had another person to take care of. Not that he didn’t want to take care of people. It actually made him feel like he had a purpose. But these weren’t problems that he knew how to deal with. Ash did some googling for a while.

Bay had gotten his shoelace entirely out of his sneaker. He put it around his neck, above his choker, then tied it with a slip knot and pulled. He wasn’t actually going to kill himself of course. He knew his limit. This was just a game he played with himself when he was very upset. Sort of like how long can you hold your breath, except there were two ways to lose.

Ash looked up. “Hey, stop that!”

Bay turned towards him, letting go of the lace. “What?”

“You know what. Come here.” Ash looked frustrated. Bay was scared. Ash seemed nice but one could never be too sure. Bay slowly came over to Ash’s mattress and sat down.

“You can’t do things like this.” Ash carefully untied the lace from Bay’s neck, sliding it into the pocket of his own hoodie.

“Why not?” Bay asked petulantly.

“There are people who care about you, people who want you to be safe, to live. You’re scaring me. I knew that suicide was a thing but i’ve never met anyone who was suicidal.”

“That you know of,” Bay added quietly. “People aren’t always as open about it as i am.”

“Oh.” Ash sat silently for a second. He hadn’t thought of that. Of course not everyone would say exactly what they were feeling. He knew he didn’t all the time. This was a lot to take in and Ash was still a little overwhelmed. He wanted some time to process everything but now he knew he had to keep an eye on Bay.

“Let’s watch a movie,” Ash suggested. Bay nodded in agreement. Ash pulled up Netflix on his laptop and scooted Bay closer to him on the bed. Having both read Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for an English Lit assignment, the tv show Sherlock seemed like a good choice.

They binge watched the first two seasons, becoming mesmerized by Benedict Cumberbatch’s acting skills and enjoying John Watson as a character. During dramatic moments, Ash used Bay’s entrancement as a cover to slowly get closer, first just touching fingers, then holding hands, and finally putting his arm around him.

He hoped that Bay would see this as a friendly gesture, or possibly one meaning that the eerie soundtrack was affecting him. Really, however, these actions were to keep Bay from escaping. Ash was good at reading most people and knowing how they were feeling, or so he thought, but Bay was unpredictable. He didn’t know what Bay was capable of and he was slightly afraid that Bay might try something else untoward.

This tactic was working so far. Bay had noticed the increasing closeness of his friend. He wasn’t sure in what context to put it but he knew that using the “I need to use the bathroom” excuse would no longer work. He was enjoying the film and the non-threatening physical contact was kind of nice. Bay tried to relax. It was going pretty well until Ash had yawned for the seventh time.

Bay paused the show. “Are you getting tired? It’s only nine.”

“A bit, yea. A heavy meal does make one sleepy. It’s probably a good time for us both to turn in. I’ll have to take you back home tomorrow.”

That last sentence was the one that ruined it all. Home was not a happy place for Bay, nothing like it was for Ash. But he was already so freaked out that Bay didn’t dare tell him another awful thing. However, he’d already decided that he wasn’t going home.

“Good idea. Do you mind if i leave the show playing though? TV helps me sleep.”

“Same. Sure, why not?”

Bay glued his eyes to the screen, determine not to fall asleep. The show was really good and he wouldn’t have wanted to miss any even if he didn’t also have ulterior motives.

Ash eventually nodded off, his head slowly falling onto Bay’s shoulder, and his grip on Bay’s waist loosening. Bay waited until he could hear the heavy breathing of deep sleep. He was very practised at this.

Carefully, he slid Ash’s head onto a pillow and his arm around a stuffed goth bear. Bay was free. He eased open the door and stepped into the hall. Though it was very dark in Ash’s room (lights off, shades down, and dusky outside(perfect for watching netflix)), his parents were still awake so the lights were on. Bay’s eyes took a moment to adjust.

He hadn’t really payed much attention to his surroundings before but now his instincts kicked in and he noticed more things. For instance, the carpet in this hallway was deep which would make it easier to walk quietly but the walls were papered with a cheery bluebell print on mustard yellow, a hard to keep clean color palette. A few feet forwards on the opposite wall was a white door he thought might lead to the bathroom. He shuffled down the hallway until he reached the living room. Ash’s mom was watching Criminal Minds and crocheting doilies out of neon green and orange yarn. A man Bay assumed was Ash’s father could be seen through a sliding glass door smoking cigarettes on a slightly run down patio. another doorway opened into what looked like a kitchen.

Bay ran through his plan. Originally he had thought about trying to get sleeping pills but it would be hard to think of a plausible reason to need them, as it was only nine and people his age often didn’t sleep until much later. Complaining of a headache would be much more likely to happen.

Bay stepped out into the open. Ash’s mother looked up. “Oh, hello dear. Is there anything i can do for you?”

Bay put a hand to his forehead and made a pained expression. “I’ve got a killer headache. Do you have some aspirin or something?”

Ash’s mom frowned. “Normally i wouldn’t give medicine to a child that wasn’t my own.”

Bay turned his ‘i feel like i’m dying’ face up a notch.

“You look so pitiful. I suppose it can’t hurt. There’s some tylenol in the cabinet above the sink in the bathroom down the hall. Do you want me to get you a glass for water?”

“No thank you, ma’am.”

“Alright. I hope you boys are enjoying your sleepover.” She giggled to herself and winked at him slightly.

Bay knew what she was implying but he just turned away and rolled his eyes. Entering the bathroom he saw a long counter with two sinks, above which were two mirror fronted cupboards. Behind the door was a toilet and next to it was a shower/bathtub combo. Bay reached into one of the cupboards and found the bottle of Tylenol. It was almost empty, only containing twelve tablets. Twelve would probably do the trick. Bay got some water from the tap and swallowed them all, then threw the bottle in the trash and waited.

(One tablet is 500 mg. The highest dose allowed is 4000 mg in 24 hours, meaning 8 tablets.)

The clock on the wall said he’d been in the bathroom for an hour. Nothing had happened. He didn’t feel any different. Maybe if there had been more of them… He got up from the floor where he’d been sitting and went to open the door, planning to go back to bed. Instead he was face to face with a very worried looking Ash.

“What were you doing up?”

“I had to pee.”

“Really?”

“Why else would i be in the bathroom?”

“I dunno, you tell me.”

Bay was about to pretend to be offended when he noticed the unnaturally pale tinge to his friends face.

“Are you ok?”

“Fine. Why?”

“You don’t look ok.”

“Ummm…” Before Ash could deny it, he was running to the toilet, holding his middle. He began vomiting, quite forcefully. Bay tried not to watch. The entire contents of Ash’s stomach were emptied into the porcelain bowl before he was able to sit back and pant.

“I guess all that McDonald’s didn’t settle so well,” Bay commented.

“Shut up,” Ash gasped.

At that moment, Ash’s mom appeared in the open doorway. “Oh my, Ash. You didn’t tell me you were feeling sick too.”

“Too?”

“Your friend here came to me with headache complaints a little bit ago and now here you are throwing up. I hope this isn’t a bug. You can’t afford to miss anymore days of school.”

Ash made an accusatory face at Bay before turning back to his mom. “I don’t think it’s a bug mom. My dinner just didn’t agree with me, that’s all. And Bay doesn’t drink enough water.”

“Will you be alright darling?”

“We’ll be fine mom. Go back to your crafts.”

“Ok then.” She left the room, but still carried a worried expression.

Ash turned to Bay as soon as she was gone. “What did you do?”

“What did i do? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ash was about to respond, but instead he hunched over and moaned. “Fuck, this hurts a lot.”

Silently, Bay regretted taking all of the tylenol. Ash could have used it now. Bay knelt down on the floor next to Ash. “Are you sure that this is from all that before? It seems a little intense compared to previously.”

“To be honest, i probably am sick.” Ash gritted his teeth as another cramp felt as though someone was stabbing him in the gut. “I just don’t want to worry my mom. She already thinks i have ‘problems’.”

Bay maneuvered his hands into the position they had been in when they were in the car. Gently, he tried to massage the pain away. He could tell by the way Ash tensed and relaxed that it was helping a little but not much.

He wished he was a better person and not such a terrible fuck up. If he didn’t hate himself so much, Ash would make a really nice friend. But if he couldn’t love himself, how could he love someone else.

Ash leaned back against Bay, whose arms were wrapped around him. “I’m tired.”

Ash’s hoodie smelled really nice. And he was soft. And suddenly Bay had a very strong urge to cuddle him. He lay his head on Bay’s shoulder and muttered a non-committal “mmmm”.

Ash woke up to the light streaming through his blinds and a searing pain in his abdomen. Also he was on his bed and Bay was spooning him, which was rather nice and he would have enjoyed it except for the part where he wanted to cry because of the pain. He curled in on himself, trying not to wake Bay up but ending up doing so anyway.

“Hey,” Bay whispered.

Ash just grunted. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he opened his mouth but he knew it wouldn’t be good.

“Are you ok?” Ash shook his head.

“Is it worse?” He nodded.

“I’m gonna go get your mom,” Bay said worriedly. Ash tried to protest but Bay was insistent. “If it’s something serious, like an appendix, then we need to get you looked at right away. It’s better to be worried for a good reason than to not worry about true danger.”

Bay got Ash’s mom, who was making waffles in the kitchen, and told her the situation. While extremely flustered, she did know what to do. She went out and started the car, while Bay helped Ash get out to it. The pain was so bad, he could barely stand up.

Bay was the only one who noticed the stove was still on so he quickly flipped the switch before they left. The lingering smell of burnt batter in the air twisted his stomach and he started to feel nauseous.

When they reached the ER, doctors immediately took him into a room and gave him a once over. Appendix and poisoning were their main hypothesis. However when they did the examinations to see if either were true, everything checked out as perfectly normal. The doctors decided to put Ash on pain meds and keep him for observation.

They moved him into a room in the regular hospital. Ash’s mom filled out paperwork at a small table in the corner and Bay alternated between admiring Ash’s face and concentrating on not throwing up. Based on the fact that Ash’s mom hadn’t even considered sending him home or breakfast for either of them, he could tell she was really stressed and he didn’t want to make things any worse for her.

Ash was watching Bay. now with the pain meds coursing through his veins, he could think clearly again and he was trying to remember what exactly had happened the night before. He knew that they had cuddled and Bay had tried to comfort him but what was before that. His nausea had woken him up and then he’d noticed Bay wasn’t there, which made him very panicky. So he got up to find him, checking first in the bathroom because it was the most logical place. He did find him but then he got sick and that was that. There was something beforehand though, something else. A bottle in the garbage he remembered. But a bottle to what?

At that moment, Bay threw up. He had tried so hard but he couldn’t keep it down any longer. The thin stream of vomit pooled around his shoes. Ash’s mom looked up, surprised. Ash narrowed his eyes. It was the bottle of pain meds!

He knew that Bay was depressed but he didn’t think he would overdose in someone else’s house. Ash pressed the call nurse button on his bed as Bay continued to retch, although his stomach had been nearly empty to begin with.

When the nurse arrived, she wasn’t sure where to look. “Call poison control,” Ash told her. “It’s an overdose.”

“What??!” Ash’s mom was very confused.

“What did you tell him to take for the headache?”

“Tylenol but-”

Ash turned to the nurse. “That’s what he overdosed with. It would have been a little before ten last night.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” the nurse asked as she lifted Bay onto a gurney and prepared him for transport.

“He probably took it on an empty stomach and he’s only had water for like, a while, several hours. Please don’t let him die.”

“We’ll do our best honey.” the nurse rushed away, leaving Ash’s mom in stunned silence.

“Fuck. this was my fault. I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight. I knew something like this might happen.”

Though ash’s mom wasn’t exacctly sure what had just happened, she knew she had to comfort her son. “If someone wants to do something like that, they will. You can’t stop them once they put their mind to it and it’s nobodies fault but their own, so don’t blame yourself. Didn’t you only meet him yesterday?”

“No, i’ve met him before that. And i think i’ve known him my whole life.”

“Really? How could you know him that long? I’ve never met him before.”

“I think he’s my soulmate.”

“Oh.”

Afterward

Ash was right. Bay was his soulmate. The symptoms had appeared in Ash first because:A it would save Bay and B the effects of a tylenol overdose can take up to 24 hours to appear but because they were soulmates, it happened differently.

Bay survived, but the doctors diagnosed him with depression, anxiety, and an eating disorder. He told them about his abusive father and they let him stay in the hospital until he was recovered, and then decided he should live with Ash’s family. Being soulmates, it was much easier for Ash to tell when Bay was feeling down, upset, or scared and he would know if Bay self-harmed. They worked through everything together.

#self harm #anxiety #anorexia

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whatcouldgowrong-ohthat · 5 years ago

Text

Hurts to be Human Chapter Four

Hey guys! I have 10 days left on my contract, then I’ll have stable wifi where I can update more! Ah!! Can’t wait!!

Warnings for this: Um...I don’t think there are any? I mean, it isn’t edited because really, my wifi sucks.

Chapter Four — Hustle

“You sure you got this?” Sam’s concern was evident. He watched Y/N eye the flashing lights just past the curtain and knew this was a big step for her. She used to have this sort of thing handled, no problem. But that was then and then was quite a long time ago.

Bucky didn’t say anything, simply watching her, studying her body language. She was fiddling with her sleeves, crossing her legs and rubbing her calf with her heel.

She wanted to run.

“Of course I do,” she told Sam, giving him that oh-so-dazzling smile. Bucky didn’t believe it. Neither did Sam. Even so, they knew better than to question her about this sort of thing. “Just…don’t go tackling any of them, okay? It would really kill the image I’m trying to build.” Tugging at her sleeves once more, she gave them a thumbs up and walked on stage.

Now came the harder part — trying to convince the press that they were wrong.

“A question, Miss L/N!”

“Miss L/N, we’d like a statement. It would only take a moment of your time.”

“A photo for our article, Miss Y/N?”

“Miss L/N, over here!”

“Miss L/N, did you leaving instigate the reckless behavior that we’ve seen from the Winter Soldier and Sam Wilson?”

Bucky stepped forward, wanting to punch whoever had just asked that. However, Sam caught his arm and pulled him back. He shook his head, keeping silent just in case. Bucky tensed, but took a step back. He was out of his element here. Still, watching Y/N, he wasn’t so sure that she was in her element.

“Miss L/N!”

“Over here, Miss L/N!”

“Miss L/N!”

“Enough.” The one word found its way from the microphone, echoing through the speakers. It held an authority that could only be learned from the late Tony Stark. Squaring her shoulders, Y/N took a slow breath and allowed her back to finally relax. Her closed eyes finally opened and she shifted her gaze, trying to find a face. She was blinded by the darkened room, the bright lights from flashing cameras, and her ears were practically ringing with the sound of her own name. It was too much.

No wonder the boys hated doing these things.

Smoothing out her blazer, Y/N then tucked a stray strand of hair back into place. She looked put together, like someone that had worked alongside Pepper Potts for years. Her resume, her experience, was starting to show. She glanced off stage, at the pair that waited for her. It was debated whether they should have initially joined her and now she was just glad she had stuck to her initial guns. Bucky would have been slaughtered. Sam would have reacted. No good would have come from something neither man was ready for.

Turning to look back at her audience, Y/N offered one of those picture perfect smiles that Tony called “The Stark”. Honestly, it was just a version of the “Blue Steel” that worked for the press. Nothing too special.

“All of you have questions and I understand that. I will hopefully get the opportunity to answer each of them in a way I see fit, but I mean, a girl’s got to eat and sleep. We aren’t going to spend all day here.” A few chuckles were heard and Y/N knew she could work with this audience. Thank God. Nothing was worse for her than having to crack through the idiocy that was the press. “I’ve already heard one of your questions, so why don’t we start there?” Murmurs, but no arguments.

Good.

Something Tony had taught her a long time ago — working with the press was like a dance.

If you didn’t want to be led off the dance floor, you had to have the balls to lead.

“There are two parts to my answer regarding Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson. One…” A deep breath and a glance at a concerned Bucky had Y/N feeling like she had to speak up, she had to voice the complete truth. “Bucky and I were friends before we dated. I know more about him than anyone else in this room. I know his weaknesses, his strengths…I’ve seen what makes him angry, happy, and sad. I’ve seen him at his weakest moments and he has seen me in mine. That being said, my leaving was because of personal reasons. James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky as he insists on being called, is human. He is a man who has worked through his own trauma and fought to make up for past mistakes. This isn’t a man who would allow any woman to influence his behavior. He’s too careful.”

Another deep breath and it gave her a moment to hear the scribbling of her words, the snapping of a few cameras, the murmurs of people who agreed or disagreed. Which opinion? She wasn’t sure yet. “As for their behavior — these men have dedicated their lives, their time, to protecting us. Protecting and saving people isn’t an easy job. Look at the military, the police, or even doctors. Look at any field that involves this sort of lifestyle. There is damage involved. Lives are often lost. The only reason Mr. Barnes and Mr. Wilson are being so heavily judged is because they have taken up the role of “superheroes”.”

There was silence. A hand rose, followed by a tall woman. She was slim in face and body, blonde hair pulled into a neat bun. Y/N recognized her as the woman who had called out Tony all those years ago. What could she possibly want? “Yes?”

“Miss L/N, there is proof in the media that these men have cost lives, jobs — families have been torn apart.”

“I still haven’t heard your question.”

The blonde huffed, not appreciating the hint of snark biting just behind the words. “Why don’t we leave these ‘missions’ to the actual professionals? These officers, doctors, military men that you previously mentioned?”

Y/N smirked, raising an eyebrow. “How much do you know about either of these men?” Silence. She looked out at the crowd, seriously curious as to just what these people knew. “What do any of you know about the two men that are today’s topic? Please, enlighten me.” Comments regarding the Winter Soldier were brought up. Others spoke up about Sam trying to replace Steve. Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. A light flashed from another camera as she tried to find the right words.

“You know, I wasn’t even supposed to be here. Sharon Carter was, but she was called away. Something that was a little higher on the priority list, you know?” A couple chuckles. Not as many as before. Clearing her throat, Y/N said, “I think I’m starting to understand why they decided I was the next option. See, both of these men have a military background. Barnes was part of the Howling Commandos, fighting alongside Captain America before it had been believed that he’d lost his life on a mission. The truth was that he became the longest known prisoner of war. It took twenty years for HYDRA to gain any sort of traction in creating the ‘Winter Soldier’ that all of you have come to know him as. In fact, if a few of you walked into a museum or library instead of relying on the internet, you might learn a little more of the older information that is connected to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. He carries more guilt for his past than any person I’ve ever met. He was tortured by an elite terrorist organization and I constantly find myself in awe that the emotional torment he puts himself through seems to one-up everything they tried to do to him.”

“As for Sam Wilson…” Y/N glanced back at her friend and he nodded, silently allowing her to speak about anything involving him. This was her playing field and he was a chess piece. He needed to cooperate. Looking back at the audience, Y/N said, “Sam was part of an elite group of military men that allowed him to have the wings that had given him the moniker ‘Falcon’. He lost his partner in the field, worked with the VA to help veterans work through their trauma, befriended Captain America, and worked alongside him in taking down HYDRA and finding Barnes. A direct quote from the man is, “I do everything Steve does, just slower.” And as someone who has lived with the Avengers, I can assure you that this statement is very much true. With that being said, Sam still sees himself as the Falcon. He was passed on the shield, nothing more.”

There was silence, a level of tension in the room that made it clear that opinions were divided. She had swayed some successfully while others remained rooted in their judgement. Y/N wanted to say more. She wanted to pour her heart and soul out and defend the men that stood just to the side. They were good men, good people that just wanted to help. But she knew if she kept pushing, insisting that she knew best, she’d turn them completely against her. Instead, she finished her answer with the simplest statement that she could muster. “There are no better professionals to trust in situations like these. Does that answer your question?”

Bucky and Sam watched in awe. There were no words to express their gratitude because neither of them had ever expected to hear her say such things. She painted them as heroes. For the first time since Thanos, they felt as if they were stepping out of Steve’s shadow. She had painted them in a light similar to that of Tony…Natasha…Steve…

And she meant every word.

“Bucky,” Sam murmured, clearing his voice to hide the fact that he was trying not to tear up.

“What, Birdbrain?” Blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears as Bucky kept his gaze focused intently on her. She was talking, answering another question it looked like. Why did Sam have to talk when he could be listening to her?

“If you don’t break through that thick skull of hers and win her back, I’ll swoop in and date her myself.”

———

The rest of the conference passed by with little problems. A few attempted to pull Y/N into an argument, needing the drama to paint the picture in their light. They had stories to try and sell and were attempting to get any piece of juicy drama they could. But Y/N had been trained well and it seemed, even after all this time, she still had a knack for dealing with the press.

That being said, Sharon Carter owed her big time.

Y/N fell onto her bed, landing on her back and kicking her heels off. She heard the resounding thud of them landing across the room and considered that those monstrous contraptions were better off far away from her. She didn’t understand how Pepper or Natasha had done it. Wearing heels 24/7 was a punishment.

Maybe they were into that sort of thing?

Y/N snorted and sat up, slipping off her blazer and tossing it onto her desk chair before laying down. She could hang it up later. Right now, her body wanted the bed. People were more exhausting than any mission— at least in her opinion. Her legs hung off the edge of the bed, the balls of her feet rubbing against the fluffy carpet and her toes curling in satisfaction. Stark definitely spent good money on this place.

“Meow.”

Y/N giggled as the familiar feel of fur and a tail ran along her calf. H.D. was not happy that she had been gone all day. The feline pounced, landing on the bed before making her way up to Y/N’s cheek. She curled up in the crook of her neck, soft purrs eventually erupting and making her owner giggle. “Someone’s being cuddly today,” she muttered, earning a “meow” as if telling her to shut up. Shaking her head, she started unbuttoning her blouse to reveal a simple white tank top underneath. What would be absolutely perfect right now was lazy clothes, a book, a hot cup of tea, and H.D. curled up on her shoulder. That was the goal. “Give me a sec, twerp.”

Sitting up, Y/N unzipped her pencil skirt and let it fall to her feet before stepping out of it. She stifled a yawn and walked to her dresser. Ruffling through her pajama drawer, she successfully found her Wolverine sweats and slipped them on. She stretched and twisted her body, a loud yawn echoing in the silent room.

“That’s different.”

Y/N jumped, spinning around to see Sam Wilson standing in her doorway. His arms were crossed, same smirk as always, and an amused glint in his eye.

“Yawning? Pretty sure that’s a normal body function, Wilson,” she teased, smirking as she closed the dresser drawer.

“I meant the tattoo on your thigh. Pretty sure you didn’t have that a few years ago.”

Y/N’s eyes grew and her jaw slacked as she spun to face him again. “How long were you standing there like some sort of creep?”

Sam laughed, leaning against the doorframe as she placed her hands on her hips. Y/N always tried to be intimidating, but in Wolverine sweatpants and after her little “tired child” performance, he couldn’t take it seriously. “Long enough and believe me, I plan on using every second to piss Barnes off.”

“Please don’t. I’m supposed to be keeping you two in line, remember? Why not make my job easy for a change?”

“‘Cause then you’d be bored and you’d hate it.” His answer was simple and, sadly, the truth. Y/N couldn’t stand being bored. Not here at least, not home.

Wait, home?

No. This place couldn’t be home to her. She’d finish her mission and be back in her small town before too long. That was supposed to be her home. That was where she had been living, surviving, making friends.

It was where she healed, where she found herself again.

“Hello, earth to Y/N.”

Shaking her head, Y/N pulled herself from her thoughts and frowned when she saw Sam was grinning. “What, thinking about a jealous Bucky?”

Y/N rolled her eyes and walked to her closet, grabbing one of her jackets. It was grey, frayed at the edges with holes in the sleeves for her thumbs. Slipping it on, she zipped it up a bit and pulled her hair out of the bun it had been in. She ran her fingers through it, needing to free the strands from the stiff and sticky feeling of hairspray. “I don’t look at Bucky like that anymore, Sam. We’re trying the friends thing, remember?”

“And how’s that going?”

Y/N paused, her mind drifting to the past couple weeks. When she’d made the initial agreement with Bucky, she had forgotten how sweet he could be. She’d forgotten how easy it was to laugh with him and how his fascination with the little things made her heart beat so fast. It didn’t help that every freaking morning he came back from his morning workouts wearing nothing, but loose sweats and one of those thin tank-tops. He’d gotten more confident in his arm, something she hadn’t seen before.

“Mhm, there’s no hiding that smile from me.”

She jerked, the small smile vanishing as a faint blush tinted her cheeks. “Sam, drop it.”

“I’m not pushing, Y/N. Actually, I…I wasn’t so sure you coming back was a good idea.”

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “You and me both.”

Sam smiled. “I always thought you were a badass and good at your job, but seeing what happened with you and Bucky…it was a lot. And seeing him after you left?” Y/N frowned, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets as she let Sam speak. “There was a while when he hit a real low before we ever saw him get better. I think he was under the impression that you’d still be around even if you two broke up. And when you weren’t…”

“Why are you telling me this, Sam? I’m really not the kind of person that keeps looking to the past.”

“Neither am I,” Sam reminded her. “I just think that you and Bucky…there’s something there. And if you two are going to try this friends thing, you need to be realistic about it.”

Y/N took a slow breath. This was heavy. It was information she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She at least knew she wasn’t ready for it. “What, don’t think we can handle being friends?” It was a joke, an opportunity to lighten the mood. All she wanted was for him to joke back, to move forward.

“No, I don’t.”

“Thanks, Sam. Appreciate the honesty,” she muttered bitterly.

“When we first met, you asked me to always give it to you straight. Actually, you ordered me to. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“Funny, I don’t recall asking your opinion on this particular topic, Sam.”

“No, but you need to hear it before you get in way over your head.” Sam stepped forward, glancing back to make sure Bucky wasn’t down the hall eavesdropping. Closing the door, he turned to face her fully. “What you said at the press conference meant a lot to both of us. We never expected you to stick your neck out. We would never ask you to defend us like that.” She opened her mouth to argue, like she always did, but Sam held up a hand. “But you did. And that means something to me. It means something to Bucky too.”

“I was doing my job.”

“You were speaking from the heart.”

“Are you trying to play matchmaker or telling me to give Bucky distance? Because I’m getting some serious mixed signals.”

“I’m telling you to be as honest with yourself as you were with the press today.”

“I am.”

“Bullshit.”

Y/N glared at him, fists clenching in her pockets. “What the hell, Sam? You haven’t talked to me in years. Who are you to say you know what I’m going through with my emotions?”

The intercom beeped, but neither pulled their gaze from the other. Friday’s voice greeted them with a simple, “Agent Y/L/N, Mr. Wilson —“

“Not now, Friday,” Sam said, eyes never leaving Y/N.

“Normally I would agree,” Friday admitted. “But Agent Carter is calling for an emergency meeting in the conference room.”

Y/N groaned, pulling her hair into a ponytail to hide the rat’s nest she currently had. Walking around Sam, she opened the door and gestured for him to walk first. “Ladies first, please,” she snapped, earning a roll of the eyes and annoyed grunt. However, he led the way and she quickly shut the door behind her.

It took no time for either of them to come across the conference room. Inside, Bucky was standing near the window, watching the screen facing away from them. Sitting down, Sharon Carter watched them through the glass. The two rounded the corner and came inside, eyes landing on the screen as the blonde Y/N had recognized said, “‘I’ve seen him at his weakest moments and he has seen me in mine. This isn’t a man who would allow just any woman to influence his behavior.’” Y/N clenched her jaw as the reporter put influence on the word “just”, making her statement sound like the exact opposite she had intended. “It seems Miss Y/L/N knew the influence she had on the Winter Soldier and left anyway.” The screen cut to images of Bucky years ago, when Y/N had first left. The paparazzi had gotten photos and videos of him with the long hair, cold demeanor, and the way he fought…It was definitely not a good light to paint him in. “Her selfish actions have led to the Winter Soldier’s lack of emotional empathy and a complete disregard for the wellbeing of those we are told he’s attempting to protect. Is this the sort of man we want to call an “Avenger”? Is this someone we can trust with our lives? Our loved ones? How much trust can we put in a man who is so easily influenced? Miss Y/L/N goes on to say that she ‘is in awe of him’. Is there still an emotional tie there? Could Miss Y/L/N influence the Winter Soldier even further and leave us left with the outcome from an immature, toxic romance? More information coming to you tonight at six.”

Bucky glanced at Y/N, his weak smile the only way he could try to reassure her. He didn’t blame her. The media? The press? They wanted their story. They were willing to do whatever they could as a means to get it. Even if it meant adding one word. He could tell by the way her hands were clenched, her jaw set, that she wanted nothing more than to give the reporter a piece of her mind. She was livid.

“Congrats, Y/N. It seems you got all of New York thinking there’s still something between you and Barnes,” Sam teased.

Sharon turned off the tv and rose, glancing from one to the other around the room. It seemed no one knew what to say. Sharon had been the one that was supposed to speak, but she had to leave. That meant Y/N had to step up. And she did, but it seemed her speaking abilities and ways of handling the press were more than a bit rusty. “Want to tell me what happened?” Sharon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The reporter influenced what Y/N said, Sharon. She never made it sound like —“

“I know, Bucky. I know.” Sharon glanced at him as he shifted his gaze to the ground. “I’m not blaming you in this particular situation.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “No, I know exactly who to blame. That reporter is vile. She’s the same one who called Stark a merchant of death.”

“Yes, but that was back when he kinda was,” Sharon reminded her.

“But Bucky isn’t influenced by me. Hell, he was doing his job just like Sam! The only reason they’re attempting to target him is because he’s the Winter Soldier.”

“Exactly. Bucky’s information, what we choose to tell, has to be taken with extreme precautions. We can’t go spouting out our opinions and expect everyone to believe them, Y/L/N.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you might’ve forgotten it.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, fingers flexing. “That reporter hustled me, Sharon. That’s what they do. She’s picking and choosing what she wants to tell.”

“It’s their job.”

“So this is my fault?”

“You’re out of practice, Y/L/N. It was my fault to ask you to go.”

“She did a good job,” Sam argued with Sharon, earning her attention. “Honestly, if it hadn’t been for that particular woman, this would have been a success.”

“Perhaps, but she was there. This isn’t really a grey sort of situation, Sam. I wish it was.”

The glass door shut, earning everyones attention as Y/N left the room. Sharon huffed, leaning against the table. She hadn’t expected Y/N to storm out of here. In the past, she never would have. She would have kept her emotions bottled up. She would’ve been professional. “I’ve never seen her leave like that.”

“She knows she didn’t do anything wrong,” Bucky told her. “Y/N spoke with conviction and honesty. She made us look like actual heroes and it didn’t take any lying. Sharon, that reporter took two sentences Y/N said from two different answers.”

“ And neither answer was short,” Sam agreed, nodding to Bucky.

“Y/N used to take whatever crap Steve and Tony gave her because it was part of the job. Listening and taking orders, it’s what agents are supposed to do. But she’s been out of the field, living for herself for a while. If she knows she’s in the right, I don’t see her sticking around until she believes she’s in the wrong.”

Sharon sighed softly, running a hand through her hair. She was silent for a moment before asking, “Go check on her?”

Bucky nodded, making his way to the door only to be caught by Sam. He raised an eyebrow, curious what the guy could want. “Gonna let go?”

“Ask about her tattoo. It’ll make her laugh.”

Bucky frowned. Tattoo? Since when did Y/N have one of those? “Uh…okay?”

“It’s on her thigh. Really simple. Tasteful too,” Sam said as he started pushing Bucky to the door. His bewilderment and confusion lasted only for a few more moments before he realized what Sam was implying.

“Wilson!” Bucky spun around as the glass slammed and Sam locked the door. “Open the door, birdbrain!”

Sam looked confused, gesturing to the door then his ear. “Can’t hear you,” came his muffled response.

Bucky glared at him. “You’re so full of shit.” Glancing at Sharon, he took a step closer to the door and told Sam, “Can’t hide with her forever.”

Sam grinned. “Watch me. Now go on, old man. Not every day you get a chance to see that kind of artwork.”

Bucky hit the glass with his flesh fist, still earning a jump from his partner. The reaction made him smile before he made his way back to Y/N’s room. Time to check in on his friend…and see what exactly Sam was talking about when it came to this tattoo.

#bucky fanfic #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #james buchanan barnes #marvel #marvel au #fanfic #avengers #sam wilson #sharon carter

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nerdsideofthemedia · 5 years ago

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The misogyny in the RWBY fandom

I’ve seen more than my share of misogyny within the RWBY fandom, which should be nonsensical considering it’s a show that focuses on 4 female characters. Yes, I know homophobia is very present too. I mean just today I’ve seen these:

However, this comment doesn’t just show homophobia (like assuming all of the characters were straight, and calling “no artistic integrity” when they’re revealed not to be), it also reveals misogyny in the form of entitlement: they someone liked a character, therefore, she should have a compatible sexual orientation with them.

I don’t think the misogyny has been called out nowhere enough as it should be, considering how much I’ve encountered, especially on youtube comments. I decided to make a list of some sexist arguments I’ve seen and explain why they shouldn’t be used.

Jaune is being cucked

I assume this one relates to Jaune being the weakest of the group combat-wise and not about him not getting the girl, since the show isn’t over and who knows? He might end up with someone, though I don’t understand the fixation with everyone having to end up with somebody. There are single people in the world and they’re not all miserable. Pretty much like there are many married or in a relationship who are unhappy.

About him being the weakest, I think that’s what makes him stand out. So many shows frame guys as powerful and strong, especially action-related ones (right now, the only exception that comes to mind is Xander from Buffy the Vampire Slayer), it’s a breath of fresh air to see a male character to not live up to that image and it makes sense because a lot of guys don’t. He expands the notions of masculinity instead of constraining to this very specific thing that most (if not all) guys in the real-life cannot truly live up to.

Sun should fight Adam because (this was when Adam was alive):

Ex vs boyfriend;

Prove he’s the one who deserves her;

Blake slept with Adam and didn’t tell Sun. During the fight, Adam will reveal this and Sun will be pissed. (no, I’m not joking, I’ve seen this one)

The first one is a dick contest. There really wasn’t any reason for Sun to fight Blake other than that. Unlike Blake, he had no ties to Adam and was never abused by him. Unlike Yang, he was never maimed by Adam. Literally the only reason is a dick contest. Sun going against Adam would actually take the spotlight away from the gals who did have real reasons to fight Adam.

The same applies to the second one, which reduces Blake to even more of a prize. A reward for the one who proved his worth, which is defined by “manliness”.

As for the last one… I will quote myself in “We Need to Talk about Adam Taurus”, where I initially addressed this perspective:

“I find this comment absolutely disgusting on several levels. 1) We don’t actually know if Adam and Blake had sex (I understand there’s not much reason for Adam to draw the line there, but again, I won’t treat it as certain, even if likely); 2) that relationship was abusive; 3) with a relevant age difference (she was a minor, he wasn't); 4) a power imbalance (he was her mentor). Assuming they had sex, it seems like Blake’s ability to consent was basically non-existent; 5) Even if there was no problem with their relationship, so what if Blake had sex with Adam? They dated, Sun knows that. Why would he get to be mad at her for that? This is as dumb as slut-shaming gets. You had sex with your boyfriend, how could you?”

These 2 comments were made by the same person and the person responding pushed back on… pretty much everything and the conversation was polite, so I’m not going to address the BS/BB elements that aren’t problematic.

This been said, I still want to mention what I underlined: the first associates that doing something for someone should get you into their panties. This perspective is still sexist and entitled. The idea that being introduced as a love interest and not become it is a slap in the face is also problematic. If every character who has a crush on someone gets them, then I’d say that wouldn’t work from a verisimilitude perspective (we don’t always date our crushes) and honestly, I think it helps with the entitlement. This idea that people just have to reciprocate your feelings, especially if you do something for them, which is far from dead in real life too. We should have more shows with unrequited love that leads to them accepting themselves as friends and nothing more.

Oh, and yes, following someone for months without their knowledge is stalking, no matter the motive. In fact, most stalkers think they’re doing the right thing.

The second one is… weird. I don’t really get how the person could think that. Blake is a main character, Sun isn’t. The likelihood of her dying for HIM to be developed is basically non-existent. I feel compelled to blame internet RWBY critics for this one since they tend to emphasize killing characters as if that’s the only way to create character arcs and raise the stakes. Still, thinking it’s OK to kill a main female character for the sake of a male minor one feels like it falls on the camp of sexist - it feel like saying “no, women can’t be the ones that matter”. And there’s the once again “after all the times he has been there for her”, which I will talk about again.

I already addressed this one on Bumblebee part 2, so quoting myself here too:

“There is a lot to unpack here.

First, it’s ridiculous to think you can be owed love/getting into someone’s panties. You can’t. People either love you/want to do you, or they don’t. If you want to do something for someone else, great, but do it because you want to and like (not necessarily in a romantic way) said person or because you’re altruistic – don’t expect a reward. This is what you sound like:

youtube

Second, it’s idiotic to associate getting the girl with masculinity or not getting her with being “cucked”. If your notion of being a man is tied to getting someone else, that’s on you. If you need someone else to feel good about yourself, maybe you have some underlying issues to address (another reference to Crazy Ex-Girlfriend – watch the show, especially if you’re making comments like the one I showed: you need it. I feel like the narrator in “S.O.B.s”).

Third, even by the logic of “after everything I’ve done for you”, Sun doesn’t win, because Yang paid a much bigger price: she lost an arm and had PTSD while he had a minor injury from which he had basically recovered by the next episode. This isn’t a “Yang deserves her” either – that argument is nonsensical no matter the pairing being defended, I’m just pointing out that it doesn’t even favor BS.

[...]

As for the dyke representation… (the fact that they phrased it that way is very telling) if it was just that, then any lesbian couple would do. RWBY is about 4 female characters. Seriously, how come people never ask themselves why this one is so popular, even though Yang and Blake aren’t the most popular characters? From what I’ve seen, Weiss and Yang are.”

Adam was good until Blake left him

This is literally based on nothing. Judging by the canon, he was abusive to her. No one goes from perfectly fine to obsessive stalker just because they were left. Also, abusive or not, Blake had every right to leave. No one is entitled for the relationship to last as long as they want. You had 5, 10, 20 years together, great, but your significant other can still end the relationship tomorrow. No one should be trapped.

Also, I‘ve heard there are a lot of rape jokes, which is disgusting. Rape jokes don’t make edgy or daring - they just reveal you’re an idiot.

I am sure there are more awful and sexist takes, but I hope this covers the bulk of it. I know that Blake in particular is a victim among the fandom too (that girl cannot catch a break) because of Adam and Sun fans who feel entitled. If you use any of those arguments, knock it off.

#rwby #rwby fandom #misogyny #homophobia #women #Blake Belladonna #jaune arc #yang xiao long

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eternalnight8806-3 · 5 years ago

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Ch 3 The Cat and the Fox

Category: Romance, Modern College AU

Rating: Will be Explicit but for now I’ll just say Mature for language and drinking

Pairing: InuKag

Words: 2,357

Also available on ff.net and AO3

Tag list: @keichanz @noviceotakus-blog @hinezumi @morikothehalfangel @cstorm86 @digital-art-monster @cammysansstuff

Enjoy!

Hey, I have a kind of personal question for you

InuYasha rubbed his tired eyes and stretched. He had been staring at his laptop for the last 3 hours straight trying to finish this damn midterm paper. The sound of his phone buzzing caught his attention. Who the hell would be texting him at 2 a.m.? Miroku was downstairs with the other idiots watching some stupid Netflix show he never could get into about a women's prison. The goofy grin that spread across his face upon seeing her name was completely accidental, or so he would tell you.

Shoot

What happened to your mom? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I was just sitting here thinking about it and I realized you never told me how she died. But it's totally fine if you don't want to tell me. I swear.

InuYasha almost laughed out loud at her obvious text babbling. It's cool. She had breast cancer.

Oh sweetie I'm so sorry. It must have been so hard to lose her that way.

Honestly, it wasn't long after her diagnosis. She was already stage 4 by the time they caught it. They tried everything they could but a month later she was gone. It was hard. Still is. I miss her a lot. She was my rock

Yeah. I don't know what I would do without my mom. She's the kindest woman ever. She's always supported me in everything. You never mentioned your dad though?

He died when I was a baby. I never knew him.

Wow.

Yeah. Hey what are you doing up anyway? I thought you had to work this weekend?

I do. Couldn't sleep. My brain just won't shut off.

Missed me that much in 24 hours?

You're incorrigible

Always

You don't have a humble bone in your body do you?

Maybe one

* eyeroll emoji *

What time do you have to be up?

In exactly 2.5 hours. I have to catch the 5:45 train to get there on time.

Jesus woman! Go to sleep!

I already told you I can't

Do I need to come over and sing you a lullaby?

InuYasha regretted that the instant he hit send. She would definitely think he was total creepy bastard now.

Lol. You don't know where I live

He hesitated before typing again. Fine. I'll call you. I hope you like shitty renditions of twinkle twinkle little star.

* a series of crying laughing emojis *

Can't be worse than my little brother trying to sing to our cat Buyo.

You have a brother?

Yep

Me too. Well a ½ brother. Older. And an asshole.

Oh yeah? Ever talk to him?

Not really. Like I said he's an asshole.

Got it. Foxy doesn't like his big bro

InuYasha's eyebrow quirked. Foxy?

Ummm... yeah???

What is that?

Ummmm

Your name?

Is it now wench? ;)

Ha. Ha.

Hey, what do you call me?

Catwoman

I suppose that makes sense.

Why do you call me Foxy? ;)

Because of your costume

Suuuuuuure

You're obviously delusional

Am I?

Severely.

Well you're the one talking to me at 2:45 in the morning

Yeah. I know. I need a padded room next to yours

So I can sing twinkle twinkle for you?

OMG stop! I'm going to wake up my room mate!

Sorry...

You really should get some sleep wench.

I know.

Night Foxy

Night wench

InuYasha couldn't sleep after that. He felt guilty for keeping her up, even though she had texted him first. Inane images scrolled past his eyes as he delved into the internet black hole, searching for something to occupy his mind. Finally, when he realized it was about 5 minutes past the time she said she had to be awake, he decided to make sure she had gotten up ok.

Wakey wakey wench

Kagome groaned aloud at the sound of her alarm. She tried to roll over and go back to sleep but then her phone dinged.

Don't wanna

C'mon. You gotta. That job you love so much is beckoning

Damn you

You're cranky in the morning ain't ya?

Only for people who won't let me sleep

But you have to go babysit brats

Uggggh. Fine. I'm up. Happy?

Are you actually up? Like out of bed?

Kagome put her feet on the floor next her bed. Yes...

Don't believe you

She sent him a picture of her feet on the floor.

Sexy

Shut up jerk

Get ready for work wench

I would if someone would quit distracting me

I'm distracting huh? ;)

You're maddening

Only for you wench

I'm getting dressed now

I'll be right over

Ha. Ha.

Again, I remind you, you don't know where I live

I'll sniff it out

Very funny

Seriously, I'm up and getting dressed now

Go back to sleep

She pulled off her nightclothes and tossed them in the direction of her hamper as she made her way over to the closet. Pulling out a sweater and jeans, she made her way back over to the bed where she'd laid her phone.

Never did

What? Why?

Just distracted

Kagome wasn't sure what to make of that, so she decided to ignore it as she pulled the jeans up over her hips. Then go to sleep. Weirdo.

Only after I know you get to work ok

You're nuts. I won't get there for another hour!

So?

Go to sleep.

Nope. Gotta know you're safe.

The sweater made it's way over her head and down to her waist. Overprotective much? She grabbed her hairbrush and set to work on her tangled mane.

Only of cheeky wenches

Oh now I'm cheeky? The hairbrush returned to her nightstand.

Yep

Kagome picked up her purse and keys before quietly exiting her room. I'm leaving now. Go to sleep

I told you, not til you're at work

Kagome didn't respond during her 20 minute walk to the subway station. She hoped he would fall asleep waiting for her to text back. No such luck.

Oi wench! Where'd you go?

To the train

Hahaha

Cheeky wench

You on the train?

I am now.

Good. How long of a ride is it?

20ish minutes

What do you normally do on the train at too damn early o'clock?

Lol. Well, listen to music, or read. Sometimes I people watch but there aren't too many people on the train this early on Sunday.

People watch?

Yeah. People will do the weirdest things when they think no one is watching them. I've seen people practically doing it right in front of me before

Doing what exactly? ;)

Shut up

Never wench

You make it too easy

Do I now?

Yep.

Will you just go to sleep?

You at work?

Then I'm gonna go with no

How did I see that coming?

Idk maybe because I've said it like 1000 times already

Alright alright I get it.

' Now approaching 10 th street station' came the automated voice over the loudspeaker. Kagome stood and slid her phone into her pocket to keep it from falling out of her hand as she exited the train. Since the station was nearly deserted it was easy for her to maneuver her way out to the street to make the short walk to work. Once outside, she saw that the sun was now fully on the horizon, creating beautiful hues of pink and orange. Stopping for a moment, she smiled and took it all in. The crisp autumn air whipped her raven locks around her shoulders. Seeing the sun between the trees, Kagome couldn't resist the urge to snap a photo with her phone and send it to her new self-proclaimed watchdog.

Isn't it so beautiful Foxy?

Just like you wench ;)

Kagome snorted as she walked and texted at the same time. You don't know what I look like

Sure I do. Long black silky hair, eyes the color of dark chocolate, ivory skin. See? I know

Still, you've not seen my face

Don't have to

She didn't know how to respond to that. Lucky for her though, she rounded the last corner before coming up to Yoro North's front door. She took a picture of her hand opening said door and sent it to him.

All safe. Please sleep now? I'd feel awful if you didn't get any sleep because of me

Not your fault wench. I'm a big boy. But I promise I'll close my eyes now. Have a good day at work.

Thanks Foxy. Sweet dreams!

Kagome tucked her phone back into her pocket as she walked right past Ayame's death glare without giving the girl a second glance. As she stepped around the corner to make her way back to the classroom, she found herself cemented smack dab into Koga's chest.

“Whoa there, sweetheart!” He said as he grabbed her shoulders and gently pulled her back. “You alright?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Kagome shook her head to clear the fog from having the wind knocked from her slightly. Looking up into his sky blue eyes, she didn't miss the smirk that crossed his features at her antics. “I-I'm fine, Koga. Thanks. Hey, actually there was something I wanted to run by you if you've got a minute?”

“Sure thing, darling. Step into my office?”

Kagome had noticed his use of several terms of endearment in the last few days, but she didn't mind it so she didn't say anything to her new boss about it. Instead, she walked into his office and sat herself down without being prompted. Koga came around her to sit himself on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms lazily and smiling down at her.

“What can I do for ya, love?”

“Well, I've noticed that we don't ever take the kids anywhere outside of this building and its grounds. Is there a reason for that?”

Koga's face took a decidedly less happy appearance. “Kagome, this building is all that stands between these kids and the outside world. Humans aren't exactly welcoming to our kind, with the exception of the rare person such as yourself. We don't take the kids anywhere for their own protection but also for yours. You've seen how they can be with eachother. Imagine if they did that to a human? The backlash would be catastrophic.”

Kagome frowned. “So, they never get to leave here? Ever?”

“We occasionally take them to other facilities to interact with other children, but for the most part, yeah, they stay here.”

“And it's absolutely out of the question to take them to say a park?”

Koga's eyebrow quirked up in interest. “A park? Kagome, we have outside areas here for them.”

“I know that, Koga, but they should interact with other kids. Even human ones. I think it'll be good for them to socialize outside of their comfort zones. Some of them desperately need it. Besides, imagine if you were on the front lines of demon-human coexistence?”

Koga sighed deeply. “Kagome, I wish things were different but they're just not. I can't allow you to put the kids or yourself in that kind of danger. I'm sorry.”

The look of supreme disappointment that crossed her features nearly caused the wolf to cave. “If you say so, Koga. I'll go relieve Ginta and Hakkaku now.” She stood and exited his office with slightly slumped shoulders. She had been so sure she could convince him to let her take the kids out for a little while. Sighing, she decided she would just have to keep working him down until he agreed. Eventually, he would see her reasoning.

xxx

The next two weeks almost flew by for both InuYasha and Kagome. Even in the midst of studying for their impending final exams in a couple weeks, the pair never let a night pass without talking. It became part of both of their routines. They both looked forward to hearing from the other. Something that both of their respective room mates had not failed to notice.

“InuYasha, are you ever actually going to meet this girl?” Miroku asked his hanyou friend one Saturday afternoon.

“I have, jackass.”

Rolling his eyes, Miroku huffed. “You know what I mean. Sango and I have actually been on actual dates and you know, know eachother's names.”

“Bully for you. Now fuck off.” InuYasha practically yelled as he tried to stick his headphones on his ears.

Sighing, he took his friend's obvious hint and went downstairs to meet Sango. Upon seeing her leaning against the banister, fingers looped in her jeans, he couldn't help but smile. She smiled back and asked, “Everything ok up there? I thought I heard someone yelling.”

Miroku took his girlfriend's hand and went to exit the house. “Yeah. Just my room mate being an idiot.”

Sango raised an eyebrow in question. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He met a girl at the Halloween party but has yet to actually learn her name or even see her face outside of whatever mask she was wearing. They just text constantly.”

Sango's eyes widened. “Th-they do?”

Miroku didn't hide his puzzled expression. “Yeeeeeah...”

“Um... well...”

Stopping mid step on their trek to the campus food court, Miroku eyed his girlfriend suspiciously. “Sango?”

Biting her lip, the girl looked down at the concrete. “I think your room mate is texting my room mate.”

Eyes widening to nearly the size of saucers, Miroku burst out laughing. “You're kidding!?”

Shaking her head, Sango responded, “Nope. She calls him Foxy. I guess he was wearing a fox costume or something?”

Miroku was nearly on the ground by this point. “Jesus! Yep. That's him.”

“I don't see how this is so funny.”

Finally calming himself, Miroku placed his hands on her shoulders, “Because my dear Sango, this cannot be purely coincidental. Maybe the strings of fate had a hand in this, eh?”

Sango rolled her eyes. “You're an idiot. What are we gonna do? I can't just lie to her.”

Placing a finger on his lips thoughtfully, Miroku had a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Mayhaps you won't have to my dear...”

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#inuyasha #inukag #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fanfiction #my writing #my fanfic #my fanfiction #modern au #college au #the cat and the fox #chapter 3

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geek-patient-zero · 5 years ago

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Part 1, Chapter 3 (Pt. 1)

Or: Mage Chat at The Club Diabolique

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Volume 1

This chapter features a scene most V:TM fans will be familiar with: important vampires meeting in a seedy nightclub to talk about vampire shit.

Thanks to some reckless driving, Dire McCann arrives at Club Diabolique’s front door at exactly midnight. We also learn that he has a late-model Chrysler, but since I’m not a car guy I don’t know if that means anything about him as a character.

Originally an abandoned warehouse, the building had been converted into a disco by several ambitious young capitalists ten years earlier.

There were still discos in 1984? Wait, when did Xanadu come out?

When that craze had died, so had the club. It passed through several hands and incarnations before being bought by the present owner, Oliver Pearson. After several months of extensive interior designing, the nightspot had reopened with a new name, The Club Diabolique, and a new attitude. Converted into a Gothic-Punk haven, with live music, a huge dance floor, and an exclusive “Members Only” upper level, the bar had quickly developed into the hottest place to be in town.

It wouldn’t be a Vampire: The Masquerade story without a shady nightclub in there somewhere. This one, despite its Gothic-Punk theme, has a mixed crowd of patrons. Most importantly are the vampires, as Alexander Vargoss holds court in that members only area, but obviously none of the mortals in the club know about them.

There were rich, middle-aged businessmen wearing expensive suits, accompanied by much younger women dressed to kill in skin-tight designer dresses and five-inch heels. Club Diabolique catered to mistresses and expensive ladies of the evening, not wives. Morals and inhibitions were checked at the door.

I have a hard time believing this club could remain the hottest nightspot in town for very long if they cater to creepy old stiffs cheating on their wives. It’d hurt the club’s image with the rebellious young goth generation the club’s theme is supposedly catering to. Speaking of, we of course have some goth kids. Most of page thirty-one is spent describing them.

They were punks with an attitude.

You can tell this was written in the 90′s because the word “attitude” here doesn’t really mean anything.

Generation X-ers without much money and without much hope, they felt cheated by a world spoiled by their elders.

The kind of subculture that doesn’t mind hanging out in the same club with creepy middle-aged businessmen and their mistresses, right?

This line could also be a good way to describe how many neonates, newly-Embraced vampires, might feel towards their sires and the older vampires. You can easily make a comparison between these fledgling vampires and the disaffected mortal youth they once were, and the connection could both say something about them and help them maintain their humanity when everything else about vampire life, nature, and society is pressuring them to be monsters. But Blood War is one of those V:TM stories that doesn’t focus on neonates.

Their quest for identity had led them down some strange paths. Searching for meaning in a meaningless world, they turned to the 19th-century Gothic traditions for inspiration. Their look was a mix of black leather and Victorian finery.

A look that probably clashes with the “without much money” description. One disadvantage goths have when it comes to image, compared to punk and grunge, is that being able to afford their fancy outfits out them as suburban middle-class. There’s a whole paragraph describing their look, but I’m assuming you all know what goths look like.

McCann sympathized with the Goths. Most of them were bright, sensitive young men and women trying desperately to cope with a world of diminishing returns. Lonely and bored, they had created a whole new subculture based on a romanticized view of decadence and death.

After that “goths are punks with Attitude® “ line I was expecting the descriptions for goths to be Weinberg talking about how weird the youth of today is mixed with misconceptions like that they worship the devil or something. But this was pretty good. Their disaffection and feelings of hopelessness might be exaggerated, but that’s justified given the World of Darkness’s generally bleak setting. And there’s no mention of the music scene the subcuture came up around, but I don’t think McCann’s much of a modern music person, so it makes in-character sense. And if it’s not perfect, who are we to judge? How many of you on this hellhole of an internet know the goth subculture as anything other than a meme and a fetish?

The most relevant thing about the narration’s description of goths is their view on (the pop culture version of) vampires, and how that clashes with reality. It’s what you’d expect.

Many of them, not realizing the bitter truth behind the legends, fantasized about becoming vampires. Sometimes it happened, turning their dreams into nightmares.

[...]

Their view of the undead came from erotic novels and movies, not the Kindred. As he strolled past them, he uttered a silent prayer that they forever remain ignorant of the truth.

Aw, that’s sweet of McCann. Maybe under that master schemer detective persona beats the heart of a big old softie. Well, no, not at all, but despite being secretly really old he isn’t a dick about young people.

Club Diabolique has a doorman who’s described as “a giant of a man,” even compared to Dire McCann, who is merely big.

Dressed in undertaker’s garb, he exuded an air of restrained menace. This was Brutus, nicknamed the Arbitrator of Souls. In more mundane terms, the ex-wrestler worked as the doorman.

I wonder, does he have that nickname because goths are over-dramatic, or because vampires are over-dramatic?

Brutus is one of those unbribable club doormen who picked who can get in based on a certain criteria beyond “is the person old enough to be here” and “is this guy gonna start shit if he gets inside?” Thing is, no one knew how Brutus decided who gets in and why, and since he’s a huge scary motherfucker no one asks. Given some of the patrons, and the fact that Brutus is one of Vargoss’s ghouls, I’m guessing he judges based on who looks like they have the tastiest blood.

McCann doesn’t have to worry about Brutus, though, since they both know he has an appointment inside. There’s two paragraphs describing the club, but since the plot doesn’t spend any time here, just know that the music’s too loud to talk over and everyone’s there to dance, drink, and sin. And the band playing is called the Children of the Apocalypse, which McCann finds darkly amusing given the news he received last chapter.

Instead we’ll skip to upstairs, at the door to the member’s only area, guarded by a young “looks-eighteen-but-is-actually-a-hundred” vampire named “Fast Eddie” Sanchez, named so due to his skills with a knife. McCann asks him what’s up, and we learn that Vargoss’s guest is “some big shot Tremere sorcerer” and that “word on the street is that bad times are coming.” McCann says that it sound like a good reason for Eddie to keep his knives sharpened.

“I always keep my knives ready, McCann,” said Eddie, seriously, as the detective walked past him and into the next room.

You notice how that quote’s in italics? There’s several different instances in this chapter where lines are randomly written in italics and I have no idea why. The first thing I assumed is that it’s a subtle way of showing that a vampire is using a speech enhancing discipline, like maybe Eddie’s using a Presence power here to sound more intimidating? That’d explain lines of dialogue, but there are lines by the narration that’re randomly in italics too. You can see that here, since the description of McCann walking into the next room is also italicized along with the dialogue. I have no idea what the writer was doing here, and this is the only chapter where this happens.

McCann describes the members only vampire part of the club:

There were a dozen round cocktail tables scattered about the private chamber, with perhaps fifteen Kindred and twice that number of ghouls present. A small bar served whiskey for the ghouls and blood, both human and animal, for the Undead. Neonates, recently embraced vampires, worked as the waiters.

One criticism I’ve heard about the earlier versions of the Vampire: The Masquerade tabletop game is that players, despite being big tough vampires with cool powers, are usually railroaded into being neonates doing low-level schmuck work for the actually powerful Count Dracula level vampires, rarely in a position to do much politicking or even hunting. Superpowered errand boys instead of, you know, vampires. These poor waiters here reminded me of that, though in the tabletop’s defense I doubt you’re expected to work a minimum wage job instead of something more exciting and action packed. In the end, it depends on the storyteller. Also, as the book goes on, I think it unintentionally makes an argument for why campaigns about elders and methuselahs might not be the best idea.

To the rear of the room, on a small raised stage, an undead trio of jazz legends were playing some of their greatest hits for a small but appreciative crowd gathered nearby.

I hope those poor bastards aren’t Toreador, but given that they’re just playing their greatest hits about sixty years after their embrace...

Alexander Vargoss hated rock music and refused to have it in his domain.

Unlike McCann, Vargoss is not down with the youth of (about forty years ago up to) today and hates their “rock” “music.” I was also going to ask why Vargoss holds court in a room over a place he can’t stand, but I figure since he’s a Ventrue he’s compelled to follow the money regardless of where it leads. The member’s only area’s soundproofed, anyway.

They kept the noise outside, and, sometimes, held the screams inside. Humans other than McCann had entered the private chamber. But he was the only one who had ever left alive.

Kindred can drink from humans without killing them, so either the humans killed here are Masquerade threats being dealt with discreetly, Vargoss is a low Humanity bastard, or everyone in the club has bad luck with frenzy-stopping dice rolls.

A stunning redhead was singing with the band tonight. Wearing a green sequined dress that sharply delineated a near-perfect figure, she possessed a deep, syrupy voice that blended in perfect harmony with the three musicians.

Of course she’s hot.

McCann’s never seen the singer before, but she looks “vaguely familiar”, so he asks one of those vampire waiters who she is. Turns out she’s a ghoul belonging to a Toreador named Iverson, whose been visiting St. Louis on business for the last month and is sitting nearby watching her. We’re also reminded by the narration that Toreador are known for their “obsession with the arts.”

“He watches her real, real careful. Doesn’t like anyone else taking an interest in the lady. Can’t say I blame him. She’s good.”

“She’s terrific,” said McCann. “I’m surprised he’s left her mortal. Having her as his childe would really boost his prestige in the clan.”

“I think he’s worried she might lose her sultriness if Embraced,” replied the waiter.

See? Even the Toreador know their art sucks.

The waiter advises McCann to stop gawking and get over to Vargoss’s table. Vargoss is getting impatient and that flashy Around the World in Eighty Days style “arriving at your destination at the exact time” entrance only counts if you arrive in the exact room you’re supposed to meet in. So, somewhat unceremoniously given that this is the Prince of St. Louis, McCann walks over to Vargoss’s table, apologizes for being late, and that’s that. The Prince is there, sitting with his back against a brick wall because he’s paranoid about attacks from behind, along with his bodyguards, ~*~The Dark Angels~*~ Fawn and Flavia, at either side of him, and their guest, a little rat-faced Tremere wizard. We get more random italics.

“You delayed our conversation until this kine arrived?” the wizard snarled at Vargoss, making it quite clear he considered McCann a step below a monkey. The Tremere Clan were not noted for their social graces.

The Tremere guy’s an asshole. No surprise there.

Vargoss seems to ignore him and asks McCann what he thinks of the singer, who we learn is named Rachel Young, but his “icy tone” implies that the wizard’s bad manners have offended him as a host, and the wizard realizes this and shuts up. We also learn that a “closely trusted Tremere councilor” had tried to betray Vargoss a few months ago, but McCann uncovered the plot and stopped him, so Vargoss is especially pissed at he Tremere’s sudden dickishness and general presence.

After some banter about Rachel Young, during which she meets McCann’s gaze from the stage and smiles enigmatically at him, Vargoss chews the Tremere out, warning him to watch his manners or else. He also says that McCann is no ordinary human.

The Prince showing off his pet human, thought McCann sarcastically.

And now the random italics are showing up halfway through sentences. What’s with this? Was there no editor?

What makes McCann “no ordinary human” to Vargoss has nothing to do with his detective skills. Instead, McCann traces “a certain proscribed cabalistic phrase” on the table, presumably with his finger but I’m not ruling out a nearby spoon. The letters he made glow red for an instant before disappearing. It’s not very impressive given the vampire powers we’ll see elsewhere in the story, but it’s enough to prove that McCann is magic. And one of the biggest conversation derailers in the franchise.

“You’re a mage?” he whispered. “Of what tradition?”

“Euthanatos.” replied McCann, naming the infamous Death cult. Several of their number cooperated with the Kindred, lending credence to the detective’s lie.

Hoo boy, mages.

Mage: The Ascension is another game that’s part of the World of Darkness franchise. I can’t tell you much about it since I’d only ever been interested in V:TM. But from what I’d been able to understand from online chat, there’s one important thing to keep in mind when it comes to mages in relation to Vampire: The Masquerade.

You should NOT. TALK. ABOUT MAGES IN RELATION TO VAMPIRE: THE MASQUERADE.

Mages tend to be way, way more powerful than vampires thanks to having fantastic cosmic reality warping powers or some shit. They’ve also got technology. The Technocracy, which I’ve seen get brought up a lot, have orbital mirrors that can create sun-powered space lasers, and goddamn space travel. On top of the obvious power level arguments this’d cause, the nature of mages tend to lead to more “high-minded” concepts like the nature of reality and finding a way for all of humanity to “Ascend.” Compare that to the Kindred’s pettier goals like hiding their existence from the average mortal, manipulating each other, and seeking individual power. When there’re all these factions of magic mortals reshaping reality and burning things with sun lasers in space, it makes the Kindred and their petty earthly squabbles seem pretty damn stupid and unimportant.

So when you’re chatting about Vampire: The Masquerade, bring up mages at your own risk, unless you want to cause long derails about what the mages would do, how they could solve any big problem for vampires without even trying, why they wouldn’t get involved, how something contradicts the lore of one of the two franchises, why are the Antediluvians a threat in the first place when the Technolocracy can sun laser them from space (and they actually do this to one, read up on The Week of Nightmares), and of course, why someone’s pet vampire can totally beat a mage in a fight. And lore dumps. Pages of ‘em.

Hell, I’m derailing right now, and this post is long enough. Back to the story.

The rat-faced Tremere, shocked and more than little scared to have insulted a mage, apologizes, introduces himself as Tyrus Benedict, and assures that he meant no disrespect to McCann or his “order.” We also get this little bit.

Like most Kindred, he was extremely wary of mages. Those beings foolish enough to cross magicians usually ended up perishing in peculiar fashion. Including the Undead.

Also remember that the Tremere used to be mages, so that’s a another group of even more dangerous people who’d like to stick a foot up the Tremere’s asses.

McCann’s trying not to laugh at the easily fooled vampire. See, he’s lying about being Euthanatos. He isn’t even a mage. He just knows a few simple “parlor tricks” like creating glowing red runes with his finger/spoon to fool vamps like Vargoss and Benedict here into thinking he’s a mage.

The Kindred were masters of deceit and deception. Yet they much too easily accepted the unbelievable when confronted with the obvious. They saw complications where none existed. It was a basic character flaw that Dire McCann understood and exploited quite effectively. And had done so, in various guises, over the milennia.

So. He’s at least a thousand years old, but he’s mortal, not a Kindred. He knows some minor magic, but he’s not a mage...

Also, I’m not seeing how “I’m a Mage, I can do magic” is any more complicated than the truth here.

Vargoss and Benedict have some “blood cocktails” (the whiskey here’s too smooth for a big tough guy like Dire McCann, and the twins, edgelords that they are, prefer drinking from the source) and they finally get down to business. The Camarilla elders sent Tyrus to St. Louis to inform Vargoss of current events in the former Soviet Union. Why Vargoss is important enough to bother informing I don’t know, but McCann has to find out somehow, so here we are.

It all started about three years ago, a year before the prologue.

“...at the height of Boris Yeltsin’s unexpected rise to supreme authority in Moscow, all communications with the Kindred inside the former Soviet Union ceased. In the period of a few days, an Iron Curtain of silence descended across Russia. It was as if the Earth itself swallowed up our brethren.”

According to the wiki, this was called the Shadow Curtain.

The European Ventrue and Toreador clans sent some spies into Russia to find out what’s going on, but none returned. Vargoss doesn’t find this very mysterious.

Vargoss shrugged. “Obviously it was a Sabbat takeover. The Brujah elders in Moscow underestimated the discontent among their kine. Their puppet rulers spent too much money on weapons and not enough on food. Without a strong leader like Stalin to keep the commoners in line, discontent and anarchy flourished. The fall of the government, and the Brujah with it, was inevitable. No mystery there. We saw it take place on television.”

How topical for the early 90′s... I have some opinions about Vampire: The Masquerade’s use of historical and current events, and how vampires were involved with them, but that’ll wait until I get to a more offending example toward the end of the book.

Vargoss thinks that the Sabbat, experts at staging revolutions, caught the Brujah unaware and took over. Benedict says the Camarilla elders thought so too, but their spies within the Sabbat revealed that they lost a half dozen of their own people when the curtain fell. They sacrificed dozens of “packs” to break the “barrier of silence,” but they got nothing. Whatever’s causing the Shadow Curtain is stronger than both the Camarilla and the Sabbot. Vargoss asks what could be stronger than the Camarilla, and Benedict answers. Still in italics, of course.

“The Army of Night,’ said Tyrus Benedict, his voice rising in intensity. An unholy band of demonic Kindred belonging to no clan, they are allied with the forces of hell. The fiends belong to the brood of the most feared sorceress of all time—the Hag, Baba Yaga.”

No, not him.

“She awoke from torpor several years ago and has now reclaimed Russia as her own. Armageddon approaches. The Nictuku are rising!”

The legendary Baba Yaga’s a vampire in this setting, the one responsible for the Shadow Curtain, and yet another one of the Nictuku. When Benedict mentions Armageddon here, he doesn’t just mean because some old and cannabalistic methuselahs are waking up just to annoy them. The rising is said to be a sign that Gehenna, the end of the world for vampires and mankind, is starting.

Again, the Nictuku are 4th generation Nosferatu, completely loyal to their sire, the Antediluvian Absimiliard. And Absimiliard apparently hates his descendants, since he was a vain handsome bastard before Caine cursed him and the ugly little rat people living in the sewers remind him of his curse. It’s said that when the Nictuku rise, they’ll wipe out the later generations of Nosferatu, just as their sire wants. Except, funny enough, for Baba Yaga here. She’s apparently a rebel among the Nictuku, and is said to even be the direct vampiric ancestor of all modern Nosferatu, done just to piss Absimiliard off. Seems she just wants to gain power for herself, which is what she’s doing in Russia.

In short: If the Nictuku are rising, they’re probably going to do Absimiliard’s bidding. And if they’re rising, maybe Absimiliard is stirring too. And if he’s beginning to rise, so are the other Antediluvians. And if that’s happening, boom. Gehenna. Everyone’s fucked.

Going according to Camarilla policy, Vargoss angrily denies that the Nictuku (and what they represent, though that’s left unsaid) exist, that they’re just myths “invented by the Nosferatu elders to frighten their rebellious childer.” But turns out Benedict has photographic evidence. He hands over some photos, informing Vargoss that many bothans Tremere wizards met the Final Death getting them. The Sabbat and the rest of the Camarilla couldn’t figure out what was going on in Russia, but somehow the sneaky fuck blood magic clan managed to get pictures of the cause.

McCann doesn’t get to see them, and thus neither do we. But Vargoss tells us all we need to know.

Vargoss’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the photos. Raising up one particular picture, he showed it to Fawn and Flavia. “She has teeth of iron and six-inch claws,” he stated in hushed tones. “Just as the legends claim.”

It’s enough to shut down any more “Nictuku aren’t real” talk.

McCann, meanwhile, notices that Benedict hadn’t said anything since he revealed the photos, which, come on McCann, it’s not even been a minute. But this is supposed to hint that something’s off, because Benedict is staring at the stage with Young and the jazz trio. Who’ve stopped playing.

Suddenly, they hear Young scream.

McCann and the vamps at the table (except Benedict, the wimp) jump up and face the stage, forming a neat little group action pose that’d make for good promotion material if this were a visual media and not a book.

In one hand, he gripped his machine gun pistol, ready for action. At his side were the Dark Angels. Each of them held a pair of short swords they were capable of wielding with deadly efficiency. Right behind them stood Alexander Vargoss. The Prince of St. Louis was no coward.

Says the book after specifically describing him as standing behind the other three. But, alright, I know what Weinberg’s going for.

“Who in hell’s name is that?” whispered McCann ... “What in hell’s name is that?”

Time to meet the bad guy.

Tall and gaunt, a lone figure dominated the center of the chamber, a few feet in front of the stage. It had not been there a moment ago. Somehow, it had materialized out of thin air. That was what the Tremere wizard had seen. It was a magical feat that challenged even the most powerful of Kindred.

You sure he didn’t just reveal himself after deactivating Obfuscate? Or turn into an animal, sneak in, and change back at a dramatically appropriate time? Or-

The newcomer wore a single garment consisting of a ripped and tattered shroud held tightly in place about his body with moldering white bandages. His chalk-white face was that of a long dead corpse. Ancient, decaying skin stretched tightly across a hairless skull. Paper-thin lips, a beak-like nose, and hollow, gaunt cheeks combined in a look of utter malevolence. Huge unblinking eyes, like the black pits of hell, took in all those in the chamber.

A creature of blacks and whites, streaks of brilliant crimson marked his face, his hands, and his arms. Hands and fingers glowed ghostly red. The bright scarlet of fresh blood. There was no question in McCann’s mind that here stood the Red Death.

And his body seems to be generating great heat, and not in the fun wrestling terminology kind of way.

The floor surrounding the walking corpse sizzled. The vinyl bubbled like lava beneath the creature’s feet. Waves of superheated air rose around the figure, giving it an eerie, unearthly vagueness. The Red Death blazed, but did not burn.

Fire’s a fatal weakness for vampires, and that presumably goes for heat so intense it should make things burst into flame too. If you’re playing the tabletop game, you gotta roll to see if your character will freak out and run from fire or not. So this corpse-looking guy generating heat that can melt the floor with no harm to himself is a big deal. Benedict and McCann hype him up a bit more for good measure.

“In three hundred years I have never seen its like,’ muttered Benedict, still seated. ‘How can such a monster exist?”

McCann wondered the same thing. And he based his observation on a much greater span of time.

Vargoss speaks up, trying to live up to that “no coward” description from earlier.

“Who are you?” The Prince’s voice rang like a bell through the silent chamber. “And how dare you violate the traditions and enter my domain without permission?”

“This is how you face the devil straight up, McCann, you wuss.”

The figure raised its head until its eyes glared directly at Vargoss. “I am the Red Death,” the monster declared in slow, deliberate tones. “I go where I want. Your petty territorial claims mean nothing to me. My will is the only law.”

We’ll stop here for now, with McCann and the vampires about to take on the titular Red Death. He acts tough and yeah, he made quite an entrance, but in the end, who knows? Maybe McCann and the vamps’ll do alright.

#vampire the masquerade #vampire: the masquerade #vtm #vtmb #world of darkness #blood war

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chrisgiuliano · 6 years ago

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Art & The American City

For whatever reason, Art Deco has been on my mind quite a bit lately, and I decided while in New York recently that I wanted to revisit some of the city’s more famous Art Deco landmarks - the Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building, the Met Life Building (the original one on Park Avenue, not the one above Grand Central), as well as the buildings of Rockefeller Center, and one of my all-time personal favorites, One Wall Street. I wanted to experience some of my favorite skyscrapers from the ground, the way they were intended to be experienced, and to circle them looking for new angles to capture them from, taking some shots but also planning more future shots.

One of the earliest and greatest Art Deco buildings, and another personal favorite, is Raymond Hood’s iconic American Radiator Building (pictured above in a Georgia O’Keefe painting). The American Radiator Building is on 40th St next to Bryant Park, occupying a prominent position near the public library, visible all around because of the park in front of it. After looking at the building, I remembered Georgia O’Keefe’s painting of it, and tried to picture it in person as she might have seen it. Her painting of the building is a homage to modernity. It was painted in 1927, and clearly shows how dazzling the new concept of an electrically lit city must have felt. Lights illuminate the middle floors, as well as the crown of the building, which is dramatically lit from below, and spotlights seems to search in the background from the ground. Another thing I get from this painting is the enthusiasm for verticality present in all Art Deco architecture. Raymond Hood was a master of verticality, and the American Radiator Building is one of the more impressive examples of the hopefulness of early skyscraper design, as the spires at the top point upwards into the sky, a theme that would become more and more prevalent, reaching its most exaggerated yet tasteful and handsome conclusion in the oddly under-rated Empire State and Chrysler Buildings.

Anyway, the above painting and all of my Art Deco escapades over the weekend got me thinking about originality and inventiveness in American art, and I discovered a few other painters and photographers with interesting and uniquely American works today that I thought were worth sharing. The Precisionists were American artists who made urban images that depicted the unprecedented scale and odd, cinematic beauty of American cities. Charles DeMuth, Charles Sheeler, and Paul Strand were three of the new artists I discovered, along with some of O’Keefe’s other, lesser-known paintings. Some of my favorites of all of these artists are posted below.

The interesting thing to me about all of these paintings is the obsession they have with uniquely American scenery. Scenes like these have been a big influence on the way I have been shooting recently. Above all else, they remind me of a quote in a book review of Jean Baudrillard’s travelogue America where the reviewer sums up Baudrillard’s account of American cities in the 1980′s: "The crowded cities are ‘electrifying’ and ‘cinematic’“. That sentence stuck with me, as I think it is an interesting representation of American urbanism, at least as American cities differ from other world cities. Americans invented the idea of the tall city. The skyscraper originated in Chicago and was perfected in New York. The evolution of the skyscraper was an exercise in engineering, as American cities soared to new heights and made their mark on the world. Unfortunately, our new skyscrapers do little to emphasize their height and have shunned the use of any traces of what makes the skyscraper American, instead opting to look like relatively bland glass boxes with no geographic or regional importance (with a few notable exceptions).

The paintings above draw on the unique sense of bigness and modernity that American cities, especially the large eastern cities, carried with great confidence in the first half of the 20th century when Art Deco was a prominent building style. Light, shadows, smoke, concrete, metal, and occasionally people mingle in an environment that was being pioneered and tested for the first time. In the great Northern cities (particularly New York, Chicago and some of the Rust Belt cities like Detroit, Pittsburgh, etc.), impressive and overwhelming structures became a part of everyday life. Whether in the tall, crowded, and chaotic granite walls of downtown, or the loud, noisy, traffic-clogged and smoke filled industrial districts where immigrants flooded to work in super-structure factories that made ships, steel, textiles, automobiles, or consumer goods, American cities were places of excess, filled with dazzling new architectural innovations. The machine age was in full swing, and American architecture (and art) reflected this bold new era in its flamboyantly optimistic designs.

At the same time, these urban environments created a bizarre sense of loneliness, exaggerated by the constant flow of human beings, transit, consumerism, and general American excessive-ness that has always been our best and worst trademark. These feelings were captured by one of the greatest American painters, Edward Hopper (below), whose works always included a sparse amount of people, often bathed in the glow of artificial light and sulking in their loneliness.

It says something about American attitudes towards urbanism today that Hopper’s urban paintings are much better known than O’Keefe’s or those of the Precisionists. As the 20th century surged forward, urbanism lost its luster. Cities were seen as dirty, grimy, and chaotic places that offered bad lives with polluted air. Anybody who could (though many could not), fled to the suburbs, and so we were left with white flight and urban renewal. The American urban consciousness was forever changed. Gone was art deco with its flashy vertical skyscrapers, exuberant urban designs and the flutter of industrial innovation that inspired it, and in came European Modernism, square glass boxes, American consumerist design, and the suburbs. It’s almost impressive how quickly Americans became disillusioned with what was by far our most impressive invention - the vertical city.

Even more bizarre is that we hardly even take Hopper seriously, and one of his paintings, Nighthawks, is one of the most parodied pieces of art in American history. On the internet, people have substituted the figures in the painting with all manner of characters from movies and pop culture, or set the diner in an imaginary place. We’re even disillusioned with our disillusionment. How post modern.

I think part of what has made me think so much about this was my recent trip to Asia. I visited Hong Kong, as well as several cities in South Korea, for two weeks. I think the trip revealed two things - first, it reinforced my love for the unfamiliar in cities (and there is not a more foreign, yet exhilarating experience as being a white person in Asian cities, something which Lost in Translation does an excellent job in capturing), and second, it showed me how much Americans are still admired in other parts of the world, despite my thoughts about our increasing irrelevancy and our current cultural and political circus that is on display for the world to see. In Asian cities that have taken and built upon all of the best things about American cities in the early 20th century, we were still met with awed looks when we talked casually about New York, or when people would ask us about the United States, and we would tell them about places like Los Angeles, Detroit, and Chicago. I realized that American cities do still have a strange ability to capture the imagination despite their flaws.

All of this has been informing the recent series that I have been slowly putting together from old and new photos, named Cities & Memory. The title is taken from Italo Calvino’s novel Invisible Cities, and comes from the feelings I got experiencing the cities of the Far East, which reminded me of my initial experiences of American cities. I felt, among other things, a sense of awe and confusion, in addition to being amazed by the architecture, infrastructure and cultural experiences.

I do sincerely wish we could build up our cities more than we do now, and that when we did so, we had something that made them look unique. I think architecture critics seem to think that American architecture is little more than a collection of variations on European architecture, but Art Deco is certainly a very American building style. I would love to see a return of Art Deco styles, like the new 9 DeKalb Ave in Brooklyn by SHoP Architects, SOM’s recently-revealed designs for the Chicago Spire site, or Pelli’s Wells Fargo Center in Minneapolis, which is perhaps one of the only buildings to be built in America in the last 50 years with so much as a nod to what makes American cities distinctly American (with some obvious inspiration from the designs of Raymond Hood). Instead of trying to compete with Dubai and Shanghai for the most oddly-shaped skyscrapers, perhaps we could look to our own history of vertical design for more inspiration. The bizarre experiments of our newest skyscrapers, which are beyond Post-Modernism now (though I still don’t know what to call them), seem to be experiments in what we can do with glass for the sake of experimenting with glass. It would be interesting to see a new crop of neo-decoism flourish and redefine American architecture. We could use something that draws on our unique history and innovations and inspires our imagination, reminding us that we once were, and could again be great city builders.

#architecture #american art #urbanism #georgia o'keefe #art deco #new york

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shprka · 5 years ago

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“Of Lions, foxes and bears” and me – my literary journey with Part 1 of Merlin and Arthur's story

YOU CAN READ PART 1 OF THE STORY ON AO3

Hi, I'm Szpurka!

INTRODUCTION

(if you just don't wanna read this big ass wall of text and you came just for the fic, scroll to title SO, THE FIC)

Some of you might know I write and I love to write, anything and everything – short stories, longer stories, fanfiction, screenplays. As of yet most of them haven't seen the light of day and to be honest, some of them never will. You can say I am both self-conscious and confident in my writing. If I wasn't at least somewhat proud of what I write, I would just sit day-dreaming about the ideas I have and I would be miserable and too afraid to show it to anyone. And I was that for a long time, until I decided this year that no, I don't have to keep what I write a secret (even if it's a self-indulgent fanfic). I started to believe in myself more and am still trying to write and read and find like-minded people, who can relate and maybe have a good word or two to give.

But you're most likely here not to listen to me ramble about myself! You want to know how “Of Lions...” came to life. I don't want it to be a long post, so we'll just go over some technical stuff.

Fantasy is a genre that I loved since I was little, later on in my teens I became interested in different cultures and their mythologies. This is why I started watching Merlin in the first place, as probably many of you. Knights, sorcerers, magic, evil kings and witches? Sign me the fuck up!

Don't kill me, but I started my journey with Merlin pretty late (January 2019, the beginning of this year). I watched a few episodes on the telly, and never gave it much thought. Until a friend of mine mentioned it a few times and it was on Netflix, so yep, that's how it all started.

I was in a few fandoms before, have written a few fanfics for them (that are lost forever because I don't remember where I saved them, and then I changed laptops like three times, so... rest in peace, forgotten words of a teen me). I was honestly surprised Merlin fandom is so active and, you know, even alive after all this years. The show ended in 2012, wow.

I've written a few pieces, especially encouraged by the Merlin Memory Month May 2019 prompts, which got me really excited and thinking of all the possibilities. I've read a lot of Merthur fanfics by then and seen all the variations of the characters and the story, and honestly with every knew author I fall in love with writing and the particular movie or show even more. That's when I heard the words After Camlann Big Bang 2019 been uttered somewhere on this corner of the internet and I was like, yep, I'm in, I have to write a story now.

SO, THE FIC

(interesting stuff, finally!)

I had idea for Ranger!Arthur for a while and I wanted to try and write high fantasy on my own, kind of like in the show but more mythology and Celts and druids, and magic. I turned out in Part 1 of this you can read like 1/3 of it, though, and there's not a lot of magic, sorry! I will write the rest and I promise it will be much more magic-y.

What I also wanted was for BBC's Merlin to give me at least a few more episodes where Arthur knows about Merlin's magic and they work together to bring magic back and kick ass together. Basically, an fantasy adventure. And I settled on that.

You can see I took some liberties with the world-building. Arthur's characterization is what I had a problem with because he was a spoiled prince we all know, on the other – I had to describe how being in the Otherworld changed him.

Otherworld – it's underworld/hell/heaven, where souls go after people die. It's most of often than not depicted as a land of everlasting youth and joy and a paradise, basically. You can now it as Avalon, a magical island where King Arthur (from the legends) was taken after the Battle of Camlann. Avalaon became associated with heaven/paradise. That's where magic lives, fairies, spirits and such.

You can remember from BBC's Merlin how the Sidhe tried to drag Arthur with them to their own world by an open portal in the river. This is because Celts believed gates to other worlds (and in this case just one, Otherworld) were in lakes, rivers, in fires, on the top of mountains or hills – places where two elements collide.

So why depict Otherworld as a wasteland with gray ugly sky, and the only life there are beasts that want to eat each other alive and this is a place where only the strongest survive? Don't want to spoil anything, but there is a big reason that Arthur ended up in this kind of place, and not some kind of heaven.

Wyverns – if you look up a definition, they are smaller dragons with only two legs, that's why mine don't have four like in BBC's Merlin. They don't breathe fire, but mine spit fire just a little bit, because that's cool.

Midsummer – which is one of the most important traditions Celtic year. It takes place between June 19 and June 25. And because I am lazy and just came up to write this and have to go to bed because of an early morning, I added my notes (I hope you can understand my awful chicken scratch) + photos from the book that I came across called “Midsummer: Magical Celebrations of the Summer Solstice” by Anna Franklin.

MY SITE, MY BOOK AND MY PLANS FOR THE FUTURE

As I mentioned on ao3, yes, I have a site in the making! I hoped to have it set up before posting this fic, and this post would be one of the first, but you just can't rush some things. While it's slowly coming along and will be a place where I share some of my personal view on writing and filmmaking (because I am a film student, hoping to be a director, if you didn't know :)) and maybe it would a platform to share my stories, both fanfiction and future novels, scripts (hopefully) and my progress of taking my life by the horns (is that the saying? Probably not) and becoming who I want to be, instead waiting for a publisher to call and say, “I don't know who you are, what you do or what you've done ever in your life, but I want your story that no one knows about to be published!!!”.

This isn't the post to be really talking about it (haha, exploiting your merthur love to read this, I am awful, I know), but I have a finished novel of over 100k words sitting in my drawer (in a folder on my laptop) and I have to focus on it finally, not get distracted and translate it all from Polish (my mother language) to English by myself. Then I'll have to find an editor to check it all for me and some beta readers, because no one but me even touched the finished story and we'll see from there. By talking about it to more people I hope to actually get it done and find my enthusiasm again.

The story is an urban fantasy happening in our times in New York. The fates of two completely different people are more intertwined than they think. The first one is a fantasy writer from London and the other is a broker's bodyguard, a woman who is a splitting image of Death from the writer's short story, exactly how he imagined her when he'd written it as a kid. They meet as adults and try to discover how's that possible that she's Death.

If you were interested, intrigued maybe check for the updates, I'll definitely talk about it in detail within the next few weeks, maybe even share some spoilers ;) on my site. Was thinking of posting a first chapter/prologue some day to get you into the feel of the story and maybe support the creative process.

IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, DON'T BE AFRAID TO ASK!

CLICK BELOW FOR MY NOTES :)

#merthur #merlin #bbc merlin #high fantasy #ranger arthur #ignore me spelling midsummer wrong #it was like 3 am ok?#i am embarassed #and um forgive my bad handwriting #i have no excuses #i write like that everyday

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maddie-grove · 5 years ago

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Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up: March/April

PLAYLIST

“Hey, Little Songbird” from Hadestown (The Wager)

“New Slang” by the Shins (Spinners)

“Auto de Fé” from Candide (October Wind)

“Let’s Generalize about Men” from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (Mrs. Martin’s Incomparable Adventure)

“Juice” by Lizzo (Shrill)

“Love’s Been Good to Me” by Frank Sinatra (Sex and Violence)

“Heroes” by David Bowie (Cracker Jackson)

“Listen to Her Heart” by Tom Petty and the Hearbreakers (The Cybil War)

“Satellite of Love” by Lou Reed (The T.V. Kid)

“Distant Shores” by Chad and Jeremy (Love’s Willing Servant)

“Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod?” by the Mountain Goats (The Cartoonist)

“Ghost World” by Aimee Mann (Summer of the Swans)

“Floating Vibes” by Surfer Blood (Not the Duke’s Darling)

BEST OF THE BI-MONTH

The Wager by Donna Jo Napoli (2010): Don Giovanni de la Fortuna, a nineteen-year-old nobleman in medieval Sicily, loses his entire fortune to a tidal wave and soon finds himself on the brink of starvation. That’s when the Devil comes knocking with an offer: endless money for the rest of his life if he doesn’t bathe, cut his hair, shave, or change his clothes for three years, three months, and three days. This is a retelling of a lesser-known Sicilian fairy tale and, next to the sublime Breath, it’s Napoli’s best work. Instead of taking the easy route of making Don Giovanni a stupid brat who learns to be nicer and more frugal, she complicates things by making him sweet and resourceful from the beginning, as well as callow and somewhat thoughtless. (His first action after seeing the damage wrought by the tidal wave is to go out and help bury the dead for three straight days.) This makes the message of the book more powerful; if someone deep-down good and intelligent can stand to think more about others and help the less fortunate, then clearly that lesson applies to everyone, not just the worst sort of rich people. Don Giovanni’s unprocessed grief over his long-dead parents and longing for human connection are also very affecting.

WORST OF THE BI-MONTH

Spinners by Donna Jo Napoli and Richard Tchen (1999): In medieval-ish Scotland, a poor tailor longs to marry his sweetheart, a spinner, but her father will only consent if the tailor can show he’ll be a good provider. The tailor tries to make a dress that appears to be made of gold and succeeds; however, he still loses his sweetheart to a rich miller and his health to a magic spinning wheel (as one does). Years later, the sweetheart’s daughter, now a skilled spinner in her own right, finds herself in trouble when a king gets the wrong impression about her being able to spin straw into gold. File this one under “cool idea, half-assed execution.” After a certain point, Napoli seems to run out of her own ideas and just follows “Rumpelstiltskin” to its original conclusion. This wouldn’t be great for any fairy-tale retelling, but the ludicrous “Rumpelstiltskin” needs more reworking than most. Also, the tailor’s sweetheart is such an ableist tool! I’d get it if she chose the rich miller out of concern for financial security, but she just dumps the tailor because the magic spinning wheel basically gave him a supernatural stroke and she thinks it made him evil? You can do better, baby!

REST OF THE BI-MONTH

The Cartoonist by Betsy Byars (1978): Alfie Mason, a quiet eleven-year-old, takes refuge from his unhappy family in the tiny attic of his ramshackle house, drawing faintly absurd cartoons. Then his ne’er-do-well older brother Bubba loses his job, prompting a way-too-excited Mrs. Mason to decide to renovate the attic into a bedroom...so Alfie barricades himself in the attic and throws the family into chaos without saying a word. I first read this book when I was eleven, and even then I found it deeply upsetting. Mrs. Mason seems incapable of seeing anyone but Bubba as a full human being, and she never regrets hurting Alfie or her daughter Alma in order to benefit her eldest. The best Alfie and Alma can do is call her out on it--Alfie through his silent protest, Alma by finally standing up for herself and her little brother--and try to move on. It’s certainly an unvarnished message for a middle-grade novel, but it’s not a bad one, given that some parents are just like that.

Shrill by Lindy West (2016): In this memoir, Lindy West reflects on her personal experiences with fatphobia, the general strangeness of having a human body, abortion, the ethics of comedy, and Internet trolls, among other subjects. This book was genuinely inspiring and amusing to me at a time when I greatly needed a lot of confidence and some laughs, and for that I am eternally grateful. The humor can feel very social-media-circa-2015, but there are worse things than a book capturing a specific moment.

Cracker Jackson by Betsy Byars (1985): Eleven-year-old “Cracker” Jackson Hunter realizes that Alma, his beloved former babysitter, is being physically abused by her husband. Even though his divorced parents forbid it and Alma herself warns him against angering her husband, he tries his best to help her, with mixed results. By all rights, this middle-grade novel should be a tonal mess--Jackson and his best friend Goat get involved in some legit Wacky Schemes--but instead it’s a moving portrait of a kid who has to deal with gut-wrenching adult realities while also navigating sixth-grade drama. I also loved Jackson’s three parental figures. They’re all flawed--Jackson’s mom is a worrywart about stuff that doesn’t matter, his dad can’t hold a conversation with him without lapsing into Dracula impressions, and Alma sometimes treats him more like a peer than a kid--but they all clearly care about him and try to make things okay.

Not the Duke’s Darling by Elizabeth Hoyt (2018): Years ago, a horrific murder and a dubious attempt at revenge tore apart the lives of Christopher Renshawe and Lady Freya de Moray. Now he’s a widowed duke with severe claustrophobia and a blackmailer on his case, while she’s an undercover spy for a secret society of Scottish witches who help women. (Awesome.) (Also some of them are lesbians.) When they end up at the same house party, she vows to keep hating him for wronging her family, but does that last long? No, because they’re reasonably good at communicating and can appreciate each other’s goals! This spooky Georgian romance didn’t knock my socks off, but it’s a good start to Hoyt’s new Greycourt series and it has a light touch with the serious issues it handles.

Mrs. Martin’s Incomparable Adventure by Courtney Milan (2019): Violetta Beauchamps, a sixty-nine-year-old* bookkeeper, is cheated out of her pension by her landlord boss. In desperation, she hatches her own retirement plan: swindling Bertrice Martin, a wealthy seventy-three-year-old widow, by pretending to be her insolvent nephew’s landlady. Bertrice has refused to pay her nephew’s debts on principle, but she’s willing to make an exception if Violetta will help pester him into vacating his lodgings. Shenanigans and old-lady romance ensue. This mid-Victorian-set romance novella is like an ambiguous image (for example: that picture that’s either a vase or two faces in profile). Look at it as the tale of two L.M.-Montgomery-style elderly women falling in love, and it’s delightful; look at it for deep social commentary, and it’s pretty simplistic and sometimes even callous. I enjoyed it, but it only works on certain levels.

Summer of the Swans by Betsy Byars (1970): Lately, fourteen-year-old Sara Godfrey has been feeling awkward and out of charity with everyone: her absentee father, her plainspoken aunt, her beautiful older sister, the other kids at school, and even her little brother Charlie, who has been mostly nonverbal and easily disoriented since sustaining serious brain damage during a childhood illness. When Charlie goes missing in the night, though, her only thought is to find him. Despite loving Byars, I avoided this Newberry winner as a kid because it looked kind of boring. It is a little sedate in a classic-American-coming-of-age-story way--part “The Scarlet Ibis,” part Judy Blume--but I still loved Sara, who is always ready to throw down, and I found the depiction of Charlie to be surprisingly sensitive for the time. (The language is outdated, but the passages from Charlie’s POV aren’t condescending, plus he isn’t killed off, as I initially feared.) The descriptions of the coal-ravaged West Virginia countryside are also very evocative.

The TV Kid by Betsy Byars (1974): Lenny, a preteen living with his single mom at the kitschy Kentucky motel she owns, struggles in school and has no friends. (His family moves around a lot and he probably has a learning disability.) He has two sources of solace: watching TV and sneaking into the abandoned lake houses in his neighborhood. One day, though, his favorite hobbies get him into trouble. This was one of my favorite Byars books as a kid, even though I was not familiar with the TV landscape of 1974. I liked it a little less this time, but not because it was dated; instead, I was disconcerted by how pro-getting-bitten-by-a-rattlesnake it is. Also, a significant portion of the story is devoted to a child suffering horrible pain from a snakebite, which is harder to take as an adult reader. Still, it’s got some of that classic Byars melancholy.

The Cybil War by Betsy Byars (1981): Eleven-year-old Simon has had a crush on his classmate Cybil for years, because she does awesome stuff like advocate for more active roles for girls in the yearly school pageants. He’s not inspired to act on his feelings, though, until his awful best friend Tony decides he likes Cybil and starts talking shit to her about Simon. There’s a lot to like about this book. Cybil, with her nonchalant confidence and kindness, is a wonderful character, and Simon’s thorough admiration for her is adorable. I also like how Byars ties Simon’s complicated feelings about his deadbeat dad to his efforts to navigate small-scale fifth-grade drama; both weigh heavily on him, and Byars is never condescending about this. Yet the book’s not Byars’s best, mostly because of the lack of generosity towards Cybil’s fat friend Harriet and, to a lesser extent, Tony.

Sex and Violence by Carrie Mesrobian (2013): Seventeen-year-old Evan doesn’t do serious relationships, instead preferring to hook up with girls and ghost them when he starts having feels. (His family moves around a lot and he’s got some trauma.) Then one girl’s jealous ex orchestrates a horrific assault on them both, leading Evan’s distant widowed dad to take his traumatized son back to their Minnesota hometown. It turns out okay. I liked this novel a lot more once I accepted it as an intentionally messy coming-of-age novel, rather than an issue novel...but it was still a little too messy for its own good. I felt like I was supposed to condemn Evan for having casual sex, something that’s both morally neutral and natural enough for a teen who moves every year, yet the narrative all but endorses his contempt for lower-class girls. I was also uncomfortable with the revelation that Evan was a survivor of statutory rape. It seemed like he was being punished by the narrative only for hyper-sexuality that clearly stemmed from trauma--with a physical assault with some strong sexual implications, no less--but let off the hook for his thoughtless middle-class-boy prejudices. I did feel for him, though, and that carried me through most of the book.

October Wind by Susan Wiggs (1991): In late-fifteenth-century Spain, Cristóbal Colón (aka Christopher Columbus) tries to convince Queen Isabella to fund a westward expedition. Meanwhile, nobleman Joseph Sarmiento learns an enormous secret about his background and must decide whether to alter the course of his life. During this time, Rafael Viscaino, a young scribe, strives to rise in the world while his friends, aspiring doctor Catalina and cheerful but troubled half-Roma Santiago, have their own struggles. This historical novel (which just barely qualifies as a romance) has a lot of potential, but it wastes too much time on Columbus and Isabella, plus it gives them more credit than they deserve. Wiggs should’ve focused on Joseph, the sexiest and most likable character, and made more of his eventual relationship with Anacaona, a Guanahani woman. Or else she should’ve just made it a poly romance with Rafael/Catalina/Santiago, which she comes this close to doing.

Love’s Willing Servant by Avis Worthington (1980): Left penniless by her father and betrayed by her childhood sweetheart, Lettice Clifford decides to take herself to her sister’s home in colonial Virginia and get a rich husband. She’s surprised to find herself sharing a ship with Geoffrey Finch, a neighbor who has been betrayed by his evil twin and sold into indentured servitude. When his indenture ends up getting bought by her brother-in-law, they grow closer, but multiple creepy people and Bacon’s Rebellion threaten their love. Maybe I’ve just seen too much, but I was pleasantly surprised by the relative inoffensiveness of this Old School romance. Geoffrey is a reasonable person, there’s not a sexual assault every other chapter, and the racism issues are more “the black characters should be more central” than “this is just a defense of slavery” or “calm down with the n-word, Quentin Tarantino.” These small mercies aside, I also enjoyed the absolutely bonkers plot and the use of historical details. I didn’t care much for Lettice, though, because she’s usually either boring or kind of a dick.

*Nice.

#books #reading #theme of the bi-month: his family moves around a lot #rewritten because tumblr ate it

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